Helping People

[Oddball]

My hands shake so badly they're useless more than half the time. I need to have somebody push me in a wheelchair on those rare occasions I go out. Usually it's my paid ... I don't know what you'd call her, "caretaker" I guess. She lives in the apartment next door. She checks on me ever few hours and attends to whatever needs I have. There are large emergency call buttons placed around my home, big enough that even when my hands are at their worst I can still use them. If that wasn't enough, there's a hospital fairly close by. I spend my days watching bad reruns on TV. I don't often leave my bed. It's even more rare when I leave my apartment. I wear a diaper. I'm twenty six years old.

By all rights, I should be in a hospital or one of those "assisted living facilities," but I'm stubborn and I've always been spoiled. I'll do anything to hang on to that last single thread of independence, that last illusion of freedom. It slips away a bit further each day. Almost the only bit of independence I have left is is my apartment.

I suppose if you want to get technical, my parents pay for it, but I'm the one who lives here, so it's still mine. It's something at least.

There are things my caretaker has to handle on Saturdays so I'm left alone from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon. Other than when I sleep, it's the longest time to myself I have. She always apologizes profusely when she gets back, every single time. My parents stopped visiting a year ago. It was just too tough for them. We still talk over the phone sometimes, not often, maybe once every few months. I don't know what's harder, them seeing what I've been reduced to, or me having to be seen by them.

Last night when I talked to them I told them goodbye.

I don't like that word. I never have. There's something so formal and so final about it. I'll usually just say something to the effect of “talk to you later.” They didn't notice my atypical wording, but it was enough to make me feel like I've said my peace. Sorry mom and dad, it might be too late for me to leave with my dignity intact, but it's time to go.

It took me hours to tie a proper noose. At one point, I just got disgusted and threw the tangled mess of rope across the room. That was a mistake. Trying to get it out from under the couch was almost as much a pain as tying it. I suppose there are easier ways to kill yourself, but I have my heart set on this one. I don't know why. Maybe I just like the image. There's something horribly tragic, yet majestic about a hanging body … or maybe I just wanted to leave the world standing up as straight as I could.

It wasn't easy to make this noose and placing it was even harder. Standing up straight, walking, these aren't things that come easy to me anymore. I'm stubborn though. A few few random things to prop me up and help me balance, plus a few bruises for the effort and it was finally ready.

Then I hear a sound. It takes me a while to realize what it is. It's a something so rare that it might as well be alien; it's the doorbell. For a moment I consider not answering it. I never get guests. Whoever it is probably just has the wrong door. Still, my manners and curiosity get the better of me. If it is somebody come to visit me, I want to know who and why. Also, it would be rude to kill myself when I have company.

Time like this, I hate having good manners.

I struggle to flip the locks and open the door. I don't bother to check who it is. I don't care. After all, if it is some crazed killer, I don't have anything to lose.

"You've looked better," he says as I open the door. It takes me a minute to place the face. He looks rough. He's thin. Not the kind of thin that you get by choice, but that scrawny hungry looking thin that suggests he hasn't been eating well. There's a few stray bruises and half healed scratches on his face. His hair is a mess, but somehow that part seems right. He's wearing a white collared shirt and green slacks that remind me of the old school uniform the boys used to wear.

That's what jogs my memory. I knew him from school. I don't remember his name, but we talked a few times. He seemed like a nice enough boy back then. "Anyway, I've heard you need some help." I haven't seen him since high school and we weren't close back then. There's no reason I can think of that he'd show up out of the blue like this.

"I... I'm sorry?" I say. “Who are you?”

"Nakai. Hisao Nakai. We went to school together," he says. "Can I come in?"

I hesitate. The noose is hanging right out in the open. If he sees it, he'll surely try to stop me. No. There's no try. He'll stop me. It's not like I can fight back against him either. Curiosity gets the better of me anyway. Things like this just don't happen. People don't step out of the past unannounced like this. I let him in.

