by K. S. Lindsay
The box hedge needs pruning, Emily noted. The lawn needed mowing. The morning glory vines, which had completely destroyed the carnations, were now at work on the lilac tree.
Emily resisted the urge to juggle the handle of the duffle bag in her hand, as she reminded herself, again, that the clothes inside must be washed immediately. She couldn’t recall any ‘accidents’ during this hospital stay, but even without vomit, urine or blood spray, the everyday mix of sweat and food spills would turn noxious if she forgot to run Jos’ clothes through the washer immediately. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
She needed to wash the clothes, but she knew once they got inside she’d be distracted by the dirty dishes, filthy floor and the necessity of making dinner. ‘Dinner!,’ she thought. They did have some steaks she could cook, if she could get him to eat, and, of course, she had the ingredients for a protein shake. They might make it another day or two before she needed to grocery shop, but she’d better check that too.
The litany stopped abruptly as Jos finally climbed out of the car, and grabbed onto the door, swaying slightly. Emily reached out a hand to steady him – but she didn’t touch. Jos didn’t like too much help, or feeling like she hovered. He gripped the door tightly – more tightly than usual, she observed – while he got back his strength.
He made conversation to cover his pause. “What time is Seinfeld on?” he asked.
Emily automatically smiled. “Nine-thirty.” All day she’d thought about watching the show, and its stupid nonsense, as an antidote to another long day spent dealing with hospitals, doctors, and tests.
Jos finally shuffled away from the car toward the house. He didn’t even try to shut the car door. The old Toyota, the car he’d brought into their marriage two years before, was still more dependable than her Volkswagen, but its doors required a firm slam. Emily provided it, while Jos opened the gate and headed toward the stairs to the house.
It took Emily only a few brisk strides to catch up to him. She didn’t say anything, but he spoke as she reached him. “Do you think George will say something stupid?” he asked.
“George?” she answered the joke, “Never.”
“Maybe Jerry will make one of those observations that are just too clever?”
“Of course not.”
“Perhaps Elaine will get all self-righteous and in someone’s face?”
“Sweet Elaine, I doubt it.”
“Will Kramer do something completely strange?”
“Indubitably.”
The banter distracted Emily from further observations on the yard she’d once tended so carefully, and that Jos had started calling ‘The Enchanted Garden.’ He stopped talking though when he started climbing the stairs. Jos had to save his breath for the Herculean effort.
Stepping along behind him, she could juggle the duffle handle or adopt any other of thousands of impatient gestures she might feel necessary. He couldn’t see them now. Yet, as Emily shifted the duffle bag from right hand to left, she realized she’d forgotten her briefcase in the car.
She looked back momentarily, and then shrugged. She went back to her vigilant watch of Jos’ feet, looking for any hint of unsteadiness. She wouldn’t do office work tonight anyway, she’d realized. She did have a serious backlog to attend to, but it had waited this long. It would wait more.
She did think about the letter she needed to write to the City. They still owed Jos $71 in back pay. It wasn’t much, but she and Jos needed every penny. The bills were adding up…
Emily glanced up at the back door, and sought a problem she could solve. Thinking aloud, she asked, “What do you want for dinner tonight, honey? I could do steaks.”
“Whatever,” Jos rasped out.
Emily felt ashamed. Jos had to use both hands to pull himself up using the handrails tonight. She didn’t need to bother him with inane questions.
“I’ll make you a shake when we get in, okay?” she said, thinking that it might make him feel better. He’d always loved his shakes.
As Jos reached the top landing he stood to the side, leaning on the house. Emily had her key ready and automatically pushed on the handle before turning the key to make the bolt slide easier. That way, the door required less of a shove to open.
Emily now stepped aside, and Jos shuffled past her and into the kitchen. “Home,” he said on an expelled breath.
Emily threw the duffle into the laundry room, shut the door, turned the bolt, tossed her coat over the box of fire wood by the door and then took an actual full second to switch her shoes for slippers.
