MONO ISSUE 1 PDF FLIPBOOK - Flipbook - Page 74
a good chair and a space heater, he could look out that window all day. Sometimes he did.
Possibility two: They were homeless.
What then? Wake them up and ask if they were okay? He didn’t want to do that. Might scare them.
He could call the police. But what if they were illegals?––no, that wasn’t the right word––
undocumented? That might really scare them, and if they got deported, he’d feel like a jerk. Or
worse he’d wind up on the news––trucks with satellite dishes in front of his house, protestors on the
lawn, threatening phone calls. He might have to move. He looked in his wallet: $53. He could give
her $50 and keep the remaining three bucks for an ice cream later. That might be best. He wouldn’t
even have to wake them; just sneak up and leave it. There was no need to be thanked. The Bible
said: When you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what the right is doing…
Or was that Shakespeare?
Possibility three: She’d left her husband.
How could he help? A place to stay? He didn’t know how he felt about that. He needed his privacy.
Besides, from her perspective…a man his age, living alone, in a big house, no wife, no family ––dog
dish but no dog–– how would that look?
But what if they did stay and he wound up supporting them? What would happen to his lifestyle?
Was he ready to be a stepfather? What if he fell in love with her but the love was unrequited? What if
he ended up playing Chutes & Ladders with the kid every night while she ran around with other men?
Maybe the estranged husband was violent. Maybe the woman couldn’t go to friends or family
because the violent husband would know where to find her. I could wind up murdered, he thought.
No good deed goes unpunished––that had to be from the Bible.
He decided to walk away.
No! Kitty––what was the name––Gandolfini? Years ago. She got murdered in front of like a
thousand witnesses. Where was it––New York? Chicago? Nobody wanted to get involved. Or maybe
this was one of those Deep Fakes, a digital contrivance, a prank? No–– that only happened on the
internet. Right? Problem was, if he didn’t make up his mind pretty quick, somebody would see him,
would wonder what the heck he was doing. He pulled two twenties and a ten out his wallet, folded
them in half, and, quietly as he could, stepped onto the grass. Up close, the woman was maybe a
little older than he’d initially thought, but so beautiful. Around her wrist was a loose-fitting silver
bracelet. Her nails were long and clean. Her cleanliness, her nails, it all pointed to the bad husband
scenario. Well, he supposed, bending down, a woman on the run from a bad husband could use fifty
bucks as much as anyone.
She opened her eyes.
He froze.
She screamed.
And, so did he.
Then he lost his balance and fell on top of her. She raked his jowls with her clean nails, pumped
her knee like a piston. He tried to push himself back up but she dug her nails in deeper. He wanted
to explain. He’d meant well, but he understood it didn’t look good: a man his age, unattractively
shaped, diving on top of her when she was asleep; the brilliant sky of her dreamland torn open to
reveal not a suitor, not a saviour, but a dubious schlub, smothering her. He wanted to tell her, but
she managed to twist out from under him, get to her feet and kick him in the head, her big toenail
carving a furrow from ear to eyebrow. He went down and she danced around him like a boxer,
pounding him with her heel as he curled into a ball. Then it stopped, and through his fingers he saw
her running toward the Rec Centre, dragging the boy, now awake, eyes bulging. He struggled to his
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