"Nice place," he says looking around the room. "Kind of reminds me of my old apartment." He turns his attention to the hanging rope. "Horrible set-up, though. You'd strangle yourself like this and just end up slowing choking while you dangle. What you want is to rig it so it snaps your neck and you die clean. It's a bit more effort, but worth it. Of course even if you get that right, you've got to remember that your bowels evacuate themselves shortly after something like that. It's messy."

I'm taken back my his frankness and accepting of my situation, but there's a chance he's just trying to shock me out of my attempts or shame me into not doing it.

"Why should you care?" I asked him coldly. "And who said I needed help?"

"I just like helping people. It's one of the few things I was ever good at. As for the who? Just …," he pauses, and the look on his face tells me he's unsure how to continue. "It's just … a friend." That's a lie. I haven't had anyone I'd consider a friend in years.

"Okay," is then only response I can muster. I don't like talking much and don't really know what to say to him anyway. He quickly gives up further attempts at small talk and focuses instead on walking around my living room looking at everything. There's something odd in the way he looks at my pictures and mementos. It's as if he's trying to remember something. I don't say anything to interrupt him. "So, you want to get something to eat? I've got a buy one get one free coupon for the ice-cream place down the street,” he eventually says breaking the silence.

Ice cream? Really? He's trying to lure me out of my house and away from suicide with ice cream? "It's okay. I'll pass." I say.

"Pity. It's a really good place. I've eaten there before," his effort to change my mind seems half-hearted at best. He ends up plopping down on my couch and picking up the remote. He clicks it a few times but when nothing happens he just sits it back down on the couch. I've been meaning to send somebody to get batteries for it, but I keep forgetting. I usually just watch TV in my bedroom.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“You weren't expecting company were you? I can come back,” he says.

For a brief minute I consider lying to him, but only briefly. Really, what would be the point? “I don't get many guests,” I say. I don't get any guests ever, actually.

“Cool. Then we can hang out.”

“You're being really weird. What would it take to get you to leave?” I ask.

“Go with me, get an ice-cream,” he says.

“That's it? Then you'll leave me alone?”

“I guarantee that if you do this, I'll be gone from your life for good,” there's something weird about his expression as he says this. For a moment, I consider hitting the panic button to get him out of here. This whole thing is weird, but there's just something about him that makes me want to trust him. At the very least, I want to find out what's going on.

And maybe....

Just maybe, I'm a bit lonely.

“Let's get this over with then,” I say. “I really wasn't looking forward to going out; I was just … going to kill myself.” It sounds crazy when I put it like that. Hisao is patient with me as I dress myself the best I can, sweat pants, a long shirt, and a robe that looked a lot fancier than it cost. I'm reminded of those people that take their old mothers out into public and talk to them while it's obvious that the old folks are barley aware of anything that's going on around them.

That's not quite me. I'm not old and I'm aware of what's going on around me, it's just that my body has decided that it's quitting time and didn't bother asking the rest of me if that was alright.

“So, what have you been up to that's fun and exciting,” Hisao says as he takes the handles of my wheelchair and begins to push me down the street.

“Guess,” I say bitterly.

“White water rafting? Translating the Book of Forbidden Secrets from it's native Arabic into Japanese? Piloting a giant robot? Am I getting close?” he says. “I never was good at guessing things,” he jokes softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Are you for real?” I grumble.

“Just one more guess ...” he makes a look like he's struggling to think of something, “How about, you've been sitting there wasting the few remaining moments of your life you have left just watching your body rot away. Is that close?” That's painfully dead on.

“Like there's anything else I could be doing,” I say in mild defiance.

“Well, you're going to get ice-cream and hang out with an old friend. That's something,” Hisao said. His voice is cheerful, but there's something wrong. He's hiding something. People don't step out of your past just to bug you and act like jerks. I just don't know why he's here yet. That's enough to convince me to put up with him. The worst part about it is that his awkwardness and stupidity is almost charming.

