by J. L. Salter
“Banged my elbow.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the back side of his elbow.
Her impatience was quite visible.
“Oh, you mean, how. Well, I guess I was lightheaded from lack of food or something. Anyway, I lost my balance on that narrow path from the door to the tiny bed, then I fell over and hit your exercise walker.”
“You toppled onto my mom’s treadmill? That’s way over against the wall!” Amanda started down the hallway. “Come show me.”
Jason followed behind, limping. “Well, it was a combination of collisions, actually. Tripped on the narrow path, tried to get my balance on some of those boxes stacked along the sides. Then fell over those and landed next to the tread thing. Tripped on some giant bricks and busted my elbow on the iron rail.”
“I think that’s aluminum. But I’m sure it hurt anyway.”
“Did you know somebody’s got bricks stacked in there?”
“It’s come to my attention, yes.” Exactly who does he think “somebody” is? Amanda reached for his arm. “Let me see the injury.”
Jason groaned theatrically as she gently examined it.
“Well, it’s not what I’d consider a fatal wound, but I do see some bruising. You’re wanting to wrap it?”
“Yeah. It’s throbbing and stuff.”
“Wrapping an elbow just makes it stiff. That might not be the best thing…”
“Do you have a bandage or not?”
“Yeah, somewhere.” She eyed him closely. “No reason to get testy.”
“I’m in pain here, you know.”
“Yeah. Plus the residual sniffles and that deadly temp that lingers around 98.7 degrees.”
“And my—” cough, cough “—cough.”
“Of course.” She sighed. “I’ll get the Ace thingy.”
She returned shortly. “Hold it out.” She wrapped his elbow fully extended, tight and stiff. “Can you wiggle your fingers?”
He wiggled. “Yeah.”
“If your lower arm starts to turn colors, be sure to loosen that wrap.”
Jason looked startled. “What colors?”
“Oh, I’d guess slightly red at first. Then white from reduction of blood flow. Then bluish-black, maybe. Probably solid black next, and then green, I think.”
“Green?” His eyes got wide.
“Gangrene. Doesn’t it turn green? Or is that a figure of speech? Maybe it stays black. Whatever. If it gets past red and white, just loosen the wrap.”
Jason kept wiggling his fingers and watching for color changes.
That could entertain him for hours.
“I can’t stay long. I’ve got an appointment. But I’ll be back and then I’ve got a small committee meeting here around 7:30.”
“Here? Another frazzlin’ meeting? Does the entire city of Verdeville conduct its business from your apartment? Who is it this time?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, Mister Uninvited. But my guests are Maria, Sunny, Christine. That’s it.”
“Do you realize that you four do everything together? Cards, crops, committees… and that expensive session selling makeup. I’d think you’d all be sick of looking at the same faces everywhere you go!” It came out with more intensity than he’d likely intended.
“Now you’re insulting my friends? What next, Jason?”
He groaned and sighed at the same time. “I was hoping we could spend a little time together. You know, talk and stuff.”
“We’ll have time to talk after you recover and move out. Right now you need to heal and I’ve got important things going on. There are other circumstances in my life, you know, besides dealing with temporary invalids.”
Jason had tuned her out. He was flipping through the paper from that morning. “Doesn’t Penney’s always have a sale flyer?”
“I’ve seen lots of their sales advertised.”
“Did they stop putting them in the newspaper?”
“I don’t figure they run every day. Maybe just Sundays.” She was guessing.
“This is Sunday. Today’s paper.” He held it up as proof. “No flyer.”
Her hand moved to her mouth to cover a growing smile. On Christine’s advice, Amanda had extracted that mini-catalog sale insert before Jason got up that morning. “Uh, I hate to break it to you, but they stopped selling sporting goods and hardware when you were in elementary school.”
“Huh? Oh, ha ha.”
“I’m surprised you even noticed the mini-catalogs from that store. Just clothes and linens, mostly.”
“Well, I like to keep up with current events.” He obviously punted.
“In the realm of fashion and home decor?”
“Cheese Louise. Ask a simple question and you have to go through the Spanish Imposition.”
Amanda didn’t correct him. She figured his very lightly fevered brain, coupled with frustrated hormones, had skewed his word discernment. “I’ll be back before 7:30. If my guests arrive, open the door and then dash back to the guestroom. I don’t want them shocked by whatever shows above the saggy waistband of your jammies.”
She left without waiting for a whiny reply.
* * * *
Amanda had met Jason’s mother on several occasions and had visited in her home at least twice. She liked the 62-year-old widow who seemed considerably younger. Mrs. Stewart was attractive, slender, and nearly always dressed like she expected company. She tended flowers and other plants, both inside and out, and kept a clean house. Margaret had regular activities with friends her own age and participated in most of her church’s functions. She also read a lot and possessed a considerable amount of common sense.
The Mayfield Avenue neighborhood was what is often called settled: established in the 1960s and nicely laid out with tall and lush trees on generously-sized lots. Amanda admired the pretty flower beds and welcoming porch of the ranch style, about forty years old.
Margaret opened the door before Amanda even knocked. “Come on in. You must be exhausted.” She motioned to a living room chair. “It’s been a full week now, hasn’t it?”
