~*~


THE CUCKOO'S EGG

by Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER SIX (b)

SEROTONIN FROM SHINOLA

~*~

"…leaves me sitting on that damned butcher paper till it bonds to me, then he shines a light in my eye, and makes me walk a line and touch my nose! Quack! Charlatan! Moron!" Daria Morgendorffer was not happy.

Helen Morgendorffer wasn't too happy either. "I think the doctor knows a little more about his field of specialization than you do! I'm sure those are all legitimate tests for something." She turned her attention back to the street ahead and braked sharply.

"I think he got his diploma over the Internet from someplace in Liberia. I think he doesn't know serotonin from Shinola. I think he's a quack! His name is Drake, for crying out loud!"

"That doesn't mean a thing, and you know it! I've long suspected there might be a chemical basis for your depression, and now an expert has confirmed it! You should be delighted that you're finally getting help!"

"And where did you get your neurology degree? Albania? Bulgaria? Cracker Jack? He took one lousy blood sample, and he hasn't seen the results. He knows nothing. He just couldn't wait to push some pills on me. I am NOT depressed!"

"Oh, come now, Daria! You have the most negative, cynical outlook on life I've ever seen!"

"A negative outlook is not depression. Anyway, my outlook isn't negative, it's realistic. And I am not cynical. I am a Cynic. It's my chosen philosophy. But I could get depressed, explaining this to you over and over with no sign of comprehension on your part."

Helen got into the turn lane for the mall parking lot. "You watch your mouth, young lady, or I'll..."

"Or you'll what? Turn me over to Dr. Quackenstein? Forcibly drug me? At this point, you're about out of stuff to threaten me with." Daria crossed her arms tighter and glared at the dashboard as if to burn a hole through it. She wondered how long Helen had been waiting for a chance to alter her personality, and if it would do any good to forcibly resist.

Helen pulled into a parking space and switched off the ignition, but made no immediate move to exit. She took a deep breath, then let it out. "Come on Daria. I'm not your enemy. I'm your mother, and I'm trying to help you."

Daria's look softened. This was true. Her enemies were out of her reach. For now. "Mom, I'm not depressed. Drugging me won't help me," she said in a quiet, sad voice.

Love and sympathy mixed with Helen's irritation. "Daria, you've been examined by an expert. He prescribed this."

Sadly, Daria wished her mother had a little less blind faith in "experts" and a little more loyalty to her family. She pointed out, "Dr. Millepieds is an expert. He says there's nothing wrong with me."

"Dr. Millepieds is a psychologist. He didn't test your brain chemistry; that's not his field. Dr. Drake is a neurologist. He ran tests, and he prescribed Prohappia."

The mention of Drake's name roused Daria's anger afresh. She began ticking off points on her fingers. "Dr. Millepieds knows depression when he sees it, and he didn't see it in me. Dr. Quack took one blood sample, the results of which he won't get back from the lab for a week or more. Then he asked me the exact same questions Manson asked me, in the exact same order. And the answers I gave them do not indicate depression. He prescribed the latest, most expensive drug from the company that's paying him the fattest kickbacks."

Helen gave Daria a gotcha look. "So, you were playing your little head games again? Well, maybe this time they were on to you. Maybe they diagnosed your problem in spite of you. That's what they're trained to do, you know."

Daria was pretty sure that Manson's and Drake's IQs added together wouldn't equal hers, and that they'd probably had to cheat like hell to get the diplomas they so proudly displayed on their office walls. Their chances of getting "on to" her were similar to their chances of being struck by lightning. But she knew it would do her no good at all to say so.

But more interesting to Daria than the folderol on Drake's office wall had been two envelopes she had glimpsed on his desk, envelopes from two major pharmaceutical companies. Envelopes containing checks.

"I answered their questions truthfully, and their diagnoses are wrong. That drug won't help me," Daria stated for the record. She knew Helen wasn't going to change her mind at this point. She followed Helen through Wally's door, her expression noticeably grimmer than usual. "And my "negative, cynical outlook" will turn out to be dead on, you mark my words."



THE CUCKOO'S EGG

by Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER SEVEN

HERE'S TO MY BRAIN ON DRUGS

~*~


Inside Wally Mart, Helen stopped under a big Smiley Face and turned to her daughter. "Okay, Daria, why don't you get this filled while I do a little..." Helen pulled back the prescription slip. Daria's hand had come up a little too quickly, and set off Helen's alarm. "On second thought, I'll get it filled. Maybe you'd like to look around in Misses'..." The look in Daria's eye made Helen bite off the rest of that suggestion. "Well, I'm sure there's something you'd like to buy." Dreading the moment when she'd be telling Daria to take that first pill, Helen groped desperately for anything that might lighten her daughter's mood beforehand.

