Cheapskate in Love

by Booth, Skittle

  But first a person must lift their eyes from the ground and look around to see the grandeur of the place. Bill trudged on the trail, weighed down by the backpack. He was always behind Linda with his eyes cast down at his feet, cringing inside with each step forward, and frequently glaring at the back of Linda. She marched ahead, vigorously swinging her arms, never looking back or talking to him.

  For hours, they walked on with only brief stops to drink water or have a snack. Bill fell further and further behind. Sometimes when the path curved enough, he lost sight of Linda altogether. He tried to hurry when that happened and catch up, but the longer they hiked the less able he was to close the distance between them. Since he rarely exercised, he tired quickly. His dislike for walking up and down hills and indifference to nature further dampened his ability to match Linda’s pace. Only his interest in Linda encouraged him to keep moving, but there wasn’t enough of that to help him move as fast as her.

  When they had been walking for over three hours, a light rain, which the clouds had threatened all day, finally began to fall. Bill was a hundred feet behind Linda when he felt drops of rain land on his head. This was the moment he had been waiting for. His energy shot up, and euphoria seized him. “Linda, Linda,” he shouted. “Can you wait a moment?” With his new-found stamina, Bill broke into a jog to catch up with her. “Linda, wait,” he yelled, racing as much as he could with the backpack.

  Linda had heard him call her both times, but only after the second cry did she reluctantly stop and turn around. “Walk faster,” she said, when he caught up to her, panting.

  “I felt a few drops of rain,” Bill said. “We had better turn back. We’re a long way from the car. It could start to pour any second now.”

  Without hesitation, Linda replied, “Give me an umbrella.”

  Thinking that they had no choice but to return to the car, Bill pulled an umbrella out of the backpack and handed it to her, lying, “Too bad it had to rain. It’s such a nice place to walk. The trails just go on and on. It’s so invigorating, such good exercise. We should come here again soon.” Bill secretly planned never to come back for any reason whatsoever.

  Linda opened the umbrella and held it over her head. “Rain doesn’t matter,” she declared. She resumed walking on the trail in the same direction as before.

  Bill watched her walk away, and his willpower collapsed. Without opening an umbrella for himself, he began to follow her, more slowly than ever, his eyes fastened on the ground. A sense of doom lay heavy upon him. He saw no way to escape the torture Linda was inflicting upon him. By the time she tired, he would be exhausted. He felt like a prisoner of war, deep in the enemy’s territory, from which there was no hope of rescue. The rain began to fall a little harder, and his hair stuck to his scalp. They were ascending a rather steep incline, and on the right side the ground dropped away from the rocky path precipitously.

  A drop of rain ran into his eye, and Bill looked up at the sky to see if there was any sign of lightning. That would be a reason, he thought, to force Linda to return. While gazing upward, he stubbed his foot on a rock. Jerking his foot back from the pain, he lost his balance and fell to the side off the trail. He landed on his back, six feet down the slope, where the ground evened out slightly. He lay on top of the backpack, as drops of rain came through the canopy of tree branches above him, sprinkling his face.

  For a moment, he didn’t move. He had made a considerable amount of noise falling from the trail, and he wondered if Linda was returning to see what had happened. He couldn’t hear her. Since he was uncertain that she would come looking for him, he tried to raise himself.

  “Ooooww,” he screamed. In his fall, Bill had pulled a muscle in his back. “Linda, help. My back.” He tried to move again. “Ooowww.” Louder he shouted, “Linda, help.”

  After a few minutes, Linda returned to the spot on the trail above him. Holding her umbrella steady over her head, she looked at him without any feeling, as if she was at a Chinese fish market selecting what she would have for dinner.

  “Linda, I hurt my back,” he whined. “You have to help me. I can’t move. I think I need an ambulance. See?” Bill tried to roll on his side. “Ooowww, my back.” He returned to lying flat on his back. As he lay on the ground in the uncomfortable position on top of the backpack, pain, fatigue, and need were plainly visible on his face. He lifted his hands a little toward Linda, beseeching her for help.