He silently pushes me to our destination, after a few attempts at getting me to talk to him, he starts whistling a tune to fill the silence. It's not good. I don't know if he doing it on purpose or he's just the worst whistler in the history of mankind. Finally I try to engage in conversation just to get him to stop.

“So, what have you been up to lately?” I ask.

“Oh, now she talks,” he laughs.

“If you're going to make fun of me, we can just turn and go back,” I say. I might not have any real control over what's going on, but I can at least put on a show of it.

“I'm sorry,” he stops like he's trying to think of something. “I suppose it's only fair. Let's see, where do I start ... remember the girl I was dating back at Yamaku?” I nod my head for him to continue. I vaguely remember him dating somebody, but I can't recall who. “We got married after graduation, not right after, but a few years after.”

“That's sweet, so what happened after that?” I say. It's really only a prompting for him to continue his story.

“There's not much story until much later. We did the basics, went to school, got an apartment, did your standard young couple things. Then I was in a car accident. That changed everything.”

“Were you hurt bad?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says softly after a pause. It's obviously a very sore topic for him.
“Ah! Here we are,” he says much more cheerfully as he motions towards a store that's still several minutes and a cross walk away. “Have you been given any thought not what kind of ice cream you want?” His change in tone is as sudden as it is obvious.

“You were telling me what happened to you,” I say trying to get him back into his story.

“I was, but that can wait. No bad news over ice cream. That's a rule you know,” he says smiling. If he was this infuriating during highschool, I think I would have remembered him better.

“Okay. We can wait,” I say to him. “And I want something fruity. The more tropical the better,” I say.

“Nice choice. I wouldn't have figured you for the type that goes for exotic tastes,” he says.

“You never really knew me,” I say back to him. This causes him to pause. I almost feel like I've offended him this time. “Well, you didn't,” I say somewhat softer this time. It's as much of an apology as he's going to get out of me.

“I suppose there's lots of things I didn't get to do,” he adds with a sigh.

“Welcome to life,” I say back. For some reason he gets a laugh out of this.

When we arrive, the line in the shop is unusually long. I've always hated long lines, so if it was just me, I would have left. Of course if it was just me, I wouldn't be here in the first place.

“Pick us out a seat,” Hisao says. I look around the small shop and point to a booth in the corner. Hisao wheels me over and I struggle to pull myself out of the chair into the booth. As hard as it may be for others to understand, I still have some sense of dignity and pride. If I'm going to eat in a restaurant of any kind, I'm going to sit in the seats they provide me. “Do you need some help?” he asks.

“Probably, but I'll manage,” I say. Mostly. Halfway through my statement, my voice cracked and I had to clear my throat to finish it, but the message got across. I'm not that much of an invalid, not all the time. With a bit of effort, I manage to move myself from one seat to another.

Hisao is actually polite enough to wait until I've gotten myself seated before taking off to order. He doesn't even say anything when my left hand starts shaking uncontrollably and thumping against the table. It's actually rather embarrassing. I lower my head so I don't have to watch people starring at me. As I do, I feel my left leg starting to twitch. What made me think this was a good idea?

Oh, that's right. I never thought this was a good idea.

“Are you okay, Ma'am?” a little girl asks. I hadn't even seen her approach until she spoke. I never have been good at telling how old kids are by looking at them, but she's young. The combination of slightly messy hair, skinned knees, and a pink dress with ribbons tells me she hasn't reached the point where she's picking out her own clothes yet. Of course I don't dress myself either half the time, so maybe I shouldn't speak.

I debate for a second on whether I should lie to her, instead I give her only a partial truth. “Not really. I'm sick,” I say.

“Maybe you should stay home with your mommy until you feel better. When I'm sick, mommy lets me to stay home until I'm not sick anymore,” she says. That's cute. There's a slight trembling smile on my face.