They used to remove their shoes at the door to keep the hardwood floors clean, but now the slippers served as protection from the crumbs and dirt covering the floor. She swept as she crossed the room, but she abandoned the broom at the refrigerator to draw out ingredients – all while watching to see that Jos safely reached the living room couch. Placing the ingredients on the table, she removed the dirty dishes there to the sink. Once she heard him get the television on, she felt freer to start the noisy tasks of starting the washer, running water for washing dishes and blending his protein shake.
When she brought the shake into the living room, she stood at the foot of the couch to scan the coffee table for a clear surface where she could place the glass within Jos’ reach. Setting the glass back on a kitchen counter, Emily returned to shift magazines, and chuck out a few of the pamphlets friends sent, with the best of intentions, about dealing with illness, and death. She made sure the Kleenex box remained close at hand, and that all the pill bottles were current. As she finally placed the new glass, she grabbed up glasses left from previous efforts to fatten him up.
“Thank you, waitress, but I think I’m ready for the check now,” Jos joked.
She looked down at his face, turned up towards hers but still horizontal. He looked pained, but still valiantly smiling.
“Drink it, Skinny, and dinner will be right up,” she said, smiling also but aware it didn’t hide her fear.
“I’m really not hungry, Em,” he said, apologetically.
She didn’t accept his apology. It was the line she’d drawn. She would understand his weakness, his slowing down, his resistance to taking pills, shots and tests. She would not tolerate his inability to eat. The doctors and nurses reported his diminishing weight to her in such solemn tones. The news had built in her mind into a primal terror, and she feared some black abyss that might overtake them if he slipped below 90 lbs. “Close your eyes, open your mouth and pour it down. You won’t feel a thing,” she said, turning back to the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to react when he didn’t do it.
“Honey, don’t make much for me, okay?” Jos called after her.
“Half a steak, okay?” Emily paused, forcing the pleading tone from her voice. “Come on, Jos, it’s steak!” She managed to fake enthusiasm. A year ago, steaks had been a treat they indulged at special moments. Now she bought them like a staple, and ignored the expense.
“There’s nothing on but news, Honey. What channel is Seinfeld on?” Jos asked.
“Five,” Emily answered, automatically. “But it’s not on for another hour or so, Honey. Why don’t you try the movie channels? There might be something you like there.”
She’d filled the laundry with the contents of the duffle, and the bag, but she sprinted upstairs to the bedroom for last night’s sheets and clean clothes for Jos. She dashed into the living room, and quickly but with great care helped him into a fresh t-shirt and sweats – ignoring the untouched shake – and added everything to the running washer.
“Honey, what are you doing?” Jos called.
“Switching laundry,” she called back from the laundry room, “You need something?” Without waiting for an answer, she dashed to the living room doorway.
“Yea, you. Can’t you sit down for a minute?” Jos patted a clear spot on the couch, above his head as he lay along the rest of it.
Emily tensed. She couldn’t sit down! There was so much to do… “You haven’t even tried to drink your shake. Come on, Jos, please?”
“If I drink it, will you sit down with me?” Jos smiled up at her. It was the mischievous smile that had led her to threaten to slap him on their second date, and that still gave her a thrilling crinkle in her toes as it had that night. She could never resist that smile.
“Okay,” she sighed, “but give me a sec.” She returned to the kitchen and glanced around. She quickly stuffed more dirty dishes into the soaking pan, and grabbed up the cordless phone and the mail.
Once seated, Jos slid up the couch to place his head on her lap. While her left hand checked messages and sorted the mail, awkwardly, her right gently rested on his scalp and the faint dusting of hair that still remained after the treatments he’d endured.
With the mail and messages acknowledged but dismissed for another time, Emily regarded the television screen. “What are we watching?,” she asked.
It was evident that Jos had been dozing. He started slightly, then took more time to focus and comprehend. “It’s about the making of the newest Bond flick,” he answered thickly.
“Oh, Jos, come on!” she reacted, “There has got to be something else. Please. Have a heart!”
“It’s all news, I swear it.” He responded, “Here, you try.” He gave up the remote so easily that it was obvious he really didn’t care.
Emily started to change the channel, then the mention of 007 sparked a memory. “Oh, hell!”
“You called?” Jos answered, unmoving.