  In response to his appeal, without moving or displaying any emotion, she told him, “Get up.”

  Chapter 9

  At church the next day, Helen did not see Bill. It was unusual for him to be absent. He was almost always at the same service she went to, sitting close to the front on the right side, near the statue of the Virgin Mary. In that sculpture, Mary was depicted as an attractive, young woman without her child, raising her hands from her sides, as if she was about to give a warm embrace. That sculpture was why he sat there, Helen had thought many times before.

  When Helen didn’t see Bill at the service, instinctively she knew that something was wrong. He might lust after pretty young women—real women, not statues—and wish out loud for frequent play time with one of them, but that was just talk. She was sure of it. He had been repeating such things since he was a teenager, she sensed. For many years, she had seen that he was a regular churchgoer and active within the church community. She couldn’t explain to herself what might have prevented him from attending church, especially since it seemed that he had broken up with Linda again three days earlier. When he wasn’t trying to please a pretty young thing like Linda, Helen was quite certain he wasn’t doing much of anything, except moping.

  When she returned to the apartment building after church, Helen asked Jonathan at the front desk if he had seen Bill. “No, not today,” he said. “Yesterday, he went hiking with Linda. Or that’s where he said he was going.”

  “Really?” said Helen. “He went hiking?” She knew he was not the outdoors or athletic type.

  “They were supposed to go to Bear Mountain.”

  “I wonder if he saw a bear there,” she said.

  “Maybe he walked with one.”

  “He probably got mauled,” she conjectured. “I think someone should see what shape he’s in.”

  “Maybe he’s still in the bear’s cave,” Jonathan suggested.

  “That’s doubtful,” she said, walking toward Bill’s apartment. “Bears only like other bears. Bill is more of a weasel.”

  When Helen arrived at his apartment, she listened outside the door. She didn’t hear anything on the inside. Pressing her ear to the door, she thought she discerned some low human noises, but she wasn’t sure. Standing back from the door, deliberating, the idea came to her to look into the apartment from the outside, so she went to the nearest exit.

  When she came to the window of his apartment—she had gone through the bushes and flowers that surrounded the apartment building, so she was next to the glass—his blinds were open. One section of his window was slightly ajar, so it was possible to hear any sounds that came from inside. Placing her face against the glass, she could see his bed, which was the nearest piece of furniture to the window. On the bed, she could make out a body that appeared to be Bill’s. Although the middle section had the round mound that she associated with him and the clothes looked familiar, it was difficult to identify the body clearly. The head was angled away from the window, and there was a pillow in between the head and her line of vision. Whoever’s body it might be was still fully clothed. Even shoes were on the feet. As she was wondering who it was, moans of deep pain and complete exhaustion arose from the body, and Helen was positive they came from Bill. She tapped on the window with her index finger to get his attention.

  “Bill, Bill. Are you all right?” she asked. There was no reply, so she tapped harder.

  “Bill, answer me. Are you OK? Do you need some help? What’s wrong?”

  He moaned. Weakly, he motioned with a hand, waving at her to leave. In a faint
voice, which she could barely hear, he said, “Go away. Go away.” He did not know or try to see who was at the window. He was too miserable to care about anyone beside himself.

  Helen understood what she had to do. She disappeared from Bill’s window, breaking the bushes and flowers in her haste to get away.

  Approximately five minutes later, there was loud, urgent pounding on Bill’s door, which rudely stirred him awake. He opened his eyes. A voice he identified as Jonathan’s disturbed his rest even more. “Bill, are you in there? Open up.” Bill responded, as well as he was able to, “Go away. I’m busy.” But no one heard him. He could then distinguish a woman’s voice in the hallway, which said, “I think he’s hurt. He wasn’t in church at his regular time. He rarely misses this service. He’s usually an usher.” He realized Helen was speaking and scowled.

