Levitt: Withdrawal
Chapter 2
Dr. Porter Levitt was a sturdy six feet tall. As he stood up in the front of the lecture hall droning on about Mill and Socrates, he found he bored himself. He tried to count just how many times he’d said the same words to hundreds of uninterested faces before. He knew they were daydreaming too. Only they weren’t the ones talking in front of an auditorium full of people.
He wondered if he was on topic. Did it matter? Were they paying attention anyway? He tried to tunnel back in and noticed he was sweating a lot at this point. Not that it mattered, but he told the class he’d continue the lecture on Monday. They filed out of the room.
Porter walked to the desk at the corner of the stage as the auditorium emptied. He sat down and felt the beginnings of another fever coming on. Withdrawal was painful. But he was doing it for his wife. As if there could be another reason in the world.
Porter barely made it back to his office without passing out. He felt like he was dying. It just kept getting worse. He stared at the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet for what seemed like hours. He weighed the pain he felt against the love of his life. What would she do if he shot up again?
He opened the drawer and pulled out a small box and put it on the desk. He opened the lid and stared a while longer. He got an impression of footsteps slowly coming down the hall. He tried to push the box into the trash can next to the desk, but all of his papers and books went too. Someone knocked at his door and walked in.
“Dr. Levitt,” the girl said as she thumbed through a bunch of papers in her hands. “Could you help—” She was caught off guard by Porter’s appearance.
“Dr. Levitt are you all right?”
Porter struggled to make eye contact with her. He tried to assure her he was fine and told her to leave. Porter knew she would call someone. If she didn’t know the signs of heroin withdrawal, then she at least knew there was something wrong with him.
Porter peeked out his door and didn’t see her anywhere. He struggled to make his way to the parking lot. He found his car keys and started his car. On the way out of the parking lot, he saw an ambulance pull in.
There was a Circle K on B Street where Porter used go before he cleaned up. It was close to the campus so it didn’t take him long to get there. He walked in for the first time in weeks. The clerk knew him well and pointed him to the back.
Porter spent the better part of half an hour in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t even removed the needle from his arm. When he was ready to leave, the clerk told Porter to watch out for a car he’d seen sitting in an adjacent parking lot. The clerk handed him a gun from behind the counter.
Dr. Porter Levitt was a sturdy six feet tall. As he stood up in the front of the lecture hall droning on about Mill and Socrates, he found he bored himself. He tried to count just how many times he’d said the same words to hundreds of uninterested faces before. He knew they were daydreaming too. Only they weren’t the ones talking in front of an auditorium full of people.
He wondered if he was on topic. Did it matter? Were they paying attention anyway? He tried to tunnel back in and noticed he was sweating a lot at this point. Not that it mattered, but he told the class he’d continue the lecture on Monday. They filed out of the room.
Porter walked to the desk at the corner of the stage as the auditorium emptied. He sat down and felt the beginnings of another fever coming on. Withdrawal was painful. But he was doing it for his wife. As if there could be another reason in the world.
Porter barely made it back to his office without passing out. He felt like he was dying. It just kept getting worse. He stared at the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet for what seemed like hours. He weighed the pain he felt against the love of his life. What would she do if he shot up again?
He opened the drawer and pulled out a small box and put it on the desk. He opened the lid and stared a while longer. He got an impression of footsteps slowly coming down the hall. He tried to push the box into the trash can next to the desk, but all of his papers and books went too. Someone knocked at his door and walked in.
“Dr. Levitt,” the girl said as she thumbed through a bunch of papers in her hands. “Could you help—” She was caught off guard by Porter’s appearance.
“Dr. Levitt are you all right?”
Porter struggled to make eye contact with her. He tried to assure her he was fine and told her to leave. Porter knew she would call someone. If she didn’t know the signs of heroin withdrawal, then she at least knew there was something wrong with him.
Porter peeked out his door and didn’t see her anywhere. He struggled to make his way to the parking lot. He found his car keys and started his car. On the way out of the parking lot, he saw an ambulance pull in.
There was a Circle K on B Street where Porter used go before he cleaned up. It was close to the campus so it didn’t take him long to get there. He walked in for the first time in weeks. The clerk knew him well and pointed him to the back.
Porter spent the better part of half an hour in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t even removed the needle from his arm. When he was ready to leave, the clerk told Porter to watch out for a car he’d seen sitting in an adjacent parking lot. The clerk handed him a gun from behind the counter.
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