Mr. Pelham Interuptis

Myrtle sighed. This was not a new problem. For the past three years, students had voted Max Pelham the worst teacher in the Commercial Arts Department, a dubious honour he chose to ignore. What students thought just wasn’t important to him. He believed himself to be superior to all students, and most everyone else as well, and apparently this was all that mattered to him.

But Myrtle knew such a haughty confidence only ever betrayed raging insecurities beneath the surface. She had at one time or another met people who had something to be arrogant about, and noticed they never were. She had figured out that any arrogance was only so much whistling past the graveyard at midnight ~ always a rather lame attempt to disguise quivering fear. Nevertheless, Pelham regularly insisted that his students didn’t learn because they were all stupid, despite the fact that some of these same students were among the department’s most promising talent. So the reality was, he only made himself look the fool, but apparently didn't realize it.

The girls sat down in Myrtle's office and the one who was already crying started pulling tissues from the proffered box. For Myrtle it was deja vu. But she threaded her fingers together on her desk and listened attentively to their complaints. Then she comforted them, explained to them what she'd learned about people like Pelham, and challenged them to make a complaint to the college administration. But the girls were afraid of repercussions if they did.

"There's only so much I can do then," said Myrtle, shrugging. "When people are afraid to face a situation squarely, it can't be resolved squarely either. You should give it some careful thought, but you should also keep it in perspective and not miss your next class," she said. Then she stood, gave them each a hug, and ushered them out the door.

Myrtle sighed, wondering why everything always happened all at once. Just then, Pelham himself strode through her door. She turned and glared at him from her one good eye as he took an aggressive stance in front of her. Without bothering with the formality of a greeting, pleasant or otherwise, he leaned toward Myrtle and declared, "I swear to God, Myrtle, they’re all too stupid to live!"

"Who?" asked Myrtle innocently.

"Why... the students!" he bellowed. "It’s too frustrating! I take the time to explain to them... I give them the benefit... and they don’t get it! We’re raising idiots these days!"

Myrtle sat back down in her chair and regarded him calmly. "Funny," she said.

"It’s not funny at all!" he blustered. Then he stopped and looked at Myrtle more closely. She had crossed her arms and wasn’t exactly looking amused. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

She uncrossed her arms. "It’s funny that a lot of these same students get good grades in their other classes. And it’s funny that the other teachers don’t complain about them being stupid," she said, gazing sternly at him.

He just stood staring haughtily back at Myrtle, but slowly turned red, and then an interesting shade of purple as he gradually realized that Myrtle was not intimidated by his attitude.

Simply put, Myrtle had no time for his pomposity, so she cut him off even before he could begin any rants. "I don't believe, Dick doesn't believe, the Dean doesn't believe these students are stupid. They helped pass these students through the admissions process." She paused to let that sink in a bit, then continued. "You may wish to consider, Mr. Pelham, that you are a contract instructor who has not yet been offered tenure by this college," she said quietly. "You may also want to bear in mind that past student evaluations of your teaching abilities have been less than favourable." Myrtle’s eye narrowed even more as she uncrossed her legs and leaned across her desk toward him. "One might wonder just how many enemies you can really afford to make."

Pelham backed up a couple of steps, his eyes slowly widening. He had expected Myrtle to be sympathetic, but something was terribly wrong. Suddenly he spun around.... "Of course," added Myrtle with a polite smile, as he strode to the doorway to leave, "if you want to complain to Dick about your students, I’d be happy to book you an appointment," she chirped. But by the time she’d finished, Max Pelham was striding away down the hallway out of earshot.

Myrtle sighed again and sat back in her chair, just as Dick came through the door, looking around to see who Myrtle was talking to. "Something?" he inquired.

"Max Pelham was just in here, complaining about his students again," she explained.

Dick’s eyes took on a slightly panicked look. "Do I have to listen to him again?" he asked.

Myrtle chuckled and shook her head. "No, I don’t think he wants to complain to you this time."

Just as Dick began showing signs of relief, she added, "but don’t get the idea this is the last you’ll hear of it, because I bet it isn’t," she smiled.

As Dick slowly digested this tidbit, Myrtle cheerfully reminded him that she was leaving early for a medical appointment. She handed Dick a file folder of work that some of the faculty might be looking for later in the afternoon - a quiz for Professor Ryan, a letter she’d typed for Mr. Dingman, and a reading list that Professor Syms might be looking for soon. "Keep them in your office, Dick, and I'll lock this one."

