No One Home
THOSE thoughts were still running through my mind when I woke up the next morning. Looking around, hoping that I would spot him in bed beside me, I found that I was as alone as I had been when I fell asleep the previous night. After pulling on some sweatpants, I went into the living room hoping to find him there, but again the room was empty and my hopes were dashed.
I wanted to call the police but didn’t know if they would be able to help. After all, this might just be a lovers’ quarrel, or spat, whatever that meant. Hell, I didn’t know what was going on. As had been true for much of the last few months, I was teetering on the edge of pissed off and worried, constantly swinging just a little bit one way or the other.
Checking my watch, I realized that I didn’t have the luxury of time to sort this out—I had to get to work. I jumped in the shower and then threw on some clothes so I could dash out the door and drive to work. Once again I was on the 7:00 a.m. shift, which was really not a good place to put someone who was not a fan of mornings. But that’s where I was assigned, so that’s when I worked.
It was a Saturday, which was always a busy day but in a pattern that was different than a typical weekday workday. On weekdays we had a rush that started early and continued as wave after wave of different types of people came in. Some people stopped on their way into their offices, while others came in after they’d been to their offices, checked their e-mail, and decided that the world was safe for them to run out and grab some caffeine.
Our weekends, on the other hand, started slower. After all, who in their right mind would get up at such an early hour on a Saturday if they didn’t have to? As a result, on Saturday we opened with fewer people. That meant that there were only two of us to do the usual prep work that would normally be accomplished by more hands. So, even though our clientele was more limited first thing on a Saturday, we had plenty to do to keep ourselves busy. Everything that had to be set up on a regular day still had to be set up on Saturday and Sunday.
So my morning was busy, which was good because I didn’t need to have lots of time to stand around and worry—or get pissed. From hour to hour I vacillated back and forth between the two emotions, finally simply settling into pissed off. Apparently I was exuding so much hostility and pissed-off-ness (is that even a word?) that I was taken away from the front register where I usually worked. Usually I was a reliable smile that was good for the tip jar, but today I was sort of the inverse of welcoming. I worked out the remainder of my shift doing other things.
Since I was busy behind the scenes, I didn’t see what happened about ten minutes before my shift ended. But, even though I couldn’t see, I still knew something was happening because the entire shop went silent—and then a bunch of whispered conversations started almost immediately. A man appeared at the counter and asked, “Is Mark here?”
“Hello, Derrick,” I said, standing. “What brings you to our humble establishment?”
“I have something of yours that I’d like to return to you.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, which should have been clear from the look of confusion on my face. He motioned for me to join him outside, which I did. We walked out together, with every head in the place turning to follow us. I had forgotten about the last time he had dropped in while I worked—much the same reaction.
We walked to Derrick’s car, where I saw my boyfriend asleep.
“Passed out,” Derrick clarified for me.
“Care to fill me in?” I asked while crossing my arms across my chest.
“Simple, really. He came over yesterday, got smashed—this boy can’t hold his liquor very well—and then passed out. I’m leaving to go out of town, so I couldn’t leave him at my place.”
“What if I don’t want him?”
“Tough. He’s yours. I’ve done my babysitting duty.”
“Me too.”
“What’s going on between the two of you, anyway?” he asked, mirroring my posture.
I sighed.
“We’re just out of sync on everything. When I’m awake, he’s asleep, and when I’m asleep, he’s awake. I have to work like a dog, and he has nothing to do but lounge around the house, never bothering to do a damned thing to help me! He doesn’t do laundry. He doesn’t change the sheets. He doesn’t wash the towels. I don’t think he’s done anything but sit since he got out of the hospital. And then there’s the debt.”
“What debt?” he asked.
“All the bills that keep pouring in from the hospital and doctors and a thousand other people I’ve never heard of before. By my last count we’re just shy of $200,000 that they’re demanding. And just so you know, I don’t have $200,000, and at my hourly rate it probably is going to take me a while to get there.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! I thought the studio was supposed to help out with the bills?”
“They haven’t. I sent them a happy, healthy boyfriend. They sent me back a sick, out-of-shape lump. And we still haven’t had sex since last year!”
“Why not?” he asked in disbelief.
“Remember the ‘I’m awake, he’s asleep’ thing? Sex sort of requires that we both be conscious at the same time.”
“Well, not always,” he started to joke. I simply waved my hand to cut him off. I didn’t want to hear it.
“I’m in no mood,” I said simply. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do with him?”
“That’s entirely up to you. All I know is that I’m heading out of town and I can’t take him with me.”
I sighed. “Give me a minute to go clock out and then I’ll be right back.”
Inside the shop there were still dozens of sets of eyes monitoring Derrick, and since I had been with him, me as well. Those sets of eyes all turned and followed me as I came back inside. In less than a minute I was finished and back out the door. Derrick pulled his car around next to mine, and together we moved Bill from the small sports car up into the bigger SUV.
He gave me a quick hug. “I’ve got to run, but I promise I’ll call the studio on Monday to remind them that they were going to help out with the medical expenses. And if they don’t remember, I’ll haul out the big guns.”
“The big guns?”
“Moira.”
“Yea, I guess she qualifies as ‘big guns’.”
Derrick drove away, and I followed right behind him but headed the other direction. When I got home, I didn’t have the slightest clue how I should go about moving Bill from the car into the house. At a complete loss, in the end I simply left him there to sleep it off. I figured that when he roused from his stupor he’d get himself inside under his own power.