“Don’t forget, Jos, you have a transfusion in the morning.” Emily said, grimacing.
She felt the muscles move in his face – a smile – “I didn’t forget. Did you?”
“How could I?” she nearly wailed, “We were going to rent videos!” Her voice turned apologetic. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Now we don’t have anything for you to watch while you get blood tomorrow.”
“It’s fine, honey, I’ve got the Bond films. There’s always that option.”
Emily grimaced again. He loved Bond, but she couldn’t stand them.
“I know they’re not your favorites,” he said without even looking at her, “But come on! It’s James Bond!”
“It’s not that,” she said, but it was. “I just can’t see watching them again. You’ve seen them all before. You know how they end. We were going to get something new…”
“Well, we can take them with, and you bring a book that you like, and we can always check the clinic’s selection.” He said, still without moving anything except his mouth. “We haven’t really explored the options there yet.”
Emily nodded her agreement, even though he couldn’t see. She’d love to read a novel. She had a trashy romance that would carry her miles away from Bond and blood and everything, and yet wouldn’t require brain cells.
She pointed the remote and zoomed through channels. They didn’t have very many – cable was a luxury they’d also indulged when he got sick, but she hadn’t gone crazy with the package she ordered. As she cycled through the stations a second time, she considered, again, upgrading.
A loud, high-pitched buzz sounded. The washer. “Hon,” Emily tapped Jos’ arm, “I gotta go. Dinner.”
For a second Jos didn’t respond. A tremor of fear passed through her while she waited for signs of life. Then he shifted, slowly. “I’m really not hungry, Em,” he murmured.
“You can try, right? Come on, Jos.” She tried to tease him. She reached for the shake. “Please, drink this, and I’ll get some dinner going.”
He sat up slowly and took the glass from her. He glared at it before putting the rim to his lips. He started to swallow and Emily slipped from the couch, leaving the remote beside him. Jos swallowed three large gulps before he pulled the glass away, glared at the remainder, and said, “No.”
Emily stood beside the couch and looked down at him, startled. “No? But you promised, Jos.”
His eyes closed, and she waited, watching to see if he swayed, dropped the glass or flung it across the room. Instead, his eyes opened again as he spoke, “I’ll drink this, but I can’t eat. Make yourself something, but not for me.”
“But Jos…” she started.
“No,” he said, quietly. “I can’t.”
Emily knew he meant it. Once upon a time, he’d have screamed and she’d have screamed back. The bleak, flat tone he now used didn’t make her happier. She actually missed the screaming.
She turned and looked in dismay at the kitchen. She didn’t know what to do if she only had to cook for her. She didn’t need steak (she’d gained a pound for every pound he lost, and gained,) so she put it back in the refrigerator – hopeful for tomorrow. She pulled together leftovers instead, still picking things that might tempt Jos into having ‘just a bite.’
She returned to the living room with her plate, intending to sit in the club chair. Instead, she saw that Jos had left a space for her on the couch again, so she sat there to eat.
He hadn’t changed the channel. It was still on the last concerned newscaster she’d found. She ate with one hand, and changed channels until she arrived at five. Seinfeld was due to start in less than an hour, and she figured she may as well watch the news report until it began.
Jos lay very still beside her. She looked down at him while she chewed, wondering if she should be more concerned about his coloring, his lack of affect, or the 1,001 other potential signs that could indicate he was in need of another emergency trip to the hospital.
“What?” Jos said, his eyes closed. “What are they saying?”
It took a moment for Emily to realize that he meant the newscaster, and another minute for her to follow what was being said.
“We had an earthquake,” she finally answered.
“Here,” he filled in.
His eyes were open now, and he was slowly sitting up. She was leaning toward the television. “What time was it?”
They listened, and Jos started to laugh. “It was while we were on our way home,” he said, chuckling. “We never even felt it.”
Unfortunately, his laughter turned to coughing. He reached over the empty shake glass for the Kleenex box, before he doubled up, retching.
Emily didn’t help him. She knew there was nothing she could do; another hard lesson learned. Instead she studied the screen. “Someone died,” she reported solemnly.