Dick nodded in agreement. It was he who hadn’t been happy with faculty rummaging around in Myrtle’s office when she wasn’t around, so he was grateful for her thoughtfulness.

More Bumfuzzled Than Usual

The next day saw Fred all bumfuzzled with one thing and another. He awoke tired and his neck, which had been feeling better, was all stiff and achy again. After shaving he wondered if he should have bothered, since it only made the fresh blue bruise on his jaw show up all the more, and of course, shaving hadn’t exactly been a joyful sensation, especially after cutting himself when he accidentally grabbed his mother’s razor instead of his own. He stood gazing at the huge thing, wondering how he could have made that mistake, until he noticed the blood dribbling into the sink and decided he should try to save himself.

Moreover, he was still in a cold sweat, terrified of all the turns his life was taking, seemingly all at once. It hadn't exactly been a restful weekend. Still, the previous night, he thought he’d feel better in the morning, but a bad nights sleep and the stress of the approaching surgery combined with everything else had him all in a turmoil and only going through the motions of his routine. As he drove down the road to pick up Myrtle, he vaguely wondered if he’d eaten anything for breakfast. He was sure he had, but he couldn’t remember what. Then he realized he’d forgotten his lunch. He could always stop for it on the way back, but didn’t want to face his mother’s taunts and it was only another bologna sandwich anyway. He just couldn’t bring himself to bother.

Myrtle had her own concerns that Monday morning. She had almost forgotten it was the day she was to see her Ophthalmologist too see how her eye was healing. So she climbed into the car with her own butterflies.

“I’ll need the car today, Fred, if that’s ok,” she ventured.

“Mmm,” he replied.

“Fred?” she said, suspecting that he hadn’t actually heard her. He glanced her way. “Fred, did you hear me?”

“Wha..,” he enquired, the car wandering onto the shoulder of the road as he tried very hard to focus on Myrtle.

“Oh good, you’re pulling over,” she smiled. “Stop right here, Fred” she instructed. Fred didn’t know why, but he obediently did so. “I’ll drive,” said Myrtle. “You change places with me,” she instructed again. And again, Fred obeyed.

Once behind the wheel, Myrtle at least felt it didn’t really matter that much if Fred was with her in body only. She had the keys, the wheel in her hands ~ the car. Even only seeing from one eye she was sure she was the better driver on this day. In fact, she really didn’t need to bother him further, except she wasn’t sure where to drop him off. It was a strangely eery drive up the highway. It was obvious Fred had a lot on his mind and she wanted to give him time to struggle with his thoughts. She knew where Soames Shipping was, but when she pulled in, the labyrinth of driveways, shipping ramps and buildings was very confusing to the uninitiated. She looked at Fred, who seemed to recognize his surroundings enough to look down as if wondering how he got into the passenger seat.

“Where do I let you off, Fred?” asked Myrtle.

He gazed at her mystified. Then he pointed at one building in particular. “Those are the offices,” he replied. “Myrtle...?”

“I need the car today, Fred. I have an eye appointment. And you seemed a little preoccupied anyway,” she answered, before he finished asking.

Fred nodded. “Ok,” he said agreeably as Myrtle stopped in front of the building he’d pointed to. “I’ll wait here later,” he offered, climbing out of his car.

“Ok, Fred,” she waved. “You take it easy today, OK?” she advised with obvious concern. Then she waved cheerfully again and drove off with his car, Fred waving back, still not quite sure what was happening. At least, he thought, he didn’t have to try to park his car between those two extended cab pickups this morning. It was always a bit of challenge to squeeze his car into the space they left for him. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do it without denting something on this day. With that relieved thought on his mind, he wandered into the building.

Fred stumbled rather distractedly and wide-eyed through the outer office, bumping into a filing cabinet as he did so. This seemed to jolt him back to reality. He stood staring at it for a moment, then it occurred to him that he really didn’t need to be hurting himself anymore. He also didn’t need to be making a spectacle of himself any more than necessary. Nor did he want to make any more mistakes in his work. He took a deep breath and gave his head a shake, causing a searing pain up his neck which only heightened his resolve to do only as much as he had to. So, hoping that there were no really complicated shipping orders for him to route, he squared his narrow shoulders and made his way to his office safely.

Once there, he needed to rest his head to be able to think clearly, so he laid his head gently on his desk for a moment. It was there that Helen found him over four hours later, fast asleep and snoring rather loudly.

Myrtle had her own challenges at work that day. It somehow figured, in the normal sticky irony of life, that nothing momentous ever happened on those sleepy, rainy days when she didn’t have that much work to do anyway. But of course, on the day she had to get her work done quickly so she could leave early for an appointment was the very day all hell broke loose.