“I'm really not going to get better, I'm afraid. I'm not the kind of sick you can sleep off,” I tell her.

“I'm sorry,” the girl says, hanging her head low. Now I feel like I should be the one to apologize.

“It's not your fault. It's just one of those things that happens.” I look around to see if I can spot who the girl is with. I can't imagine any parent would want their kid hanging out with an obvious invalid like me. People get touchy about that sort of thing. "Where are you parents, little girl?” I ask.

“I only see mommy right before I got to school and right before bedtime. She works really hard and that means she's not at home a lot,” the girl tells me. Something tells me this girl shouldn't be out here just wandering around, but it's not my business. My hands are full taking care of myself. Taking care of somebody else is beyond my capacities.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I say. I don't really have anything else to add to the conversation.

“Where is your mommy? If you're sick, she should be taking care of you at home,” the girl says. I can't help but smile.

“I suppose she is in the only way she knows how,” I tell the girl.

“That's weird,” the girl says.

“It's an adult thing,” I offer as the only explanation I can.

“I'm glad I'm not an adult,” the girl says in that plain blunt way you can only get from little kids.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't either,” I sigh. I miss being young and able to walk around and move by myself.

Our conversation is interrupted by two large banana splits with more toppings than I thought could fit on one being set before us.

“Here we go, the richest most decadent looking thing on the menu. I don't imagine either of us are trying to watch our weight anymore. So, are you going to introduce your friend?” Hisao asks seemingly happy that he's caught us off guard.

“She's just some girl that came up and started talking,” I say.

“Pleased to meet you,” Hisao says. “Sadly, it looks like I'm now one dessert short. Finish your meal and I'll call somebody to help you get home,” I'm so shocked I don't even have time to react before Hisao starts to walk off. Part of the way, he stops and turns back to me. “I can remember laying there after the accident, just thinking I'd do anything to have one more chance to put things right. To make up for some of the things I've said and done and just not worry as much.” he smiles at me and shrugs a bit. “For what it's worth.” Then he walks out of my life again. All that effort to get me here and then he abandons me.

“Why did your friend leave?” the girl asks me.

“I have no idea,” I say, still slack jawed. “He's not my friend either,” I add a moment later. Now I'm starting to feel irritated. How could he show up out of nowhere, drag me along with him, and then leave me alone like this. He made it sound some important and then he just ditches me. Who does that? I can't be one of those things he was talking about putting right. He didn't even know me back then, so how did he know to show up now or even where to find me? I didn't get to find out any of the things I wanted to know and now he's left me with more questions than ever.

It's another moment before I notice my hands are shaking and I can't clear my head enough to get control of them. I haven't been this angry in a long time.

That's when I realize something. I really haven't been this irritated in a long time. I really haven't been feeling anything this much in a long time. As strange as it feels, it feels good to be this angry. “Hisao, you bastard,” I say with a chuckle. Remembering my companion, I look up and see the girl wide eyed. “That's a grown up word. You shouldn't say those things,” I add.

“Are you going to be able to eat like that?” she asks. After she speaks, I notice my hands are shaking too bad to hold the spoon.

“Probably not,” I say. Then she does something that really surprises me. She scoops up some of the ice cream onto a spoon and holds it up to feed me.

Oh well. Who needs dignity anyway?

It's been a long time since I ate anything that tasted that good.

“You're a sloppy eater,” the young girl says as she takes a napkin to my face. My hands aren't bad enough that I can't wipe myself clean, but I let her.

“There's not much I can do about that,” I say, “but thanks. I really appreciate it.”

So we sit there. She helps me eat my banana split and we talk. A twenty six year old cripple and an elementary school girl don't exactly have a lot in common, but I think we're each just happy to have somebody to talk to.

Once we each finish our treats, one of the employees comes up with a second ice-cream for us both. So much for you not having enough for everybody, right, Hisao?

