The character David Beckman has nothing to do with the famous soccer player, that was an accident. some profanity
David sat in the waiting room staring at the magazine rack opposite him. Headlines such as "Ten tips to reduce belly fat!" popped out at him. There was a faintly sweet smell in the air and David didn't know whether it was the air in this place or the corpse of an old lady sitting two seats away from him. As he turned to look at her she pulled out a purple inhaler, the kind that faintly resembled a gun if you had a good imagination, and she triggered it into her mouth. David looked on in pity as she inhaled deeply to the best of her ability before she abruptly burst into a coughing fit that seemed to have no end. He almost got up to try and help her before the coughing fit tapered off into raspy breathing. He could see inside her purse that was on the floor and saw a pack of what looked like Pall Malls.
David looked at the receptionist only to see her chattering away on her head-set while typing something on the computer that she sat in front of eight hours a day. He had been sitting here for at least twenty minutes he thought, and three other people had been called on during that time. He had seen one woman come from the door that was to the right of the reception desk who seemed to have tears streaming down her face but was nevertheless beautiful. He had looked down at his feet in shame to see someone so beautiful in such a moment of weakness.
Once David finally decided to get off his slowly numbing ass and get a magazine from the rack, he heard "David Beckman?" from the reception desk and looked over to see the lady sitting there looking inquisitively around the room, as if wondering just who this so called David Beckman could be. He froze in mid stance, half out of the seat with his hands on the armrests, glad that they finally called his name but scared to actually encounter whatever lay ahead. He stood up and made his way towards the reception desk. It seemed a very long way there. The receptionist looked at him, satisfied that, yes, this must indeed be David Beckman. He reached the desk and placed his hands on it to steady himself. "You can go through there," the receptionist nodded at the door to the left, "And then go through the second door on your left." David nodded, but this went unnoticed as the receptionist answered yet another call on the device plastered to her face.
He pushed through the blank door and entered a hallway of equal if not more morbidly effective blankness. He slowly walked through the narrow hallway that beheld buzzing flourescent lights every five feet, filling the hallway with white light that accented the blankness to a numbing degree. He stepped past the first door on his left, also blank, surprise suprise. He turned to face the notorious second door to the left and took a deep breath before he knocked three knocks on the door. "Come in," a muffled voice said behind the door. David turned the silver doorknob and walked through into the room that held nothing different than the hallway except for a small stout man behind a shiny oak desk. He stepped through and stopped front and center before muttering a soft greeting. "Please, have a seat," grinned the little man, showing his slightly yellowed teeth. David sat in the only chair facing his desk on which a single manilla file-folder lay. David glanced at the name placard, which was the only other thing on the desk, and read simply, "Edwards".
"Well Mr. ah," the little man flipped open the folder, "Ah, yes, Mr. Beckman. Do you know why you have been called here today?" inquired the suit wearing balding little man that only went by one name while in this room. "I have an idea, but I certainly hope thats all it turns out to be," remarked David.
Edwards simply sat smiling at him for what seemed like ages. When David started to feel uncomfortable the man finally spoke up, "Well, you have requested that we cover the newly prescribed medication for your daughter, is that correct?"
"Yes, yes it is," this caught David's attention and he caught the little man's eyes as he said this.
"Well you see, I am afraid we encountered a problem that prevents us from being able to provide the coverage you seek."
"Is that so?" Now David began to fill with fear, dread, but mostly, rage. And this little prick still had that smirk on his face. David's hands began to tremble.
"Yes, you see, there is a pre-existing condition that you have neglected to mention in previous requisitions." Pre-existing condition. Fuck. David wondered what this could possibly be, what loop-hole these pricks had found to save a few dollars and omit coverage for his daughter in the process.
"Pre-existing condition? What the hell is this all about?" That faltered the little man's smirk for a couple of seconds.
"Well we are terribly sorry," my ass, thought David, "But we recently discovered that your daughter has suffered from schizophrenia for most of her life."
"No, I recently discovered that my daughter suffers from schizophrenia. She was diagnosed last week, and prescribed that medication, which is what I requested coverage for." You prick.
