Archive for the ‘Edd Vick’ Category
Ike’s Word
Tuesday, July 6th, 2010
The old woman sits on her stoop and dispenses words. Nobody really remembers when she first arrived, but Mister Rainey, who’s retired now, went to her when he was in second or third grade. She said one word that changed him forever. She never spoke to him again, he says.
It’s like that. Parents take their kids to the old woman. She won’t say anything if they stay to listen, but once a child is alone with her she will look them over. From head to toe, from leftmost finger to rightmost, from skin on in.
Then she whispers a word.
I never got a word. We moved to Harlem when I was ten, and my parents didn’t even know about the old woman until Ike was almost too old. Now I’m fifteen, he’s nine, and we’re standing on the curb looking at her. The ice cream truck has just passed, and she’s gumming a rocket pop.
Ike followed me around every day, idolizing me, wanting nothing more than to be me. It’s annoying, it’s flattering, it’s what little brothers have done since time began.
Something will happen to Ike when he gets his word. He’ll be different, an individual. That scares me. I don’t want us to grow apart. I’ve had my fights with dad and mom, but Ike’s my brother and always will be. At least that’s how I think it is. What he might think after getting his word I don’t know. I reach for his shoulder, to turn him around so we can leave.
She looks up. Ignoring me, she glances at Ike and it’s as if she says, “Come here, boy.”
He walks to her. She sits there and she runs the rocket pop around her gums and she looks at him. Bit by bit and all over she examines him.
She leans forward. So does he, until his ear is next to her mouth. She pulls the pop out and lets it drip. Then I see her lips move. He steps back and turns.
A new Ike looks out of his eyes. He’s looking at me almost the way the old woman looked at him. Then he smiles. “Let’s get ice cream,” he says.
He leads the way down the street to where the truck waits.
The Renaissance of Believing
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
CEO Lawrence Peachtree examined the innocuous-looking pill. It was gray, small, looking like a hundred other experimental drugs. He looked up at his chief chemist. “The biggest thing since Zoloft, you said.” He palmed the tablet and flipped it into the air like a coin. Caught it. “Explain.”
Gadalee Bass could practically taste the biggest success of her career. “Depression. Before it was identified as a disease, it was merely people feeling a bit blue. But then pharmaceutical companies brought drugs to market to, ah, ‘cure’ depression. Now one in ten Americans takes antidepressants.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Zoloft, Xanax, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Prozac, Paxil, Lexapro, Celexa –”
Peachtree held up a hand. “You’ve found a cure for something that wasn’t a disease… yet.”
“We did. Religion.”
“Religion?”
“There’s a part of the brain, the parietal lobe-” she tapped her head just above and behind her right ear, “-part of the cerebrum. Researchers found that function in the right parietal lobe is different between religious adherents and nonbelievers. Couple an effective drug there with one that affects the limbic system and we can alter religiosity.”
“Adverse reactions?”
“We haven’t tested on humans yet, but side effects would likely include loss of inhibitions, early-onset Alzheimers, in https://homecareassistance.com/blog/5-mindfulness-exercises-relieve-caregiver-burnout you can search for caregivers for any of your family members to help with everything including the deficit to the patient’s spatial sense. We expect reactions in less than one per thousand, but the brain is tricky. There could be unintended consequences.”
Peachtree, after a moment of silence, said, “Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You want a clinical trial on a drug that takes away religious belief.” He shook his head. “Do you realize how many Baptists there are on our board of directors?” He started to push the tablet away, across the desk, but looked up to find Bass smiling.
“Ah,” she said, “That’s why there’s another pill. That one attacks religious fervor.” She pulled a small box out of her pocket and revealed an identical tablet. “This one aids it.”
Peachtree returned her smile. “Now you’re talking.”