It's two hours before anybody comes to pick me up. I can't remember the last time I was out of the apartment for this long without it involving a hospital trip or at the very least direct supervision. In that time, we get to know each other okay. The little girl likes puppies, wants to take dancing lessons when she's older, and the kids at her school sometimes call her Pocky. It's not a nickname she likes or hates. It just is.

Before I head home I make arrangements to meet her back her for another treat in two days. Then two days after that. Then two days after that. It becomes every two days as my heath will allow. The snacks are my treat.

Much like Hisao promised, he stayed out of my life after that.

...

“Wake up, sleepy head. It's time to go,” Hisao said as he gently shook me awake.

“Where? What?” I groggily muttered. It took me a moment to realize where I was and what was going on. Somehow he had gotten into my house and was waking me up.

“Get up. You're late,” he said.

Still too asleep to really argue and too surprised to object, I rolled out of bed and stood up.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him. He looked at me with a half smile and half frown and gestured to the bed I had just gotten out of.

Except I hadn't gotten out of it. I was still laying there, with my head under a large branch surrounded by blood and broken glass from where it had crashed through my window.

“That's...it's... I...”

“Like I said, 'you're late,'” He forces a partial smile across his face. “As in the late … never mind. It was a bad joke.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. His eyes are filled with pity and shame. “I'm sorry. I'm just really no good at this part. I just haven't figure out any easy way to do this part yet. …. You're dead. There was a huge storm last night and, well, you see what happened.”

I stood there, just staring at my body. “It's weird.”

“How so?” Hisao asked in a tone that felt genuinely curious.

“I feel like I should be crying or begging for more time, in denial, or something... instead it just feels...I don't know.”

“Careful. Lots of people say they'd give anything for one more day...” he leaves the rest of the warning unfinished, “but I know what you're feeling. It's like when you finish a good book, your sad because that's the end of it. As much as you might want more, it's over but at the same time, there's a feeling you've accomplished something. There's closure,” Hisao says.

“Exactly that, and something else too. … I feel … good. I'm not hurting or anything anymore; my body it's moving the way it's supposed to, like other people's does.” I raise and lower my arms a few times enjoying the feeling. I don't think I've ever actually felt this responsive.

I do that for several minutes, just enjoying moving around under my own power with a stupid smile on my face. I almost forget Hisao is there until he clears his throat loudly to remind me.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“You knew, didn't you?” I say. “when you showed up out of nowhere all those months ago, you already knew I was going to die.” It's not an accusation. I'm not angry at him. Still, he looks hurt at my statement.

“Yeah. I did,” he says.

"So, if I was going to die anyway …"

“Maybe it wasn't about you,” he tells me. “Maybe it was about somebody else. That girl, your friend at the ice-cream shop...”

“R-really?”

“I don't know. They don't tell me that part,” he sits down next to my body on the bed and I get a good look at him. He still looks like he hasn't been eating well, and those wounds on his face haven't healed yet. I don't think they ever will. He's tired, and sad, and none of this is his fault. “I just got the message to show up and take you for ice-cream.” he continues with a sigh. “… Maybe, she'll grow up, study medicine, and eventually develop several breakthroughs, never forgetting the lady in the wheelchair that used to spend time with her.”

“That would be nice,” I say. “Just … why? Why you? Who sent the message?” I have so many questions.

“It's a long story.” he says “and I really don't want to keep you from being where you need to be. I've just got a quick questions for you. It's part of the rules. So, did you have fun.?”

“I wouldn't call getting ice-cream fun, but I guess I enjoyed it.”

“That wasn't was I was asking. I meant with this. With all this. With life.” He spreads his arms out wide as though he wants to point to everything at once. “Did you enjoy yourself? That's a question I'm required to ask, by the way. Again, I don't know why.”

“It had it's ups and downs and it was unfair more often than not but … yeah. I did.”