"Yes, but the doctor's records indicate that she has suffered from it for previous years, correct?" ... "Mr. Beckman?" The little man saw the expression on David's face and suddenly realized that the desk sitting between them wouldn't protect him if this man chose to enact his obvious anger. His hand slid slowly toward the silent alarm button under his desk.
"You mother fucking prick. Just so you know, she’s eight years old. Got any kids?" David stood up, causing the man to flinch visibly, and walked out of the room, slamming the blank door behind him. He stood in that narrow hallway, breathing deeply under the cast of that flourescent white light.
"Shit," David muttered to himself. His knees were weak and he felt like he was about to collapse right there. He looked up into one of those buzzing white lights and took a deep breath, his chest heaving up then out. He straightened his face and started down the hall that fed back into the waiting room. He calmly opened the door and walked through, making his way through the rest of the building with his head down.
David stepped out into the parking lot and looked at the bleary gray sky. He looked around and tried to remember where he parked in this vast parking lot. He started off in the direction that he believed his truck to be in. The cars that he came across that were closest to the government health building he had come from were expensive ones, ones that almost made David want to hurl. And if he was going to hurl it would be right on one of those cars that belonged to the pricks that worked here. He knew how these places worked. He knew that once you really needed something from them they bent you over and fucked you right in the ass, then threw you out in the street. He paid his taxes, he was a good citizen, never been in jail, never gotten so much as a goddamn traffic violation. But now Uncle Sam had turned into one of those uncles that you ought not be alone with.
He paused where he was and looked around. Was that- no that’s not it. It must be over this ways a bit. The worst part of it, the part that kept eating at him, was not that they had screwed him over, but that this was his god forsaken daughter he was talking about. It would have been different if they would have just dogged him out of paying for his own surgery or something, but this was his sweet, innocent daughter. And how much was that medication uninsured? Five hundred a bottle? Six hundred? A thousand? More? He thought he might really just bend over and hurl his very guts out of his mouth. There was no way to afford those pills that his daughter needed so badly. And he wouldn't even consider putting her in one of Uncle Sam's sanitariums, no way. Might as well hand her over to the devil himself. He was a man, and he would figure this out. But first he needed a drink.
Ah, there was his truck. He looked in the bed out of habit to make sure that no one had stolen any of the few tools he had back there. You never know what people might steal these days, but you couldn't blame them. Not in times like these. He got into the drivers seat and put his forehead down on the steering wheel. Silent tears fell from his eyes. He looked through his windshield and saw a small boy looking at him from the passenger seat of the car in front of him. The boy smiled at him and David took in a shuddering deep breath and mustered up a smile to throw back at the boy. The little boy went back to doing whatever it is that little boys do while waiting in cars. David twisted the key into the ignition and felt the engine come to life. He dropped the clutch, cranked it into reverse, and left that horrible building behind him, en route to the nearest bar.
The government health center was located in the slowly decaying city of Malvado, in south-eastern Texas. Once on the street it wasn't hard for him to find a bar. Bars had become very lucrative in the city of Malvado, and David hadn't gone more than five blocks before he pulled into "Tess's Tavern," one of the many local bars that had become as easy to find as the nearest McDonalds. David parked in one of the many empty spots (it was only 3:15) and got out of his truck with his nearly empty wallet in hand. There was a pay-phone near the entrance, strategically placed for the many drunks that had to call on taxis to take them home, and David put fifty cents in and punched in the number to his less than humble apartment. He listened to the monotonous ringing before his daughter picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey Elysa, its dad."
"Hey dad! Are you gonna be home soon?"
"Just about honey, I just left my appointment and I just gotta run some errands, kay?" Elysa had come to know that "running errands" meant that her dad would more than likely be drunk when he got home, and that sometimes he could be running errands for a long time.
"Okay daddy." David felt sick. He knew that Elysa had realized what kind of errands he was running awhile ago. His drinking was something that had always remained unspoken of between them, something that was just another part of life. And when he did speak of it, under the alias of "running errands," he always felt a burning shame, a feeling that he pushed down as hard as he could like trying not to hurl.
"Alright hun, I'll be home soon, love ya."
"Love you too daddy." He listened for the click that meant she was off the line and he hung the receiver in its cradle. He stood there and stared at the shiny black phone, almost as if waiting for it to ring again, and then he finally went inside.
