literature

Exposure Therapy Chapter 5

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After I was hung up on by Mr. Palgrove, I just sat on the couch for a while. My mind was mixed up more than it had been in years. It’s hard to explain the kind of jumbled mess that my mind became. It soon isn’t just my mind either. I start to feel an incredible amount of frustration coursing through my veins. It’s not normal. I actually start to feel quite panicked by it after a few more minutes.

I put the big nilla phone back on the coffee table and get up to pace a bit, hoping it would help relax me, and sort my thoughts. Sometimes when I get stuck on a chapter I pace and somehow it creates a more of a narrowing of ideas. I suppose it’s owed to the fact that more concentration is used on the steps you take and not running into things, and less on the problem at hand.

Pacing doesn’t seem to be helping the frenzy in my mind today though. Neither does lightly tugging on my hair when I sit back down. I suppose talking to myself might.

“Alright, so she’s gone now. The only thing to worry about is getting a new housekeeper.” I get up and head over to the drawers again, fishing for the phone book. I flip through the pages looking for anything to do with house cleaning. “House cleaning...house cleaning...house keeping? Hmm..”

I finally find the number I’m looking for and grab the phone as hopeful as I can be, but my breath is still shuttering a bit.

‘Out of order’. I put the phone back on the receiver and tap my fingers on the pages. “I’m definitely not calling a maid service.” For one, it’s too expensive. Also, I don’t like the look of the women in the picture. They’re all full of fake smiles and outfits they should have done away with in the early sixties. “For Christ’s sake, they’re even called ‘Merry Maids’!”

I shut the phone book and read the cover. “2009, most of these numbers are probably out of order or changed now anyway.”

I heave a sigh and get up and head into the kitchen again, carrying the phone in one hand and pulling the long cord with the other, until I get to a chair and sit down, placing the phone on the table in front of me.

“Where am I going to find a housekeeper that also does cooking and shopping?” I stare at the phone as though it should be summoned to ring with the perfect housekeeper on the line, ready to work. I’d tell her to come for an interview immediately, and to pick up some milk on her way. Whole milk though, none of that fat free or organic crap.

I wouldn’t have to tell Mrs. Palgrove what kind of milk to pick up. I’d just say ‘milk’ and she would know. I wouldn’t have to tell her any of the kinds of foods or other products to buy because she already knew them. She knew what I liked to eat. She knew how I liked everything to be in the house.

“Dammit!”

I swallow down some dry air as I hear my stomach growling, and I feel a small lump forming in my throat. “Great, I’m getting sick too!”

I finally get up and decide to make myself something to eat. I look through the cabinets and find a few cans of soup I usually save for the weekends if I’ve run dry of Mrs. Palgrove’s left overs. I grab a can of beef stew and prepare myself some lunch.

Every time I swallow down even a small bite of the soup, I can feel the lump in my throat present. I haven’t had a lump in my throat in ages. A small panic rises in me when I wonder if Mrs. Palgrove died from something she might have passed onto me. Then I remember he said they thought it was a stroke. The lump in my throat feels even bigger now though. The momentary possibility of deadly disease is no doubt the culprit.

After I force down most of my soup and some tea, I head to the couch again carrying the phone. This time when I grab the phonebook, I look for the number to the local paper. I figure I’ll just call and put in another ad like I did the last time. That’s how I got Mrs. Palgrove’s attention and that worked out well.

The phone only has time for half a ring before a man with an annoyingly cheery voice answers. “Sawyer County Newspaper, Adam speaking, how may I help you?”

I clear my throat and grab the phone cord again. “Yes, my name is Gerard Way and I’m calling to--”

“Wait, Gerard Way?” He interrupts.

“Yes…”

“As in...Wisconsin's famous writer Gerard Way?”

“Unless there’s another one.” I reply a bit annoyed. “I need to place an ad looking--”

“I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you sir!” He says even more excited. “My wife loves your books!”

“Oh really?”

“Yes!”

“Is your wife an unemployed housekeeper?”

“Sir?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I need to place an ad in your paper for a housekeeper.”

“Oh right, right.” He laughs exactly the way you’d imagine a stoned surfer ‘dude’ would. Soon though his tone has changed, thankfully sounding more professional. “So you want an ad open for a housekeeper.” The keys click on a computer he’s on as he enters my information.

I finish telling him everything I need and I’m almost relieved. “So when is this going in the paper?”

“Well the all ads for this week are already up for the paper tomorrow, but a week after tomorrow it will be in there.” He sounds far too chipper for the news he just gave.

“Wait, a week from tomorrow?”

“Yes sir.”

I stand up, pulling my fingers free from the web of phone cord I’ve nervously wrapped around them. “No, no, no, that’s not going to work at all! What’s your name, Adam?”