It wasn’t enough that Professor Dilby chose this day to visit Myrtle twice, once to gaze fondly at her and request an envelope, the second time to ask which day it was, which he may have genuinely needed to know, though it had Myrtle wondering if he’d spent the weekend in his office or something. Nor was it apparently sufficient that Dick was in a wild panic all morning over another meeting of the Dean’s committee and an agenda that he didn’t understand, but was sure had something to do with him. No, to add to Myrtle’s burdens, it was on this day that Mr. Pelham decided it was time to be mindlessly mean to some of his female students again.

Mr. Pelham was an instructor with a reputation at Upton College that Myrtle knew full well was earned. So, in a way, she wasn’t a bit surprised when two female students, one of them already in tears, came bursting into her office with his name on their lips. Myrtle almost automatically pulled a box of tissues out of a desk drawer and steeled herself to hear the whole sordid story.

Fred Survives the Day

When their iced teas arrived, Myrtle thoughtfully suggested that Fred hold his against his throbbing jaw while they waited for their pizzas. This helped a bit and Fred was soon feeling a little better. His embarrassment waned as Myrtle sympathized and after a while his jaw didn't hurt nearly as much. All and all, they enjoyed their lunch, though Fred thought it better to not chew on the freshly bruised side, worrying that he may have loosened a tooth or two. But the pizzas were good and the waiter had been so accommodating, they were certain this was destined to become a favourite haunt. This made them both happy, yet it also worried each of them for their own reasons... Fred due to the design of the chair legs, Myrtle because she saw the potential for putting on weight. Nevertheless, they left the restaurant in good spirits.

Fred was even happier when Myrtle suggested they skip the curtain shopping for certain and attend to that another time. So they just strolled along Benton until they came across a thrift shop. They looked happily at each other and went inside where Fred found some CDs he wanted and a belt, and Myrtle picked up some kitchen gadgets, salt and pepper shakers, a vinegar cruit and a few mugs she thought Fred might like. This kind of shopping Fred didn’t mind. He thought it was kind of fun to explore thrift shops looking for unexpected treasures. And Myrtle just loved the idea of picking up some bargains, rather than buying everything new. Their purchases bagged up and in hand, they continued their walk until the shops yielded to houses, with more apartment buildings visible up the street. So they crossed over and walked back to Fred’s new apartment on the other side.

When they were almost there, Myrtle looked up suddenly. "Oh Fred, we must remember to turn in the signed lease before we leave."

"Yeah, I thought of that," replied Fred. "It’s ok... I had a little look at it while you were cleaning the toilet and it seems pretty standard, so I signed it, but I left it on the bags we took in. We can just get it before we go and give it to the Super," he finished, wondering if he mightn’t have left out the detail about the toilet.

Myrtle wondered briefly if she oughtn’t take a look at the lease, then decided against even suggesting it. Too pushy, she thought to herself. She would just have to trust that Fred had signed leases before and knew what he was doing. So it wasn’t long before they'd handed in the lease and were headed back to her place.

Fred was just glad that it was all looked after and he had a new place to live. He was careful to not stay too late at Myrtle’s that night, in case his mother decided to lock the screen doors again. So after a small but yummy repast of toasted bacon and tomato sandwiches and tea, Fred excused himself saying he was tired and had to get up early in the morning. Myrtle understood completely and after a couple of dangerously amorous kisses at the back door that might have tempted him to change his mind under more favourable circumstances, Fred more or less tripped out the back door and headed down the path toward his car.

He made it home without incident that night and though he would have preferred to just avoid his mother, it was if she was laying in wait for him.

“I trust you’ll let me know when you won’t be sleeping here anymore,” she said sternly.

“Yes Mother,” he replied, slowly backing away. “I’m going into hospital on Friday, for that operation, if you recall,” he reminded her. “Myrtle will pick me up when I’m released and take me back to my new apartment.”

“So then who’s going to see to you?” demanded Flora.

“I guess Myrtle will look in on me,” he replied, defensively. He didn’t want to anger his mother, but he really didn’t want her ‘looking after him’ either.

Flora was actually relieved that she wouldn’t be responsible for his convalescence. Still, she was a bit hurt that Fred apparently liked it that way too. “So when do I get to meet this Florence Nightingale of yours?” she demanded. “This girl who apparently has nothing better to do than see to your precious needs?” she almost spat.