Amanda nodded and sat. She was slightly surprised that Jason’s mother was so sympathetic. “It’s been pretty rough. A lot worse than his alleged illness in January.”
“Is Jason behaving worse, or is it because of your stress at work?”
“Not sure. I guess Jason’s about the same, but… this probably sounds awful, I guess, but I don’t find him nearly as endearing as he seemed in January.”
Margaret smiled. “From what I recall, his previous cold wasn’t all that charming to you at the time.”
“No. But we’d just gotten serious a couple of months before January. So our relationship was still pretty new.”
“A honeymoon period of sorts. You had more tolerance then. More patience.”
“Yeah, I guess I sort of enjoyed feeling needed then. But now it feels different, dealing with a needy man.” Amanda stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t say that to Jason’s mother.”
“That’s okay. I know Jason pretty well myself. He can be very needy at times. He was my youngest, you know.”
“Well, that’s partly why I’m here, to get your input on some things. But first I need to tell you that I haven’t exactly been Nurse Nancy, tending to his every whim. In fact, I’ve been more like Stern Stella — trying to make him miserable enough to go home to his own apartment.”
“Oh, I already know. Christine called me early this past week and I’ve been reading her blog since the second day.” Margaret chuckled. “That Jason surely is stubborn. Most men would’ve escaped by the fourth day, if not sooner. Even if they had to crawl out a second-story window. But he’s already lasted six full days.”
So Christine had also told Margaret… which brought the total to at least eleven people who knew about the secret project. “I didn’t realize you already knew about the strategy Christine devised. You know, without her help, I’d have been the one jumping out of
windows by now.” Amanda sighed. “Christine’s Scare-Cure is pretty comprehensive.”
“Jason brought this on himself. When you first stated you didn’t want him to stay over, he blew it by insisting. So, in my opinion, he’s getting what he deserves. Men can be so dense at times.”
“You don’t think I’m being too hard on him?”
“Oh, I’d call it tough love of a sort.” Margaret was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I had to do that with his daddy.”
“All this elaborate scheming of Christine’s?”
“Oh, no. Not nearly this elaborate.” Margaret’s expression softened, as if with a fond memory.
“So what did you do?
“Well, a lot of these far-flung strategies of Christine’s weren’t even in play back then. You know, no Internet and such. So back then, I had to search for the simplest elements.”
Amanda was imagining a leather harness or a muzzle. “What’d you use?”
“Hot water.”
“You scalded your husband?”
Margaret smiled. “Oh, no. Just the opposite. I blew out the pilot light on our old hot water heater and told Henry it was broken. I flat out lied… said the technician was swamped and couldn’t come until sometime the next week.”
“Well, that sounds okay as far as it went. So he’s got no hot water to shave or bathe.” Amanda was puzzled. “How did that cure him of colds?”
“Well, you see, I stopped bathing, too.” Margaret laughed. “No deodorant, no makeup… and I didn’t shave my legs.”
Amanda smiled broadly. “So guys with man-colds got horny in the 1960s and 70s also?”
“Of course. Even up through the 1990s. But I surely didn’t want to get close to all that mucous and such, so I made certain he wouldn’t want to be around me, either.”
“Pretty drastic.”
“Drastic times.” Margaret nodded. “I needed him up and out, and back to work. Sympathy and sex weren’t going to get him moving in the right direction.”
“So your cold water strategy worked?”
“Henry was off the couch by the third day.” Margaret’s hand made a quick sideways whoosh. “By the way, there was a bonus in that little episode.”
Amanda looked puzzled.
“I had a birthday later that same month. Henry got me a new water heater.”
“Very thoughtful and personal gift.” Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Oh, that was fine with me. We didn’t have all that much money back then and I really wanted a new water heater. That old one was secondhand — only held about twenty gallons and the burner unit was on its last legs. You couldn’t wash dishes and take a bath in the same evening unless you waited a couple of hours.” Margaret chuckled again. “Yeah, my Henry realized he didn’t ever want me looking and smelling like that again.”
They talked a bit more about Jason and about flowers. Margaret offered to make some tea, but Amanda had to hurry home for the evening meeting Christine had scheduled.
* * * *
Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold
Day Seven
During the afternoon, we had a team supposedly shampooing the carpets in Missy’s apartment. All they really did was wet the floor with spray bottles and then roll a noisy shop-vacuum over it. The result was that Marty had to tiptoe on paper towels spaced along the edges of the rooms and hall.
For the evening activity, Missy hosted a publicity committee meeting for an upcoming program similar to the national effort called No Child Left Behind. This particular session might have been called no snacks left behind, however, because we took everything with us, including the trash. I smuggled out the remaining oatmeal raisin cookies. [This Scare-Cure is frightening my diet as much as anything else!]
Yet he’s not sick. All Marty has to do is walk out. What on earth is keeping him there? Missy and I both agree he’s stubbornly holding out for some TLC, but surely it HAS to be more complex than that. Doesn’t it?
All that evening and night, the apartment A/C ran again, but Missy had closed the vent in the guestroom back on Day Five. Ha!
