Smudged Stars

“Mr. Kuramoto?”

My own name sliced through my throbbing mind.

“Hm?” I muttered, turning back to the man.

“There are other patients waiting.”

“Right, sorry…” I said, rubbing my neck. “I’ve been having these painful migraines lately and they've been getting worse.”

“Kuramoto, Kohei… born 8 May, 1992?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Mm, my parents lost the house that spring. Financial crisis.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry.”

The man didn’t blink or react. Pale hands moved mechanically, shuffling through a filing cabinet under his desk, and sliding a pamphlet my way.

My Liaison. 

He looked malnourished. The bones of his cheeks protruded against his skin like incorrectly assembled tent poles. Eye bags, heavier than my own, sagged beneath his lifeless, jet-black eyes. A five o’clock shadow was etched into his jaw as if it were an irremovable accessory.

On the beige cubicle wall behind him, a poster featuring a happy couple and a single slogan in the margins: 

‘Managing the past for the sake of the future!’

“Did you read the patient pamphlet?” he asked. “You may experience migraines, nausea, paranoia, insomnia, or panic attacks in the recovery period. These are normal reactions.”

“But it’s been a year since then,” I replied. “And I didn’t get to mention earlier, but I noticed a—”

“Excuse me, I need to staple this,” the man interrupted without looking up.

"Ka-Thonk!"        "Ka-Thonk!"

I shifted uncomfortably in my plastic chair as he struggled to staple the final stack of documents. One bent staple flew out and lodged itself between ‘J’ and ‘K’ on his keyboard.

“It’s perfectly normal for migraines to occur even after the recovery period,” he spoke again with a sigh escaping the back of his throat. “Have you had enough sleep?”

“Well… with my schedule and work, I—”

“You need more sleep. People have died that way.”

“Hemorrhages aren’t fun?” I joked.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he plucked a familiar white pill from a jar next to his desktop, and handed it to me.

I reached out to take it, but it slipped through my fingers, dropping onto the linoleum floor between my shoes. The man didn’t notice. 

An orange-tinted form slid forward. “If you have time, please rate your experience with us today.” 

The printer ink was smudged. A boney finger tapped on the stars. 

Did you find our services satisfactory?
☆☆☆☆☆