“I don’t know,” replied Fred, still backing away, feeling behind him for the entrance to his room. When his hand felt the door jam, he smiled at his mother, said “well, good night, Mom,” and ducked into his room, shutting the door behind him. He sighed deeply and decided to change into his nightshirt before using the bathroom.

He examined the new bruise on his jaw as he got ready for bed. It throbbed just a little when he laid on that side and sleep didn’t come easily. He was frightened of his mother, he was growing increasingly nervous about the pending operation, and he was scared to death of moving and relying on a new girl friend for his care. But even though he was restless for awhile, sleep was Fred’s refuge from reality, and he eventually drifted off into a fitful slumber.

A Discovery, and Another Bruise

They obtained the key from the bug-eyed Superintendent, who also handed Fred a sheath of papers with instructions to sign and return them as quickly as possible.

"What..?" began Fred.

"Your lease," said the man, rolling his eyes just a bit. "I’m not supposed to release the key till it’s signed, so get it back to me before you leave, ok?" he said sternly.

"Oh... right," agreed Fred, nodding his understanding. "I’ll be sure to do that," he said as he and Myrtle turned away and the Super rolled his eyes again.

Once inside Fred’s new apartment, Myrtle set Fred to work cleaning windows, starting in the bedroom. Then she whirled into action herself, cleaning the stove, fridge, cupboards, washing the floor, and scouring the bathroom thoroughly. Fortunately nothing was really all that dirty, so her cleaning moved right along.

Fred got through cleaning the bedroom window all right, but had a few moments of shooting abdominal pain in the living room when he stretched a bit too far to reach the top of the large window inside the small balcony. He bent double a couple of times to let the discomfort pass and as he did so it occurred to him again how awfully nice it was of Myrtle to be so helpful, vaguely wondering if he was actually going to survive her assistance. Blinking back the pain, he turned his head while still bent over and gazed out at the little balcony. It looked pretty clean, so he hoped they wouldn’t have to wash it too. Then it occurred to him slowly that it might be fun to get a small barbeque to put out there, along with a couple of lawn chairs... maybe a plant for Myrtle. As he slowly straightened, he conceded to himself that it was a good idea, but resolved to keep quiet about it for the moment. He just didn't want the idea to turn into more shopping right away.

He soon figured out just how far he could safely reach without hurting himself and since Myrtle had brought him the little step ladder, once she was finished the kitchen cupboards, he bravely climbed to the second step of that to avoid stretching too far. And so he was just putting the finishing touches on the living room windows when Myrtle finished her chores and sat down on the living room floor to watch him.

"The windows look great, Fred," she beamed. "When you’re done, I want to measure again for the curtains," she said. "Then I think that will be enough for today, don’t you?"

Fred looked at her in surprise. This house cleaning stuff wasn’t all that bad after all, he thought. He’d thought there would almost certainly be more to do. He stepped back and gazed proudly at the window he’d just polished. "It almost seems a shame to cover them up with curtains when I just got them all to shine," he remarked.

Myrtle chuckled tolerantly. "Well, when we want to admire them, we just need to open the curtains," she explained lightly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly.

"Getting there," she answered, rising slowly from the floor. "Let’s get this measuring done and we can figure out what we want to do for lunch.... and if we want to look for curtains today..."

"I’d like to go out for lunch," said Fred enthusiastically, not really digesting the last of what Myrtle had said. "I’d like to see what’s in my new neighbourhood... you know, stores, eateries... like that," he finished.

"Oh," said Myrtle, warming to the idea. "That sounds like a good idea, Fred. Maybe we’ll find a nice little coffee shop or something where we can lunch, then we can explore," she agreed.

Fred smiled happily, gave one spot on the window one last polish, then climbed down carefully from the step ladder. Myrtle immediately climbed up with the tape measure in her hand. She hooked the end over the curtain rod and pulled, then turned to hand it to Fred. But he had wandered away and was evidently distracted with peering into his wallet, so Myrtle just climbed down and finished the measure herself. Then she wrote the number down on a small pad she’d taken from her purse. She had to call Fred over to get him to hold the tape on one side of the window while she walked to the other. Her measuring done, she smiled and nodded at Fred, who grinned back.

They left the building arm-in-arm and strolled along Benton Avenue. The first block to the east was just more apartment buildings and so was part of the next, but then there were some small shops. Fred took Myrtle’s hand and went inside a small grocery to check out its goods. As he squeezed melons and felt tomatoes, Myrtle checked the "best before" dates on the breads and rolls. Then they both gazed into the freezer section and admired the range of goods for such a small store. They bought a lottery ticket before they left, just to buy something. Fred would have felt a little guilty about squeezing the melons if he hadn’t bought something.