"Well, I have been meaning to shop for a pistol. Give me your gold card and your driver's license." Daria held out a hand.

Helen looked into her daughter's perfectly expressionless face and a chill ran down her spine. She was fairly sure Daria wasn't serious, but if she were, she'd look and act just like that. Then, realizing she was standing frozen in the middle of a busy aisle at Wally Mart with her mouth hanging open, she shook it off and handed Daria the gold card. "I think you can find something other than a pistol to buy, dear."

Daria continued to regard her mother with that intense, expressionless stare until Helen blinked and glanced away, then silently took the card and headed off towards the electronics section. At least, Helen hoped that was where she was headed. Sporting goods was just beyond electronics. As she headed toward the prescription drop-off window, Helen reflected that Daria could probably find plenty of things to kill herself with in any department of the store. She shook her head and resolutely took her place in line. Sometimes those calm silent stares frightened her worse than Jake's wildest driving.

~*~

Helen and Daria sat at a little round table in the snack bar, each with an orange juice in front of her. Helen opened the little orange plastic pill bottle after some difficulty with the childproof cap, and shook out a rather large yellow tablet into her hand. "Here you go, Daria."

Daria stared at the tablet with an unreadable almost-expression on her face, but made no move to take it. When she looked up at Helen, there was a hint of fear in her eyes. "This is wrong. I'm not depressed. That won't help me."

Love and sympathy mixed with Helen's irritation. "Daria, you've been examined by an expert. He prescribed these. They will help you. Take the pill, sweetie."

Daria looked back down at the large cheery yellow tablet in Helen's palm. She hadn't foreseen this. She'd been so clever, so devious. But her brilliant scheme had taken an unplanned turn. She hadn't foreseen the combination of incompetence and greed conspiring to force mind-altering drugs down her throat. And she had lost sight of the fact that adults didn't need to outsmart her to screw her over bigtime. She looked back up at her mother. "I didn't realize how badly you wanted a clone of Quinn. I could rig up something out of rubber bands and paper clips that would keep the corners of my mouth pulled up. Would that help?"

Helen saw the fear in her daughter's eyes and heard the pleading in her voice, and her resolve wavered. She felt like she had that time when Daria was a baby and she'd had to use a rectal thermometer on the poor little thing. Well, sometimes we have to be strong and do the right thing for the ones we love, even if they don't want it, she thought. "Daria, we have to trust the experts. Now, I've taken a whole day off work, and I've spent a lot of money. All I'm asking you to do is swallow this pill. It's FDA approved, so you know it's safe. It'll make you feel better. Now take it."

"Thalidomide was FDA approved. So was Fen-Phen. They still haven't yanked aspartame."

"Daria, my patience is wearing thin. Don't make me use threats."

Daria heard the hardness in Helen's voice, and saw it in her eyes. She knew from experience that threats would indeed come next, and that they would be effective threats. Logically, she knew that the possibility that the pill would actually cause her harm was small. If she refused to take it, the possibility that she would incur unfavorable consequences of some sort approached one hundred percent. She heard that little smartass voice inside her head saying, "You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

Slowly, she brought a hand up and took the pill out of Helen's hand. She looked up at her mother. "Well, I guess this is it. Mom, if you never see the real me again, remember that I loved you, in my own way, and that I was happy, in my own way, even if I didn't smile like the girls in the tooth whitener ads."

Helen seemed to feel a pang of doubt. She looked as if she were about to say something, but then her jaw tightened, and she just waited.

Her last hope gone, Daria looked back down at the cheery yellow pill in her hand. God, it even had a happy face molded into it. Placing the odious thing on her tongue, she shuddered at its bitter taste. She pulled the straw out of her orange juice, took a big gulp, and swallowed hard. "Here's to my brain on drugs." she said bitterly. She set the cup down on the table, shuddered again, and stared unfocused at a spot on Helen's upper arm. She wondered if the new, anti-depressed Daria would remember who she had once been. She wished she'd written herself a letter.

Helen started to say, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" but thought better of it. She settled for "Finish your orange juice, sweetie, and we'll go."

Daria looked at the cup for a second, picked it up, and stared down at the orange juice within. She licked her lips, raised the cup a further inch, then set it back down and pushed it away. "I may never be able to drink orange juice again." She pushed herself to her feet, holding to the table for a second to get her balance, and followed her mother away. She knew the pill couldn't possibly be affecting her yet, but she felt like she could hardly walk. And like she had swallowed a ticking time bomb, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do to save her.