Mary McDonald - No good deed

There were a number of things that would have to wait their turn and the list grew. He had taken so many things for granted his whole life. Now, he was happy for the sliver of soap he’d found stuck to the shower caddy. He should have thought to take the soap from the motel, but at least he had snagged the shampoo.

The mattress in the sofa bed looked suspicious so he slid the mechanism back and replaced the cushions. The couch would do just fine. It would feel as luxurious as a bed at a five-star hotel. Before settling in for the night, he went to the refrigerator and poured milk in his lone glass. Tilting his head back, he downed it in four satisfying gulps. Gasping, he swiped his arm over his upper lip, and grinned despite the brain freeze.

Easing down on the couch, he kicked his feet up, wrapped his coat around him and tucked his head into the crook of his arm. For the first time since his release, he slept through until morning.

Sun glinted through the windows, filling the apartment with a warm glow. He blinked at the brightness and rubbed his eyes. A surge of adrenaline shot through him. Today was his first day at work. The thought propelled him off the sofa, and he rummaged through the clothes in the dresser, pulling out his least faded jeans and a plain black sweater. He made a mental note to ask the super about the closest laundry facilities. It would be too much to hope there was one in the building, not that he was complaining. As an afterthought, he grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants to use as a towel. It was one more thing to add to the growing list of necessities.

After showering and shaving, he stood in the kitchen, a glass of milk in one hand, a granola bar in the other. As he crunched the bar, he gazed out the window onto the street below. Mornings in his loft, he’d often awakened early, catching the first rays of the sun as they gilded the waves on Lake Michigan. He’d loved that loft. By some stroke of luck, the view of the lake from his windows had been unimpeded. He missed sipping a cup of strong black coffee as the city stirred awake. It was his time to think, to let his creativity take flight as he planned the day’s photo shoots. Taking the last bite of the bar, he washed it down with the milk.

Between getting the job and finding the apartment yesterday, he’d gone to his old apartment building. The super was a different guy, someone Mark had never met. The man had checked the records, and confirmed the eviction.

“It says here that since nobody came to claim the belongings, they were put on the curb.”

“What about my car?”

The guy had simply shrugged.

“So, that’s it? There’s nothing left?”

“Sorry, buddy. It was all legal.”

It was all gone. His apartment, his equipment, his photos, his business, his old life.

A taxi blasted its horn, and Mark started. He blinked, dragging in one long breath and then another. Life marched on. There was nothing to do but stumble along and deal with it. His earlier eagerness faltered with the memories. Trying to regain it, he glanced around the kitchen. Sure, it wasn’t his old loft, but it was his new home and things could be a lot worse. He set about making sandwiches for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly was quick and cheap, and he rounded his meal with an apple, tossing it all in a bag.

His spirits perked up as he stepped into the crisp morning air and took a deep breath. Above the smell of exhaust and stagnant puddles scattered on the pavement from melting snow, came the scent of spring. Bicyclists sped past, seemingly unfazed by the early morning chill in the air.

A bike would be great. He wondered what had happened to the one that he’d kept in his loft storage area. He hoped it had gone to a kid. He mentally added a bike to his wish list. Food, shelter and clothing were the priority. He had those three now even if the clothing and food weren’t in abundance.

After work, he’d stop at the store and get some more basics for meals. He planned to hit the thrift shop again, see if he could afford some sheets and towels. So much to do, so little time. It hit him how much he’d missed having plans. To having a purpose to each day. It was what life was all about.

The walk to the camera shop only took about twenty minutes. At an intersection, he stopped for traffic and took a moment to turn his face to the sun. It didn’t have much heat, but the light against his eyelids warmed him. Opening his eyes, he smiled at an old lady waiting beside him. She scowled and tottered off the curb, muttering something about young people on drugs. His smile stretched to a grin. Life was good.

The next week passed quickly. During the day, he fed film into the processing machine, tended to customers and sold a few cameras. After work, he put a fresh coat of paint on the walls of the apartment. He painted one wall a deep blue, and the other three cream-colored. He’d found an area rug at the thrift store. It wasn’t a necessity, but as he laid it on the floor in front of the sofa, he knew he’d been right to purchase it. Even with a couple of tattered corners, it added a homey air to the room. It was a cheap replica of an Afghan rug, which he thought somehow fitting. Or ironic. He wasn’t sure which.

A week after moving in, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa while reading when he startled awake, disoriented and unsure of what had awakened him. The book he’d been reading slid from his chest to the floor. Nothing looked out of place, so he reached for the book, the movement freezing when someone pounded on the door. Heart thumping, he crossed the room but didn’t touch the doorknob. “Yeah?”

Why wasn’t there a damn peephole? He put an ear to the wood. It was silly to think that there’d be men in dark suits lurking in the hall.

“It’s Bud. I came for the receipts.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair as his heart settled to a normal rhythm. He opened the door. “Sure. Come on in while I get them.” He strode to the dresser, opened the top drawer and withdrew an envelope.

“Jeezus, this looks damn good, Taylor.” Bud touched the blue wall. “Not sure if I like the blue-it’s gonna be hell to paint over someday-but, it looks good.”

“Thanks. Here’s the receipts. I deducted some of the stuff that I bought for myself.” Mark pointed to where he’d subtracted the cost of a can opener and a few other things.

Bud shrugged. “I trust ya. Just tell me what I owe you.”

Mark swallowed, feeling stupid for the gratitude that washed through him. “I circled it there at the bottom. It came to forty-three dollars.”

“What’d you do? Steal the paint?” Bud chuckled as he flipped open his wallet.

“Uh…no, I got it cheap because it was a return. Not the right color for someone.” Mark shuffled his feet and jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s all there on the receipt.”

Bud paused as he counted out some bills. “I was just jokin’.” He gave Mark a questioning look, then handed him the money. “All I have is two twenties and a five-”

“Sorry, I don’t have change right now. I’ll just run down to the mini-mart and get some.” Mark knew without looking that he didn’t have change. He’d spent his last two dollars on milk.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Bud waved him off. “Hey, I was thinking. You got any more of that paint?” He jabbed a thumb at the blue wall.

“Sure. It didn’t take much to cover the one wall. Just a couple of coats. Why?” Mark put the bills in his wallet. Grocery money. He’d worked for himself for so long, it hadn’t occurred to him that first paychecks were delayed a week or two. Now he could eat.

“I got another empty apartment below this one. You think you might be interested in painting it like this one?”