Free Bethel's Meadow by Gregory Shultz Page A

was. And as you probably have heard, these drugs are just pure hell. Whenever I’d come off of lithium, I never got sick at all. But this shit? It may not qualify as an addiction, but you certainly can form a dependence on these medications.
    “And Doctor, the one thing I did get addicted to was unconsciousness . And that’s what these drugs bring you. They act as sedatives and sleep enablers. I finally got to the point that I realized I was losing precious hours in the day, when I could have been doing something productive, like working or . . . or making music. Hell, jigsaw puzzles or peeling potatoes, for all I care. Anything . I was tired of being in bed twelve hours or more a day. When I would get home from work, I’d take naps between six and nine o’clock in the evening. And the drugs were so powerful that I never had any trouble going back to sleep at midnight.
    “Finally, I had to break free from it. I got to the point that even before I popped the pills into my mouth, I felt guilty as hell. I felt like I was giving in to a wicked power. It felt like the ultimate act of submission, of surrender, of turning my life over to the pills and to the will of my asshole psychiatrist, who only cares that I limit my gripes about my mental health to three minutes or less every three months. Well, you know what? I am now saying ‘Fuck that.’ I want my life back.”
    “Are you ever suicidal?” she asked. She looked concerned now. Her total demeanor had changed. It was like . . . being in a doctor’s office.
    “I’m going to sleep, Samantha.” I said. “And I’m not going to call you Sam anymore. Samantha is way too pretty of a name. So . . . goodnight, Samantha.”
    And then I heard her say, “I think I could love you one day, Mr. Smith.”
    To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I heard that in a dream or if she actually did say it. I just know that when I regained consciousness, I felt the comforting warmth of daylight on my skin, and the pleasing aroma of fried sausages filled the air.

9
     
    “ G OOD MORNING, MR. SMITH.”
    Before my feet, as I lay supine on the exquisite living room rug, stood a teenage boy with short blond hair and a smooth, pale complexion. He was a tall, handsome kid, with a confident and arrogant mien.
    Just like his mother’s.
    My naked body was covered by a black silk bed sheet. Samantha must have placed it over me at some point during my slumber. Though I was embarrassed by this unexpected encounter, I was thankful for Samantha’s thoughtfulness. The blanket made the situation a tad less awkward.
    As I sat upright the kid smiled, leaned toward me, and extended his hand. I shook it.
    “My name is Devin,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.” The kid said it like he meant it. There was nothing at all perfunctory about his introduction.
    “You can just call me Smith,” I said. “Your mother is cooking something that smells wonderful.”
    “Yes, sir,” he said. “She’s making biscuits and sausage gravy. She only serves Cuban coffee. Don’t ask where she gets it. And sir, if I may say so, I’m glad she’s found someone. You’re the first man in this house since my father died a few years ago.”
    “I’m very sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know about that. I figured your parents had divorced. Your mom refers to your father as her ex-husband.” I immediately regretted saying that, but it didn’t seem to faze the boy any.
    He nodded and smiled sadly. “Dad committed suicide. Mom still hasn’t forgiven him. He left behind a lot of gambling debts that she had to make good on. The goons that collected the money didn’t have a heart. They threatened to kill me if she didn’t pay up. It pretty much ate up all the life insurance money. I loved my father, but he was kind of a douchebag for doing what he did. But I guess he figured dying was the only way he could pay off those mouth-breathers.”
    I slowly took to my feet, careful to keep the sheet wrapped