They continued their stroll along Benton and passed a number of other nice-looking shops - Rick’s Flowers and Gifts, Phil’s Computers and Games, a fudge and chocolate shop, a deli, a bakery, a used book store, and a few antique and collectibles shops, and more. Then they came to a little Italian restaurant called Giovanni’s. They instantly turned toward each other and grinned, then went inside.

Myrtle was just about to exclaim about how picturesque the place was, with its little round tables, checkered tablecloths and old world atmosphere, when Fred suddenly fell to his knees.

Myrtle stared, first at the vacant space where Fred should have been standing, then down at the floor where he was. A waiter came toward them quickly. “What happened Fred?” asked Myrtle, gazing down at him.

His face turning the most remarkable shade of red, Fred turned to sit on the floor with one hand on his jaw. “I tripped!” he said, with some exasperation. “I tripped on the chair leg and hit the back of the chair.

“Oh my goodness,” said Myrtle and the waiter, almost in unison.

The waiter reached out a hand to help Fred up. “I hope-a you alrighta, sir,” he said, somehow managing to look concerned and suspicious both at the same time.

“I’m ok,” said Fred. “Thanks. I’ll just have another bruise.”

The waiter pulled out the nearest chair and motioned for Fred to sit. Then he went around the table and motioned for Myrtle to do the same, holding her chair for her as she obliged.

“Are you sure you’re ok, Fred?” she asked, putting her hand warmly on his.

He glanced up, very obviously embarrassed. “I’m ok, Myrtle. I just tripped. I wish I’d stop hurting myself,” he whined.

“For-a you sir,” interjected the waiter in his colourful accent, “a free personal pizza... ona the house, eh?”

“That really isn’t necessary...” protested Fred.

“I insist-a!” said the waiter forcefully. “You justa tell me whata kind you want...”

“There, there, Fred,” said Myrtle, patting his hand sympathetically. “I think that’s very nice of them. You order one for you, and I’ll have a plain cheese personal pizza too.... which we’ll pay for,” she added, looking up at the waiter, who nodded his approval. "And two iced teas," she added.

“Ok,” said Fred. “I’ll just have pepperoni and mushrooms on mine.”

With that, the waiter smiled and strode off to the kitchen.

“Oh Myrtle....” moaned Fred, letting his head fall to the table in his frustration, rather soundly whacking his forehead on the table top into the bargain.

Whoa....

Fred was wakened by a loud and persistent banging above his head. Pulling himself upright he gazed sleepily out the back window of the Toyota into the huge, red face of Flora Luckinbill. He closed his eyes again and gave his head a shake. It was a frightening sight. Then he sniffed, blinked and threw open the car door, his mother dancing out of its way with surprising agility for a woman of her girth.

"So, she came to her senses and threw you out, did she?" enquired Flora, loudly.

Fred slammed the car door shut. "No. I fell asleep there. I woke up in the middle of the night... ON THE COUCH," he emphasized, "and came home to find you’d locked the screen doors," he complained.

What began as an amused chuckle somewhere deep inside Flora slowly increased in turbulence and volume until it erupted in a series of quaking guffaws, punctuated by helpless coughing and wheezing. "You silly ass," she exclaimed, as soon as she could catch her breath. "Don’t you know she phoned? She called... said you’d fallen asleep on her couch... and she didn’t want to wake you... poor thing," she chuckled. "I told her to keep you... just as long as she wants... and do with you what she pleases."

Fred stared. Then he snorted, turned and marched toward the house, his mother’s laughter ringing in his ears. Here he’d tried to do the decent thing and wound up spending half the night cramped into the back seat of his Toyota for nothing. How was he to know Myrtle had phoned? He was asleep! He stepped into the house and slammed the door behind him. By now, Myrtle was probably up and wondering where he was, he thought. He strode into the bathroom and slammed that door behind him as well.

When he emerged from the house forty minutes later, he noticed his car had been moved and his mother’s truck was gone. He snorted again, realizing it was Sunday and his mother had probably been on her way to church when she found him. He climbed into his car and headed back to Myrtle’s, silently rehearsing a variety of possible explanations for his disappearance as he drove slowly down the road.

Myrtle was indeed up and somewhat perplexed that she couldn’t find Fred anywhere in her house. After lifting the crumpled blanket on the couch to make double sure he wasn’t under there, she had checked the bathroom and even her bedroom, thinking he might have sleepily wandered in there while she was in the kitchen turning on the coffee-maker. Finally realizing he just wasn’t in the house, she stood in the kitchen mentally debating whether to make breakfast for one, or for two, in case he returned. Fortunately, before she made a decision, she heard a tentative tapping at her back door. There was Fred, wearing a look of contrite bewilderment. Myrtle threw her arms around his collar and pulled him inside.