He smiles at me. Then he opens the door. “One last question. This one is just for me. Suppose I could make you a deal. Let's say I could give you one last day. 24 hours to say goodbye to everyone and tie up all your loose ends, but there's a catch. Would you be interested?”

“Nah. I'm good,” I tell him. He smiles and reaches out and gives me a hug.

“Good choice,” he says. “The jobs not that great anyway.”

As I start to walk into the light, he says something else.

I don't hear it.

...


Hisao closes the door and walks out of the apartment. No one saw him enter and no one sees him leave. They never do.

He walks down the block and buys an ice cream. While he walks, he thinks. He really didn't know her well, and now he never would. There's nothing he can do to change that, but there is one loose end he can wrap up.

“Your friend isn't going to be able to make it anymore,” he told the girl who's name he'll never learn.

“Did something bad happen? She's been sick a long time,” the girl asked him.

“No. Something really good happened to her, but she had to go away for it to happen,” he told her. It's not even a fraction of a lie.

Hisao buys them each an ice-cream, they eat it, talking about their mutual acquaintance, and then he leaves. With everything complete, he checks his phone.

There is only one message. There is never more than one message. Caller ID lists it as “Out of Area.” It always makes Hisao chuckle. He would describe it as a humorless laugh, but he really does find it amusing.

He looks at the name, the date, and the address and shrugs.

Then he goes to help someone else.

[brythain]

That's an excellent piece. I always like these Oddball pieces. Always, there's something to like.

In particular, I liked Hisao's line, "I can always come back." It implies yet another possibility.

[swampie2]

I don't have anything to loose.

Lose

“Where you hurt bad?” I ask.

"Were you hurt bad?"

I make arrangements for meet her back her for another treat

I make arrangements to meet up with her for another treat?

He';s tired, and sad

He's

Saki? An interesting little piece for sure.

[Oddball]

Saki?

That's a possibility.

[Alpacalypse]

My immediate thoughts when I started reading were something along the lines of "this seems a little too generic for an Oddball piece." I was happy to be proven wrong in the end. Nice, poignant little story.

Saki

I'd have thought so, considering that her problems are clearly to do with her nervous system, and no other known character has a similarly degenerative condition, so she'd be my first guess.
Of course, there's always the possibility that she's actually an obscure character from one of the many fanfics on this forum I haven't read, but who knows *shrug*

[Mirage_GSM]

One thing I never expected this story to be - after reading who wrote it - is "generic"
If you go in with that expectation, you can see where the story is headed quite early - but you can't help your reputation, can you?

Did you use autocorrect? There are a few words in there that look like they were supposed to be other words...

these aren't things that comes easy to me anymore.

I wouldn't have figured your for the type that goes for exotic tastes,” he says.

Something tells me this girls shouldn't be out here

It had it's ups and downs and it's was unfair more often than not but

“Your friends isn't going to be able to make it anymore,”

One or two more that I didn't find on my second readthrough...

[Oddball]

I'd have thought so, considering that her problems are clearly to do with her nervous system, and no other known character has a similarly degenerative condition, so she'd be my first guess.
Of course, there's always the possibility that she's actually an obscure character from one of the many fanfics on this forum I haven't read, but who knows *shrug*

Personally, I thought the story would work better if I never identified the main character by name nor identified who Hisao's former love interest was. I hope it's not too vague.

There were actually a couple of different characters I had in mind that it could be.

Did you use autocorrect? There are a few words in there that look like they were supposed to be other words...

This was done up on a different program than I normally use. I guess I'm not quite used to it's qwirks yet. (Although honestly, I had to re-read some of the sections you quoted a few times before I caught the errors anyway.)

[YutoTheOrc]

Holy Shit...

I enjoyed that more than I expected to, to be honest. I had a feeling about Hisao when he was first introduced, but wondered if maybe I was being too sceptical and dark. Regardless I'm glad to have read that, it's...humbling...maybe. Makes you think about yourself in a different light and whether or not you'd do life again. Glad you shared this!