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Yeah Adam, that’s not going to work for me. How much to put it in tomorrow’s paper?” I pick up the dial pad part of the phone and carry it to the living room window with me.

“I’m sorry Mr. Way, we can’t--”

“No!” I pause and shut my eyes in an attempt at calming myself. “No Adam, that’s just not going to work at all! You see, I need a housekeeper now! I need groceries now! I’m only stocked up for the week and I….I just need you to put my ad in tomorrow’s paper.”

“But--”

“Whatever it takes! How much more would I have to pay to have it inserted in tomorrow’s paper Adam?” I swallow hard over the growing lump, as I place my hand firmly down on the windowsill.

“Um….I’m sorry Mr. Way, there’s just no way to--”

“You know Adam, all these ‘Uh’ and ‘Um’s that you keep saying, they just make you sound incredibly stupid, as I’m guessing you really are, but I’m not calling to teach you how to at least sound confident, I’m calling to put an ad in your paper. You say you can’t, then let me speak to your manager!”

“Um, I mean, yes. Yes Mr. Way, I’d be happy to patch you through to him, but I do fear you will be on hold a while, and I know it’s not going to get your ad in for tomorrow. I’ll still  be happy to do it if you really want though?”

The line falls silent and I know I’m defeated. This kid, idiot or not, he’s sure enough of what he’s saying for it to be true. My mind starts to race but comes up with blanks on how I’m going to get by. My frustration begins to grow even more as does the lump in my throat.

Finally I can take no more. “How the hell am I supposed to get my groceries and eat?” I shout, filling the old house up with my booming voice.

I can hear Adam’s own fear as he scrambles his words to answer me. “Well...sir...Mr. Way, you um….you have a car?”

“I don’t drive Moron! I don’t leave my house!”

“Ever?” His fear is exchanged with confusion.

“Ever dammit! Glad you find that amusing! Put the ad in next week’s God damned paper!” I slam the phone to the receiver, and the entire phone on the table.

I pace around the living room a few minutes, just tugging my hair and thinking. How in the hell am I supposed to eat? What about other things like, toiletries? Usually I’m only stocked up for one or two weeks at a time. Hopefully I have enough toilet paper at least, to last a week. That’s one week for the paper to go out. Hopefully someone will respond quickly, within the first few days.

….They might not though.

I stop pacing and run to the kitchen, looking in the cabinets. There’s definitely only enough food to last a week. If I spread it out, maybe two weeks, but that’s if I don’t eat much at all. Maybe halve every meal and have the second part as left overs. There’s half a loaf of bread to make sandwiches with. A few cans of soup. I know how to make hamburgers with the meat in the freezer, but nothing else. I can drink just water when I run dry of tea. There’s half a disgusting pitcher of lemonade Mrs. Palgrove always makes for herself to drink. I hate lemonade.

I feel a sweat break out across my forehead and the back of my neck. The lump in my throat feels like it doubled in size since the conversation with incompetent Adam. I walk over to the living room window and look out. My beat up old Trans am hasn’t been driven in years. There’s vines growing around the tires, and I doubt seriously that it would even start. Not that I would even drive it if it was brand new.

“Oh God!” The ever swelling lump has to be the size of a golf ball now. It’s cutting off my oxygen, it has to be. A cold sweat covers my body as my shirt begins to stick to me. My breathing is labored as I walk over to the coffee table. My feet drag a bit and my right foot comes out of the navy blue slipper, causing me to trip over the phone cord. I catch myself on the arm of the couch. I can feel my heart pounding so hard, I’m sure it’s going to break my ribs.

I look down at the phone on the table and grit my teeth. I am now blaming everything on this piece of shit inadament object. It’s what I got the news of Mrs. Palgrove’s death on. The idiotic kid that wouldn’t oblige my need, gave me that news on it. Sense or not, I momentarily hate this phone with everything inside me.

I lift the phone and panting hard, I use every bit of strength I have and send it flying through the livingroom window, shattering the glass in it’s wake, as it goes over the porch and finally lands in a patch of dead grass several feet in front of the pourch.

“Dammit!” I curse turning around to look at the clock, but the room seems to spin, and the hands on the clock look like they’re melting. “What’s happening to me?” I grab the arm of the couch again but it does nothing to steady me. I feel like I’m gasping for air around the impossibly large lump in my throat.

I lift my head as the room spins around, this time caused by my legs giving out beneath me, sending me falling. My body didn’t even have the decency to allow me to go unconscious until after I’ve hit the floor.
© 2014 - 2024 TenderRevenge
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Fluffelpuff's avatar
Dear Lord, you have sucked me in with this story and I cannot wait for it to be updated.