The Magic of Healing
"How long does she have?" asked the man behind the counter, stooping in his lab coat as he assessed the prescription.
"The doctor doesn't know. Perhaps a few weeks."
The elderly gentleman empathetically smiled, his ocean blue eyes regarding his customer. "Cancer?"
"Yes. Quite advanced, I'm afraid."
"Your wife?"
"Yes," Owen responded. "Forty years."
"Quite an accomplishment. I'm very sorry." The pharmacist placed the medications in a bag. "Fentanyl patches and Percocet tablets for breakthrough discomfort. Read the directions, mind you. Be careful not to over sedate. Easy to do, you know."
"Yes sir." Owen collected the bag along with his insurance card. "So thankful you were open on the holiday. I should keep a sharper eye on supplies."
"Good to have Hospice." The pharmacist smiled; his cotton hair tangled in disarray. "Might I suggest something additional?"
"What exactly?"
"This." The pharmacist handed over a brown, inconspicuous container: It said, "Time in a Bottle Shower Balm."
Owen studied the packaging: 'Apply topically in a warm, moist environment.'
"What's this for?"
"It only works in the shower," replied the pharmacist. "Make it hot. Make it steamy. I think she'll like it."
A bell sounded in the back; a room hidden by double doors. It clanked like a phone from the early 1900's. "I need to get that," said the pharmacist, waving farewell. "It's probably God."
"But where does this stuff come from?" Owen inquisitively asked, ignoring the ridiculous remark. "How much does it cost?"
"From across the sea, Owen. Pay the man at the gate." The voice dissipated, hollow and distant, further than the building allowed.
"What man? What gate?"
***
Owen crossed the parking lot engrossed in the directions. Unlocking his car, he realized he had forgotten the narcotics. "Dammit!" he cursed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "How could I have forgotten the most important thing?"
He rushed back to the pharmacy only to find the door had been locked. The handle fell to the sidewalk, rusted and disfigured. He banged and he screamed to no avail. There was no answer. The windows were darkened with filth. Owen wiped away the dirt with his sleeve only to observe through the glass a wreckage fit for abandonment.
"What is going on? I need my medicine! Can't anybody hear me?"
His voice echoed across an empty parking lot.
***
Leah smiled upon Owen's return, perched in their bed like a wilted Orchid, pillows surrounding her emaciated frame. She was leafing through a Hawaiian travel guide.
Owen frowned. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Leah's hands trembled, flipping the pages.
"That we haven't enough money for the trip."
"It's my fault," she responded. "All the co-pays and deductibles. My sickness messed everything up. You've been saving since we got married."
Owen caught his wife's tear with a finger. "I don't need the trip. I'd rather have you."
"And soon you shall have neither." Leah bowed her head in anguish.
Owen raked his hand through his thinning hair. "What is that picture?"
"That's the Pua Lehua flower of the Ohia Lehua tree. It's only found in Hawaii, the official flower of the Big Island. It has a legend of jealousy and heartbreak."
"What would that be?" Owen asked.
"Legend has it, years ago, a warrior on the Big Island named Ohia pledged his love to a woman named Lehua. But Ohia was very handsome, capturing the interest of the goddess, Pele. She wanted him for herself. Despite her efforts to seduce him, Ohia remained true to Lehua and thus endured many tortures at the hands of the goddess. In the end, Ohia was turned into a tree, but his love for Lehua was everlasting. She was turned into a flower on the tree so they could be eternally united. Today it's called the Ohia Lehua tree."