Cheapskate in Love by Skittle Booth Page B

the air
is rich with the scent of life and growing things. In his semi-conscious state,
he associated the smell with Linda, who was an excellent cook, although she
mostly made stir-fries. He could distinguish the sounds of someone in his
apartment, and in his drowsiness he could not think of who else might be there. He opened his eyes. That was one of the few parts of his
body that he could move easily and the only part he dared to move at the
moment, so he lay looking blearily at the ceiling.
    “Linda, is that you?” he asked, in the smoothest voice his
injured state allowed, hoping without any justification that she had come to
look after him. In his poorly functioning brain, he thought that maybe his
injury had triggered a delayed compassion on her part.
    “Bill, you’re awake,” Helen said in surprise. She quickly
left the table and went to him. “How are you feeling?”
    He did not feel grateful. Immediately, he knew who was
talking to him. He now became fully alert. “You’re still here?” he grumbled
nastily. “I said you could go.”
    “How could I leave you all alone, when you’re paralyzed? I
couldn’t leave a dog or cat alone in your condition.” Helen spoke to him firmly
yet gently, like a nurse tending to a crotchety, old man, which Bill was well
on his way to becoming.
    “I’m not paralyzed,” he argued. “I can get up. There’s
nothing wrong with me. I don’t need any babysitter. I’ll show you.” With an
abundance of grunting, groaning, and gritting his teeth, Bill slowly succeeded
in raising himself into a sitting position in bed. The codeine had made it
possible for him to sit up, but movement was still painful, and he was sweating
in agony from the exertion. “See. I’m fine,” he rasped.
    Helen could contain her laughter, but not her smiling.
“Would you like to join me for dinner then?” she asked. “I’ll set a place on
the table for you. While you were sleeping, I did a little cleaning, and
there’s room now to eat.”
    She went to the kitchen to fetch another place setting for
Bill, and he looked at the table. He couldn’t believe it was empty of
everything except Helen’s dishes. It appeared to be a mirage to him. He had to
confirm with his hands that the mound of clutter had been removed.
    With a vigorous sweep of his left arm, he threw off the
bedspread and top sheet, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, as
quickly as he could. He was about to push himself into a standing position,
when Helen came from the kitchen, which was an enclosed space near the entrance
to the apartment, and he realized he was not wearing any shoes, socks, or
pants. Rapidly, he whipped the bed sheet back over his lower half. “What
happened to my pants?” he exclaimed in surprise. He knew he had been wearing
pants.
    “Oh, I washed them,” she said, as she set a place for him on
the table. She didn’t think a man without pants, especially a man her age, a
shocking novelty. She barely glanced at Bill in his boxer shorts and didn’t
understand why he appeared to be so agitated. A long, happy married life does
away with such prudery.
    “How did you do that?” he asked in exasperation.
    “With a washing machine,” she said matter-of-factly,
“although I had to pre-scrub the dirt stains first. You went for some hike
yesterday.”
    “How did my pants come off?” he insisted.
    “Oh, I took them off. Give me that shirt now. I wanted to
cut it off while you slept. It’s so filthy. But I thought you would complain if
I did that. I’ll take your underwear now, too.” Helen walked toward Bill to
help him take off the last of his clothes.
    “No! Stay away!” he yelled. “You will not take my underwear.
Don’t come near me. How can you barge into my apartment and take off my pants?
Just like that? Without asking?”
    “How else could I wash them? You were asleep.”
    “Who asked you to wash them?” he replied. “Who asked you
clean off the dining table?”
    “I cleaned the