Page 4 of Save Me

And yet, I don’t. Because I need this fucking job.

“They aren’t there, Mr. Parker.” As soon as I walk into the room, I’m surrounded by the distinct stale smell of someone mouth breathing all night in a closed room.

“I put them there yesterday.”

Marvin Parker is on his bed, trying to get up on his own.

“Let me help you.” I rush to grab his walker. Mr. Parker just had open heart surgery and has been dealing with congestive heart failure for years. His family pays for home health care, his mortgage, and everything else he could possibly want.

Like vet bills.

“I don’t need your help,” he snaps, waving a papery hand at me, then reaching for the handle. Only he doesn't put his hand out far enough, and his entire body starts falling when there’s nothing to support it.

I dart in, catching him under the arms. Mr. Parker isn’t frail by any means, but I still keep him up. One of the only good things being big ever did for me.

“I had it,” he splutters.

I help him to the bathroom, where his grumpy mood only increases. He gripes at me all the way till I count out his meds, which I place in his hand. Mr. Parker’s hand shakes, the blue tint under his nails still there despite surgery.

“I don’t need this, I’m going to call my son and have him cancel.”

The pills rattle in the little cup, and he looks down at them. In the process, his hand shakes so badly that a pill slides from the cup to the floor.

“Let me help.”

“You filled it up too much! I’ve told you only one at a time!” Mr. Parker spits the words, and I feel a splatter of spittle on my arm.

For a second, my lip curls. Then all I can smell is nose-burning cat urine.

With great effort, I conceal my reaction. “Here.” I place a new pill back in Mr. Parker’s hand.

“If you can’t do your job, why are you even here?” Mr. Parker continues ranting, and the more he does, the farther away his voice sounds.

I’m hungry. I have a microwave lasagna in my freezer waiting for me. It’s nothing like what I can make from scratch, but it’s cheaper. Plus, I figured out a way to make the edges of the cheese crispy. So in the end, it’s not actually half bad.

By the time my shift is over, Mr. Parker has threatened my job repeatedly. The more he does, the more my head spins away from reality, like a maple seed dropping off the tree. Like he plucked me from the branch and now I’m helicoptering down down down into a puddle of fuzziness where I can’t hear the bullshit anymore.

When I pull into my apartment complex, my car still hasn’t stopped that rattling sound it picked up last week.

Awesome.

Getting up to my door, I leave my shoes outside. If someone wants to steal urine-caked sneakers, well then, maybe they’re in a worse spot than I am.

As soon as I get the door unlocked and step inside, I notice it’s quiet in my apartment. Very quiet. And dark.

Moving to the wall, I flick the lights on.

Nothing.

What the hell?

I try another light before I realize the green numbers on my microwave are out. The power is out.

My breaker.

I check it, but none of them are flipped.

Fuck. What the hell is happening?