It's Prescribed

By Shikha Bheda

The pharmacist looked at me with narrowed eyes. “It’s prescribed,” I reminded him. “Sir,” I added as

an attempt at flattery. He did not believe me. That much was clear. But I did not look like a junkie.

My clothes were neat. I did not have that unkempt look and the crazed eyes that would suggest I

was high. I did not do drugs. No.

He handed me the polythene containing the pills. “Thank You” I said fighting the urge to roll my

eyes. These new employees were all suspicious in the start. But with the right amount they kept

their mouths shut. I slid a few extra bills over the counter. “For your generosity” I said. He pushed

down his glasses and peered at me. This time I did roll my eyes.

“I heard there was a new one.” My father said. “Did he give any trouble?” “No, sir.” I replied.

There was a reason why my dad sent 17 year olds to do his dirty work. So that there was less

snooping of officials into the business. Why would the wide-eyed kid with the prescription lie, right?

Especially when the kid had a perfectly clean past with no priors. Tricking the doctors into giving up

prescriptions was easy too. I just had to bat a few lashes and pout my lips. They fell right for the

depressed teenage girl act. Some were even eager for some action. The business was disgusting and

dirty but it paid well.

My father on the other hand looked exactly like an addict. Because he was one. He immediately

swallowed two of the pills and took a long swig of water. I snatched back the bag before he decided

to empty the stash any further. “Let’s save some for the customers, all right dad?”

He grunted. I hid the bag under one of the tiles of the floor. It was a safe hiding place.

The next I woke up to sirens. I strode into the living room to see my father being apprehended.

Police had cuffed him and were reciting the usual lines to him. “Adriana!” he called. “Tell them

they’re your meds. No officers! You don’t understand.” He shouted while he was being led away. A

kindly officer approached me and asked me if I had any other relatives I would like stay with for a

while.

My father was still shouting. I stood frozen for a while. I ran to my dad. He was talking to the officers

in an abrasive manner protesting his innocence. The cops were having none of it. “We have solid

evidence against you.” The kindly officer said. “You’re going in for a long time.”

I watched as they put him in the car and drove him away. And then I sighed in relief. So calling the

precinct anonymously had worked out after all.

By Shikha Bheda