It was raining when David finally came out of Tess's Tavern with his wallet considerably lighter and tucked in his back pocket, his previous encounter at the government building subtly forgotten. He walked to his truck on loose legs that wouldn't quite obey him. He got in his truck and searched his pockets for those keys that were always in the last place you looked, and he couldn't find them. He looked around him, on the ground, the passenger seat, and he still couldn't find them. He opened the door to go back inside, he must have left them in there, and he glanced something shiny dangling in the corner of his eye. His keys were hanging in the ignition. Damn, truck unlocked and keys in the ignition. He smiled. I'm one lucky sonofabitch he thought, then he remembered what had happened before he came to this bar. Not very lucky in the long run, no sir, not at all. With that remembrance came a weight that settled in his chest, a weight that couldn't be lightened by bombardment of alcohol.
He sighed as he twisted the key and the old chevy rumbled to life, the engine choking, sounding like the asthmatic old lady he had seen earlier. The clock on the dashboard read 5:17, and the clock on the dashboard was slow. David muttered a curse as he pulled onto the street as slow and steady as he could. Slow and steady wins the race, especially after you have consumed mass quantities of beer. As David rolled through the streets he fancied that he wasn't moving at all and that the slowly encroaching decay of houses and store fronts that would eventually lead to his battered apartment had always been inevitable. It was now, and so it was ever since he had dropped out of school. Hell, it had been inevitable his whole life, he had always been bound to live on shit street. It was just too bad that he had dragged another life into this world, into his world, and that said life was his to drag through this shit-strewn world that had made him suffer so much. He would have never had a kid if he would have known what lay ahead. But he had been so young, and he had an ex-wife along with several other mistakes to show for it.
It was still raining when David pulled into his designated parking place and stumbled out of his slowly cooling truck. He walked (slow and steady) through the minute parking lot that was "FOR TENANTS AND GUESTS ONLY!" and up the steps to the solid metal door that was the entrance to this sorry excuse for a building. He unlocked the door, stepped in and closed the door behind him, shutting out the sounds of the streets outside. The thud of the door traveled up the two floors and echoed back at him. He started up the stairs, balancing himself with the railing and taking one carpet muffled step at a time. The stairs led to two different landings on which you would find three different doors that led into three not so different apartments. When he came to this landing he stopped to examine some fresh graffiti that had joined all the other faded illegible loops of spray paint. This new edition read simply, "FUCK." Not too original but David figured that just about summed it up all the same. He continued up the stairs that were lit under flickering flourescent light that would give any epileptic a good turn. As he reached the second and final landing a pleasant spicy smell hit him that he recognized as the Mexican food which went along with living in Malvado.
As David reached his door, the one with the lopsided five that barely held on to the chipped golden colored chrome where the dark metal underneath peeked through, he began the search for his keys through his pockets. Wallet, empty, change ... there were his keys. Always in the last place, he thought. He could hear the TV through the door as he attempted to slide the key into the lock. Whoops, wrong key... ah here we go. He subtly swayed to and fro as the key finally found entry. He walked through into the apartment and locked the door behind him.
"Hey-" Something was wrong. He was frozen in place in the living room where the only light came from the TV that buzzed away indifferently on the far wall. He looked at the huddled mass which lay on the floor in a whimpering heap. David dropped his keys and ran to his sobbing daughter that waved her arms about as if trying to ward off some invisible demons.
"Elysa! El!" He was crouched by her side and filled with terror, frozen again, not knowing what to do, what he could do as his daughter sobbed and flailed about. He drew his daughter to him with arms that felt numb and distant.
"Elysa!" He held her to him as she sobbed about something that was trying to get her, trying to take her and she didn't want to go daddy, don't make me go with them. She was tangled up in a blanket and he just sat and held her, telling her it was alright, no one was going to get you, daddy wouldn't let them. As he held her he felt the great shuddering sobs that tore through her, almost like screams, and oh no daddy I don't want to go, make them go away, please please just make them go away. He held her face against his chest as she went on pleading with him between sobs and gasps of breath. David rocked her with his eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down his face, just rocking her back and forth, back and forth.