  Bill heard keys being tried in the locks of his door and feebly attempted to move from his bed and prevent an intrusion, but he only succeeded in raising his head a little. He was so physically weak that he decided to stay where he was and hope that the proper keys would not be found. He let his head drop back on the pillow and lay still, anticipating that he would soon be left alone. Not long afterwards, he was cruelly disappointed. His door was unlocked, and Helen rushed into his apartment past Jonathan, who held the door open for her.

  She went straight to Bill’s bed, without stopping to notice the state of mess the apartment was in, and stood over him, looking at him with genuine concern. “Bill, what’s wrong?” she asked solicitously. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  Because of the intruders inside his apartment, Bill made a greater effort to raise himself and show once and for all that he was not in need of any special attention. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he assured them. He shifted his weight to his right side, which was nearest the door of his apartment, and struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Helen observed how long it took him to do this without saying anything, although she was thinking plenty. When he had raised his torso halfway from the bed, he irritated his torn back muscles and shouted in extreme pain, “Oooowww.” He flopped back onto the bed like an ice skater, who suddenly loses his footing and falls.

  “Bill, tell me what hurts,” Helen demanded.

  “My back. I can’t move my back,” he admitted. Pain made him humble and honest.

  Jonathan, who was still standing at the door, heard him and said to Helen, “I’ll go call an ambulance.”

  “Bill, we’re going to get an ambulance for you,” she said. “Don’t move. That may make the injury worse. The ambulance should be here...”

  “No. No ambulance,” he interrupted. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine. I just need to rest. I’ll be OK, if I just get some rest.”

  “Bill, don’t be stubborn,” Helen warned. “You’re hurt, and you should see a doctor to make sure there’s no serious damage.”

  “I’m all right,” Bill replied. “I just had a little fall. It was nothing. You can go now. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll lock up behind you.”

  He started to move sideways on the bed to reach the edge. He wiggled his legs, then his rear, then his shoulders, repeating the process again and again, until he could swing his legs off the bed and stand up. He moved as fast as a caterpillar.

  “Don’t try to move,” she said. “Just lie there. No, don’t move. You don’t need to get up. We have the keys. Don’t move.” Helen attempted to hold him on the bed with gentle, coaxing pressure, but Bill brusquely swung his legs, and the rest of his body rolled off after them, because he was unable to lift his torso. It hurt his back too much to try to rise into a sitting position. He was also too weak to grab onto the bed and catch himself. Helen tried to push him back from falling, but he was too heavy, and she was too mild-mannered. He fell to the floor on his side with a firm thud.

  Kneeling next to him, she asked, “Are you OK? Bill, are you OK? I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop you.”

  Shaking off the slight daze from the impact of another fall, he groaned, “Oh, my back, my back.”

  “Let’s get you up on the bed again. It’s more comfortable,” she urged.

  “No. Let me lie here,” he told her, trying to move into a more comfortable position. “I’m—ow!—I’m fine. Lock the door behind you when you go. I’ll be all right. Ow!”

  “Let me help you get on your back,” she said. “That would be better.” He didn’t resist, as she pushed and pulled him with both of her hands, until he lay flat on his back.

  That position brought some relief to the invalid, and he lay on the floor without more struggle.

  “If you don’t want a doctor, at least let me get you some pain medication,” she suggested.

  Bill paused to consider what she said. On the one hand, he did not want to appear dependent on the assistance of others. In his mind, that would be an indication of age and weakness. On the other hand, he really needed the medicine.

  “OK. Extra strength aspirin would be good,” he said.

  “I have some codeine,” she offered.

  “Even better,” he replied. The thought of receiving a powerful, pharmaceutical drug made him feel as if he was already starting to recover.

  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” she advised. Standing up, she hastened out of his apartment. Jonathan left with her, locking the door behind.