"What happened, Fred? Where did you go?"

He placed his arms around her waist and blushed. All his rehearsed words instantly vanished from his mind. "I woke up... it was late... I thought... I thought... I mean, it seemed like I should go home," he finished feebly.

"Oh," she said, not sure what else to say. After enduring a rather unpleasant phone call to Fred’s loud and unappreciative mother, Myrtle thought it was a just a shame that he hadn’t stayed put, but she knew he had no way of knowing what had transpired, so she smiled, grasped his hand and pulled him farther into the house. "You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you? What would you like?" she continued, without waiting for a reply to the first question.

Fred allowed himself to be led to the kitchen, then he said, "no... I didn’t take the time to eat, and besides, Mother doesn’t like me to cook in her kitchen...." his voice sort of trailed off.

Myrtle cheerfully led him to the kitchen table, where he plopped down onto a chair, feeling a little irritable that he couldn’t really whine to Myrtle about spending part of the night in his car, or about his nasty mother and the way she woke him. It just didn’t seem like the thing to do, and he would have felt a little foolish, although it would have been nice to get it off his chest. Of course, it didn’t occur to him that Myrtle was harbouring her own thoughts about his mother which she felt she couldn’t speak.

"Do you like French toast, Fred?" Myrtle asked, smiling.

"Sorry?" he mumbled, shaking himself awake. "Oh... um... yes," he said, before she could repeat the question.

"Would you like bacon with your French toast?" she asked.

"That’d be great," he replied gratefully, starting to feel a little better as Myrtle’s smile and the laugh crinkles beside her eye warmed him a little. He sighed and watched as she placed several slices of side bacon into a frying pan.

He felt even better after the hearty breakfast and some small talk about the weather and window curtains. He didn’t even mind wiping the dishes as Myrtle washed, and he grinned happily as Myrtle collected up some rags and sponges and threw them into a plastic bucket. She added a tape measure, a small bottle of vinegar and a box of baking soda, and handed the bucket to Fred with a smile. Then she picked up her sponge mop and a small step ladder and motioned toward two bulging shopping bags in the corner.

"We’ll put these in your car, and I’ll come back for those while you get the car warmed up," she said, in an instructional tone.

Fred simply nodded and followed Myrtle to the door, realizing only after he was in the driver’s seat that it was precious little warming up his car needed. He should have helped her with those bags, he chastised himself, but it was too late, because there was Myrtle back with them, putting them into the trunk. He shrugged and smiled sheepishly as Myrtle climbed in beside him. He decided to say nothing about it and just drive. And so they headed for Fred's new apartment.

Rough Day, Night No Better

Myrtle was a little taken aback by Fred’s question, but in a way, she understood that shopping wasn’t something Fred was really into. In fact, in that moment, she sort of realized that she might be expecting too much of Fred. She liked that he wasn’t a big, dumb, scruffy kind of man, but at the same time, she realized, rather suddenly, that he probably wasn’t going to jump at that chance to go to the mall with her either, like one of her girlfriends.

She smiled. "Yes… well pretty much done, Fred. Done enough for now anyway. I called the superintendent of your new building while you were resting," she informed him happily. "The apartment is officially yours and he says we can pick up the key tomorrow."

Fred smiled in surprise. He’d kind of wanted to hear the news himself, but he was more glad that they hadn’t done all that shopping for nothing. "Pick up the key... on a Sunday?" he asked.

"Well, I asked him if the apartment was already cleaned in readiness for the new tenant on the first of the month," she smiled. "That’s when he said we could get the key tomorrow if we wanted."

Fred put down his empty plate and picked up his mug of tea as the significance of her words slowly sank in. He glanced at her. "You mean.... you want to clean my new apartment tomorrow?"

"Well, if it’s all right with you, Fred, I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a start on it. I’d like to clean the fridge and stove anyway. Of course, if you’re too tired…."

"But Myrtle, I don’t expect you to clean for me," he protested.

"Oh I don’t mind, Fred," she chirped. "I don’t mind helping out at all."

He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t scrubbed any of his other apartments before moving in and he didn’t feel any the worse off for it. He glanced again at Myrtle, who waited with an expectant smile. Realizing it was probably inescapable, he sighed. Then he nodded and smiled stoically.