Missy phoned me with some of today’s developments. At present, Marty looks like an ambulance victim. I guess I forgot to mention that yesterday his right arm was in a makeshift sling. He just told Missy that he threw out his shoulder somehow, but we know it’s because he was dumping that dissolved candy bar in the trash can!
The injury today involved his left elbow. Claims he tripped on a brick and careened into a treadmill. I’ll probably have to rent a wheelchair before this case is over.
What an actor! Someday there might be an award for the best ‘sick’ performance of a cold victim. And Marty should win, hands down, since he’s been clever enough to add the exaggerated injury spectrum. I predict, very soon, many of these victims will sustain such injuries and develop a limp just like Marty’s.
He has seized on the previously missing component of the entire phenomena: visually manifested pain! Most of the rather uninventive man-cold sufferers of previous generations typically relied on manufactured sneezes and fakey coughs. But having Ace bandages and arm slings solidifies the sympathy factor. He’s brilliant!
With his left elbow wrapped tightly — fully extended — and his right forearm in a pretend sling, I don’t know how he manages the normal bathroom functions. But let’s not contaminate our brain cells with such images.
By the end of today, Day Seven, Marty has survived six full days of this Scare-Cure. No sign of leaving yet.
Check back tomorrow evening for the report of my best gimmick so far.
Almira Gulch.
.
Amanda sighed heavily. Since this carpet cleaning team likely had two members, the new total was now at least thirteen individuals who knew about her supposedly secret project! That assumed the woman who conducted the make-over session was completely out of the loop.
Chapter 13
August 17 (Monday)
For the patient’s breakfast Amanda brought out the hemp and flax granola cereal boxes, plus the artificial soy milk cousin.
Jason kept his distance from all three containers.
“So what are you going to do? Just suck down another half tube of toothpaste?”
“I thought I’d take a few swigs of that prune stuff. The nasty taste kinda grows on you. Plus, it’s keeping my insides cleaned out, so your witch friend won’t keep harping about colon sweeps.”
“Whatever.” She returned to her bedroom to finish getting ready for work.
Jason did not appear to notice the air was comfortable after the overnight cooling by the conditioning unit. In a few minutes, Amanda would flip the breaker again and the temperature would rise dramatically as the day went forward.
That day’s strange remedy — carefully choreographed by devious Christine — was a morning treatment instead of midday, as the others had been. It was also the first therapy administered by Amanda without Christine’s presence or apparent involvement.
Jason sat on the couch and looked for the TV remote. Perhaps he figured a few hours of snow and white noise might calm his starvation agitation.
“I have to leave soon, but there’s time for today’s alternative therapy treatment.”
As she completed that sentence, Jason covered his right nipple reflexively. “No more chest hair yanking.”
“Nothing to do with your chest.”
Jason relaxed slightly.
“Christine discovered an Oriental treatment which focuses on the pelvis — the breeding ground for life, but also the landfill for germs. Especially the cold virus. So it’s necessary to draw out the impurities. She said I’m supposed to ask if you agree to try this therapy.”
If Jason had been listening to many of those words, he would have realized they were practically gibberish. But apparently all he heard was the noun pelvis. So his brain switched from thought activity to sensation processes. He clearly got excited and all of Amanda’s explanation was likely a fog of yada-yada. He should have listened
more carefully. Jason mustered only a single-word reply: “Agreed.” And he nodded a lot.
“Stand up and pull down your PJs.”
With the pitiful sprung-out elastic barely keeping his pajama bottoms up to his hip bones, all Jason had to do was shrug twice for them to drop to his knees. They did. He stood there looking at his uncovered pelvic region. “Boy, I’m glad we’re finally getting to the root of the problem… my illness, I mean. Good thing your friend finally located that article about pelvis impurities. I saw something about that on the Discovery Channel last month, I think.”
“Would you rather sit or stand?”
Jason’s legs began to tremble. “Sit. Don’t want to keel over, you know.”
“Wait. Put this towel down. Don’t want to get anything on the couch.”
“Sure. Towel.” Jason’s vocabulary seemed limited to one- and two-syllable words and no complete sentences. It was similar to his state after the panther dream, though clearly prompted by passion rather than fear.
“Ready?”
Jason nodded eagerly. He’d obviously been ready for nearly eight days.
“Might ought to close your eyes.”
“Okay.”
“Let me hold your hand.”
He nodded and extended his right hand.
From a mostly concealed container, Amanda extracted a large scoop of petroleum jelly and glopped it onto his hand.
“What?” Jason opened his eyes when the jelly hit his palm.
She clamped Jason’s hand over his pelvic region.
The patient winced and groaned when his own hand made contact. “What the creepin’ crud?”
“To draw out the impurities from that garbage dump for germs that’s inside your pelvis. Just like I said.”
“Wait a minute!” His eyes began watering. “Hey, this stuff burns!”
“It’s mentholated, silly. You can’t expect the regular kind to draw out any impurities.”
“But my crotch is on fire!”
“That’s just the ointment working.” Very businesslike. “Now you can’t touch that area for 24 hours.” Amanda reached over to the table. “Here’s some oven mitts to remind you. Hands off.” She went to the sink to wash her hands.