  When Bill was sure they were gone, he felt his strength return. In reality, it was his pride, masquerading as strength, that came back. He decided to show them that they had merely caught him at a bad moment. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He didn’t need any pain medication. He certainly didn’t need any kind words. He would be standing at the door when Helen came back with the codeine, and he would wave her away, saying she should find a suitable subject for her well-meaning charity.

  But there was a slight hitch in his plans: It was still extremely painful for him to move. Despite yelling and cursing so loudly that residents up and down the hallway outside his apartment could hear, and even people at the swimming pool turned to look in his direction, wondering if someone was being murdered, Bill could only raise, push, and pull himself back onto the bed. There he lay, trembling, sweating, and panting, waiting like a wounded animal for Helen to return.

  Chapter 10

  An hour later, Bill was sleeping soundly on his bed. He had taken the codeine pills from Helen, with very little show of self-reliant pride. In fact, because he only had strength to raise his head a little, he had allowed her to put the pills in his mouth and drank two cups of water from the glass that she held to his lips. She could see from the way he greedily slurped up the contents of the first glass that he was thirsty, so she demanded that he have another glass. Like a sick child, he submitted without any argument, although his mouth contorted itself into a slight pout at being told what to do. Within minutes of finishing the second glass of water, he had slipped into the world of dreams.

  Jonathan was waiting at the door to lock Bill’s apartment, after Helen finished administering the medicine. But Helen thought she should stay a while, watching Bill, in case a more serious problem appeared. She told Jonathan she would remain, until Bill woke up and confirmed that he was feeling better.

  “That’s very nice of you,” Jonathan said. “Call me if you need help. I hope he appreciates what you’re doing for him.”

  “Thanks, Jonathan,” Helen answered. “He should, but whether he will is another question. Guys find it hard to be grateful. It rubs their ego the wrong way.”

  “That sounds about right,” he replied, closing the door, not thinking that what she said might apply to him. “He can have a fat head.” Jonathan hustled back to the front desk and resumed playing a game on his cell phone.

  Left alone in the apartment, Helen finally had an opportunity to look around and see what was there. Before she had been unable to notice much in her rush to help Bill and had only received a vague impression that the place was rather disorganized and dirty. A very brief tour o
f the dining area, living area, kitchen, bathroom, and closets strengthened her initial opinion into a certainty. “God, what a pig,” she said to herself. “No woman has been in here for a while, unless it was a sow.” Right then, a rude animal sound startled her, and she momentarily thought a sow might actually be in the apartment, concealed in the clutter, but when she heard the sound again she perceived that it came from the top of the bed. Bill had begun to snore.

  To pass the time until Bill awoke, Helen looked for something to read. There was no bookcase in the apartment, and at first she couldn’t see any books, except a bible and some religious volumes. But by searching through the litter on top of the dining table, she discovered a book, How to Be a Billionaire. An involuntary laugh burst out of her. She wondered how far Bill was on his way to becoming a billionaire. There didn’t seem to be any signs of his success in the apartment. She looked at him sleeping and couldn’t detect any mega-rich glow emanating from his body. Not that there would be, she thought, if by some chance he became wealthy. She had observed well-to-do people, people born into mounds of money or lucky in their career, and most of the time she thought average working-class people made a better impression than they did. Since she didn’t know how to become a billionaire, she thought it might be worthwhile to read the book, although she wasn’t interested in adopting any new precepts for herself. Maybe in the future she could quiz Bill about his money-making progress.

  With the book, she went to the couch and sat down. To her alarm, she sank further toward the floor than she expected; she wondered how difficult it was going to be to stand up again. Why would anyone keep such a worn-out piece of cheap furniture, she asked herself. Especially a want-to-be billionaire, she thought, remembering the book. She laughed again. Soon she was paging through the book, reading as well as she could amidst Bill’s thunderous, rhythmic snoring, which was like the crashing of the surf on a rocky beach.