Myrtle gleefully pulled him to her and planted a kiss on his cheek. "It won’t be so bad, Fred. You’ll see," she promised.

He was simply too tired to argue. He sighed deeply and put his head back on the couch. He was pleased that Myrtle was so eager to look after him this way, but he also couldn’t help wondering if he possessed sufficient strength and energy to be looked after by Myrtle.

The two snuggled together on the couch, lapsing occasionally into talk of matters inconsequential and before very long, the combination of fatigue, the satisfaction of a full stomach and the comfort of his surroundings caused Fred to nod off again. He was only distantly aware of Myrtle’s arms around him, settling him back into the pillows she fluffed up under his head and her soft lips on his forehead. He drifted off into a deep, contented sleep.

Sleep seemed to be Fred’s refuge whenever he felt overwhelmed. Myrtle couldn’t help thinking that he was certainly catching up on his rest. She puttered about tidying up, made a call, then turned in herself with a good book.

Unfortunately, Fred’s sleep didn’t last the night. He opened his eyes to a darkness broken only by a barely discernable and somewhat spooky glow from the wood stove and wondered where he was. He sat up, still trying to see into the blackness and slowly realized he was still at Myrtle’s. Remembering there was a lamp at his side, he groped for it, switched it on and gazed at his watch. Three o’clock. He looked around again. Unless there was a total eclipse of the sun or the end of the world was at hand, he was forced to conclude it was three o’clock in the morning. He jumped up and ran out to the hallway, switched on the hall light, went back to living room to switch off the lamp, returned to the hall, grabbed his jacket, remembering to check his pocket for his car keys, and made a hasty exit, snapping off the hall light as he went.

He was a little surprised to see the porch light wasn’t on at his mother’s. He had rather suspected she might actually be waiting up for him, if only for the singular delight of scolding and teasing him for being out half the night. Remembering his near fatal encounter with a damp jock strap the last time he tried to enter through the back, he fumbled his way up the front porch steps in the darkness, banging his shin and dropping his house keys twice as he did so. The screen door was locked. Though it was something Fred rarely did, he cursed. Then he tripped and fumbled his way around to the back door anyway, only to find that screen door locked as well. He cursed again and made his way back to the front stoop where he sat pondering the situation.

His mother’s house was locked up tight and he couldn’t get in. There was no point in going back to Myrtle’s because he’d very carefully locked the door behind him when he left. That didn’t require a key at Myrtle’s. He sighed, wondering if he mightn’t have at least thought to use Myrtle’s bathroom before rushing out into the night. Resignedly, he got up and wandered in the general direction of a bush he knew of behind his mother’s truck.

More Shopping?!

Saturday was a day Fred later felt in his heart of hearts he could have done without. Oh, the breakfast at Myrtle’s was nice. Poached eggs were kind of interesting, he thought, especially when Myrtle cut a hole in the toast and slid the egg into it. He was certainly full anyway. But then came more shopping. He wasn’t quite sure where he completely lost control. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he was ever actually in control. When he’d asked Myrtle to help with the shopping, he hadn’t had this in mind. But there were still a number of things he apparently needed for his apartment and Myrtle was set on getting it done so everything would be ready when he got out of the hospital.

Fred didn’t really care. The apartment was not even confirmed yet. And as long as there was a place to sleep, sit, eat and watch TV, he was going to be satisfied for the time being. Alas, Myrtle was not. They were probably only about ten or so minutes into the first store when Fred just lost interest. But not wanting to fall asleep amongst the stuffies again, he tried to stay on Myrtle’s trail as she moved about the store, deftly grabbing this, carefully assessing that. Fred didn’t want to hurt her feelings at all, so with one arm across his waist, the other elbow propped on it and a hand thoughtfully perched across his mouth, he offered up a chorus of squeaks, grunts, hums and other noises meant to convey his interest, agreement, approval, or curiosity when it came to whatever item Myrtle was showing him. He didn’t care that the shower curtain had ducks on it, or that the dishes had flowers on them. Somewhere in his mind’s eye, he pictured the dishes covered with food anyway. He didn’t care if his cutlery was made of silver plated white metal or tin. He would have been happy with a couple of boxes of plastic forks and spoons. A dish drainer? They actually had to drain? Visions of paper plates danced in his head. In fact, they swirled. He stood there gazing at Myrtle with vacant eyes whilst visions of some fellow spinning plates on rods invaded his brain.

“Fred,” said Myrtle again.

Fred jumped visibly. “Oh... oh... I’m sorry, Myrtle. I was thinking about something else,” he confessed, smiling rather sheepishly.

