Black Orchids
by Jack Swenson
After the operation, his doctor told him he could prescribe a medicine that would cost him a thousand dollars at a drug store, or he could go down to Fleet Farm and get a bottle for fifteen bucks. The stuff at the home and farm supply store was sheep dewormer. Same stuff, the doc said. I asked Floyd which one he got. "Baaa," he replied.
He seemed to think the fact that he had cancer was funny. The first time it was colon cancer. That's when he took the sheep medicine. He recovered from that, and five years later, they found a spot on his liver. "What are your chances?" I asked him. "Zero and none," he replied. It was amazing, he said, how his body kept producing these exotic growths.
I told him he was just paying for his sins. He gave me a look. "Why me?" he asked. It was a good question. Floyd had lived a straight-arrow life. I told Floyd that since the docs had caught the cancer early, maybe he would beat the odds.
Floyd was a little fellow with a cheery manner and a good head for business. In his wayward youth, while attending the university, he had worked as a lab assistant for our crazy inventor friend. For a time he was one of the wastrels who lived at the old house on Ridgewood avenue in Minneapolis.
It was Floyd who one night initiated the burial of our friend Doc. We were living at the time in a rented house on south Lyndale Avenue. Doc came home drunk and passed out on his bed. Floyd, who was drunk, too, discovered him spread-eagled on his back and declared him dead. "Doc's, dead," he said. "We've got to bury him." Floyd proceeded to collect soiled clothing from all over the house and pile it on top of Doc. Afterwards, Floyd collapsed on the stairs laughing. I'll never forget the anguished look on his face. You couldn't tell if he were laughing or crying.
I was visiting in Minnesota the summer that Floyd died. We had dinner at Max and Kaia's house. Afterwards we stood around in the kitchen talking, and I told Floyd he looked good. He did, too. He looked as fit as a fiddle. The little man looked me in the eye and smiled. He felt good, he said. Problem was, when he felt good, that meant that it was time for another round of chemo, and then he would feel lousy. He laughed. His wife smiled and looked away.
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Author's Note
Gone but not forgotten. A true story, more or less.
Other stories by Jack Swenson
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Great story, Jack. Excellent voice and your use of language is impeccable as always. Love the characters in this piece also.
"His wife smiled and looked away." What a final line. Great story!
Jack - Always love your stuff. This is another example of why. Nice work Boss!
I agree with everyone. Your stories break my heart in such a good way. This is another winner.
Jack, Jack - you keep rolling out these amazing works. This one is very in the moment.
You make it look easy. Too easy - It's like going to someone's house... the living room - sitting on the couch by a window, and listening.
I read one of your stories, and I go break a pencil. Read another - then break another pencil.
Good story. Fun to read. I like the first paragraph about the cost of medicine going from a thousand dollars at the drugstore down to fifteen dollars at the farm supply store.
Jack, I'm sure I have said this before but I love your easy reading format. The way your stories draw the reader in with such fine characterisation - there's not a word wasted and the endings are always superb! Loved it. Fav
Beautifully captured friendship and a tribute to human spirit. The last sentence (again!) makes the story complete. Nice.
Good read, Jacques.
Sad, sad, with little injections of humor. Love the sheep meds. Solid work, Jack, and interesting as always to read
Another great story.
I like Floyd, and the striking poignant-humorous combo thing, that voodoo that you do so well.
There's just such unpretentious humanity here, Jack.
Superb piece of writing, Jack. Good flow, nice use of images, sad but not too sad.
I'm sitting here gaping at the roster of talent listed above and wonder if you all made a mistake. You're sure you writing about me and my story? Your kindness and generosity is amazing. Thank you very, very much.
"His wife smiled and looked away." killer last line, says so much, Jack.
Great mix of humour and sadness. A favourite for sure. I love the "Baaa," he replied ending to the first paragraph. It sets the humorous tone nicely.
"I asked which he got." threw me. Maybe I'm just tired, but I had to read it three times before I understood the sentence. "I asked which one he got." would not have caused me to stumble.
you've created a lovable character, as soon as cancer was funny to him. the combination of laughing and crying is a sweet thing to explore here.