Jos recovered and watched as well. A building in the SODO district had collapsed, and a man had died in Wedgewood from a heart attack. As they watched, Jos slowly shrank down until he listed slightly. Emily reached out and guided him to lean on her. He put his head on her shoulder and she wrapped her warm arm around his cold form.
They stayed like that for a while, watching ‘Quake Coverage’. It had been a bad one, and she glanced around the living room for signs she may have missed. Everything seemed the same. The piles may have shifted, she realized, but the mess was still a mess.
Finally, she looked back at the television and her frustration boiled over, “What about Seinfeld?” she murmured, petulantly.
Jos tried to console her, “It’ll come on soon.”
Emily closed her eyes, resigning herself, “the show is supposed to start soon, but they aren’t even close to ending news coverage. It’s preempted.” She sat up straighter, starting to lever him back to a prone position. “I better go. Dishes.”
Her plate sat on a nearby end table. She hadn’t finished, and he hadn’t eaten, but she knew it was time to wrap up the leftovers for another time. She needed to clean, and sweep, and maybe return a few calls plus paying bills…
Jos was sinking into the sofa, but still his voice carried to her clearly. “Em? Sit down, please.”
She smiled at him as she gained her feet. “I’ve got to get the chores done. It’s almost bedtime.” She grabbed his empty glass, wondering about making another shake.
“Come sit down, huh?” He asked, again, now looking up at her.
“Jos, please, be reasonable…” She smiled. He knew she had work to do. He couldn’t be serious. She picked up her plate.
“Em!” he shouted, in the direction of the t.v. Emily nearly dropped the dishes. She hadn’t known he had it in him.
“Listen,” he said, his voice quieter, and raspy, “I don’t have much time left. I can’t stand it anymore. All I want is for you to sit with me. The dishes will still be there, later.”
Emily stared at him, feeling the world shake beneath her.
He was the one that always talked about next year, and the year after. He was the one that talked about cures, and relapses. He talked about all that they would do, when he got well. He talked about Christmas, and his 40th birthday next year.
She was the one that stayed practical, and immediate. She held things together, thought about today, while he dreamed about the future. She focused on the chores and the bills and work, and the problems of today. She knew that if she kept moving life couldn’t end, and love couldn’t end, this soon.
Absently, Emily set the plate back on the end table, with the glass upon it, but she watched Jos, who had closed his eyes again. She didn’t even flinch when the dishes clattered, and something fell. She remained focused on him. “Is there anything you want to talk about, Honey?” she asked, as her throat closed up and tears sprang to her eyes.
“No, I just want to spend time with you.” Jos lay still on the couch, the Kleenex he’d used having slipped from his fingers and onto the floor to join a dozen others similarly discarded.
Emily carefully sat down on the couch again, placing a hand on his head. Her other hand she pressed to her chest, hoping to keep the pain in her heart from bursting out.
Jos started to shift – to put his head on her lap – and she had to help him. Once in place, he lay very still for several minutes, resting, then he spoke again, “I’m sorry ‘bout Seinfeld, Honey,” he reassured her, “but remember, M*A*S*H is on later.”
Emily smiled down at him. The last thing of every day was half an hour of M*A*S*H, with her sitting in the club chair. She knew he tried not to bother her, and for this half-an-hour every day she didn’t do a single chore.
“I know, Honey,” she responded, reassuring him, “that will fix me right up.”
Emily looked at the television, but didn’t see it. She did see the piles of stuff, the backlog of work, the never ending chores just out of reach as she sat on the couch.
She looked down at the bare scalp, sunken and grey, of Jos. She switched hands, moving the one from her chest to his head, and the other to his bony arm, with its cold, sagging skin. She grabbed an afghan she kept on the back of the couch and pulled it over him, leaving it loose in case a fever came on and he had to throw it off.
She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes. She felt the shaking finally subside deep inside her, and her world reassert itself. She opened her eyes, grabbed the remote and switched off the television. She gave her attention to the couch, and caresses, and the chores faded from her world.
“I love you, Sweetheart.”
“Love you more.”
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©2013 Kirby Lindsay. This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Reproduction, adaptation or distribution without permission is prohibited.