"Are you ok?” she asked, with genuine concern, also remembering Fred asleep amongst the stuffed animals. “Should we take a break? There’s a coffee shop in this store.”

Fred stood there for the longest time thinking about coffee and how he’d had enough already for one day. Then he decided he was really still too full for food. Myrtle watched, her one eye large with concern as she waited for his response. “No... no... it’s ok,” he said at last. “I don’t really want anything, Myrtle,” he sort of muttered. And yet, Myrtle took him gently by the hand and led him to the coffee shop, attempting all the while to steer their buggy with her other hand.

Before they got there, it suddenly occurred to Fred that he should help her with the buggy at least. “Let me push that, Myrtle,” he said, grabbing onto the buggy handle. Myrtle let him, but laid her hand on the side of the buggy, as if worried that she might lose track of Fred and his purchases if she let go completely. They made it to the coffee shop, parked the buggy at the cash desk, and found a booth where a dazed Fred slumped into the seat.

Myrtle found that regular breaks were necessary for Fred to stay with her on any level, and that a little snack, like a few cookies and some milk, had a wonderful restorative affect on him, though Fred only nibbled, and it was very temporary. So they shopped for a couple more hours, back and forth between the aisles and the coffee shop. Then Myrtle thought she really couldn’t ask any more of Fred. Moreover, she'd chosen for him as much as she could without knowing for sure if she had his actual conscious knowledge of what was being bought. It was time to pay up and take him home. She was glad she had when she did, because they no sooner entered her house with a scant few packages when Fred collapsed onto her couch and fell fast asleep, his head at at awkward angle because of his collar. Myrtle just gazed at him, her eye a little wide, for a full minute. When he really didn’t move, she decided he wasn’t just kidding around. She tucked a pillow under his head and covered him over. Then she went to the car for the rest of the packages.

"Fred woke up slowly, vaguely conscious of the smell of something baking, and of wood smoke in the air, the faint, almost distant crackle of the fire and the cozy warmth of his surroundings. He opened his eyes to a softly lit room and saw Myrtle gently rocking in the chair across from him, intent upon her reading. It was all so comfortably domestic, he wanted to just close his eyes again and go back to sleep. But he was hungry and he had to relieve himself. He noticed there was also the faintest odour of some sort of other food mingled with the baking and wood smoke, so he sat up. He sniffed, rubbed his eyes and stretched. This alerted Myrtle and, smiling, she got up and went to him.

"Did you have a nice nap," she inquired. She pulled away the blanket she’d put over him and flung it across the back of the couch. He smiled sleepily and nodded. "You must be hungry," she ventured. Again he nodded. "Well, you go now and freshen up," she instructed. "I’ll go get your dinner. I’ve been keeping it warm for you."

The two departed the living room, each on their own mission. When Fred returned there was a plate of macaroni and tuna casserole and a glass of milk waiting for him on the side table at the end of the couch and Myrtle was once again rocking gently in the chair by the stove.
"I hope you like tuna casserole, Fred."

"Oh yes," he said with a smile, "I do. In fact, it’s always been a favourite of mine. I haven’t had it in a long time." As he was evidently being permitted to eat in the living room, he snuggled cozily back onto the couch and picked up his plate. He mushed the food around with his fork and lifted a fork full to his mouth.

When Fred was through his dinner, Myrtle brought him a piece of fresh-baked pie with a cup of tea and curled up on the couch beside him.

“Wow, Myrtle! Cherry pie! One of my favourites! Where did this come from?”

“I baked it, Fred,” she said, giggling. “I cheated and used frozen pastry, and just opened a bottle of sour cherries and sweetened and thickened them. Easy peasy,” she smiled.

"It’s really good,” he grinned, holding the wee plate under his chin and scooping up another piece. “I suppose we should get the things from the car when I’m through," he offered, his mouth still a little full.

"I did that while you were sleeping," smiled Myrtle.

Fred offered a hurt look. "All by yourself? Myrtle, the car must have been stuffed! You should have waited for me!" he scolded. He knew his lifting ability was limited by his injury, but he could still have carried some of the lighter items.

Myrtle squeezed his arm and smiled guiltily. "I took it easy… honest. I just opened the front door and took the short route into the house. That way I could also get the stuff in without disturbing you. You were so tired, Fred," she sympathized.

It was difficult to maintain his indignation in the face of her thoughtfulness. All and all, it had been a tough week with quite a bit more stress than Fred could really handle. He smiled, then ventured a question. "Did we get the shopping done, Myrtle?"