meals on wheels

Poor Miss Williamson. She had no siblings. Her parents died when she was 14. She never married. Never bore children. She never even had any pets.

Miss Williamson spent her life working in a bookstore stockroom. She lived on minimum wage and made it work. Now she’s living on social security, and she’s still making it work. With regular nurse visits and Meals on Wheels, she never even needed to leave her house.

She was a spec amongst humanity, having no impact on the world whatsoever. She may as well have not existed.
I knew this was going to change very soon.

I wheeled the cart towards her bed in somber silence. Today, she was having tomato bisque soup, French rolls, and steamed vegetables. I hated bringing her soup. I would have to feed her every spoonful. I’d have to watch her slurp. Dribble on her chin. Smack her lips. Swallow. Burp. Slurp. Dribble. Smack. Swallow. Burp.

She always burped.

Her flaccid pale skin was almost translucent. Her heart just barely pumped the blood throughout her body. I prayed I would never get that old. If I ever saw myself become this senile I would kill myself. I would do it with a smile on my face. Actually, I would want a theatrical exit. I’d probably rob a bank and hold people hostage just to get a cop to shoot me. Or maybe I’d strap bombs onto myself and sneak onto a metro-train. Something big.

Miss Williamson choked and splattered soup on my face. I took the napkin and wiped her face before my own. No matter. For what I would get in return, this was nothing.

Once the meal was finished, I packed my utensils, threw out the trash and bade her goodbye. I lied and told her I’d be seeing her again next week with Lasagna and baked potatoes. She smiled at me.



I went through her mail before I dropped it and I saw the fake Verizon bill she was about to send to my address. Her nurse wrote her bills for her. No one ever noticed my little scam. I was proud of my work too. I recreated the Verizon bill to perfection. It worked on 6 of my clients. I also sent Comcast bills, Water bills, Gas and Electric bills, whatever I saw lying around their house. I changed it around regularly too. This was how I survived living in DC without being thrown onto the streets, who cares anyway. It was government money I deserved to get.

I texted Alex ato meet me at Ruby’s café. I loved Alex. I loved her with a severity that couldn’t be described in words. I couldn’t explain why. When we hung out, she almost never spoke. She was quiet, dark, bitter, cynical .. but she enjoyed my company. She would listen to me ramble for hours , asking questions or commenting when appropriate. I could spend the rest of my life with her. But she got sick of me easily.

I saw her sitting at a dark corner, waiting for me with a coffee cup in hand.

“hey,” I said, sitting beside her.

She nodded at me.

“So im getting $482.36 cent in by Friday. Want to road trip?”

“who’d you jip this time?”

"Williamson.”

“She’s still alive?”

Alex knew about my side job. She didn’t approve, I could tell, but she never stopped me.

“As soon as she finds out where all her money is going, im sure she’ll stroke out. No one survives a second stroke.”

She nodded, without meeting my eyes. Something was wrong. Alexa never revealed her emotions, she could play off anything. If she saw a guy fucking a monkey by a garbage dump, she wouldn’t even blink. I know this because it happened before. When she did reveal a facial expression it was calculated, decide to evoke a response she wanted.

“What.” I asked.

“you don’t feel bad about what you are doing?”

“its not hurting anyone. Anyone that matters anyway.”

She looked up at me, questioning.

“well, like, I wouldn’t do it to someone who contributed to society, like doctors or teachers or something.”

“It’s wrong.”

She had never commented before.

“There’s no such thing as wrong. Or right.”

She took another sip of her coffee.

“Look, right and wrong is all relative to the situation, ok? It’s right for me, it pays my bills. I get nothing from this job, its practically volunteer work. They aren’t hurting, I am getting benefit, so who cares, ok?”

“what about god?”

“pfft.”

I thought that was response enough, but she continued to look at me.

“You don’t believe in god.” I continued.

“I know, but I’ve been thinking…” she took another sip.

This was entirely unexpected.

“Thinking of what? I mean .. we talked about this, right? Everything that exists come from our sensations and perceptions. It comes from experience. No one has ever proven god through sense, perception, or experience. There’s no such thing.”

“But what about experiences you haven’t had yet, Mike. You haven’t felt the loss f a close friend before, right? You’ve never been clinically depressed. Would you say that depression doesn’t exist?”

“No, because people have been through that, its been clinically proven.”

“Only through what people say they experience. There’s no tangible scientific proof it exists.”

“yea but..”

“people do experience god .. many people do. For generations upon generations.”

“well that’s not the same. And besides, even if there is a god, I highly doubt it would punish us for sins. I mean, like I said it’s .. all relative..”

I had lost all my arguments. I was so used to her agreeing with everything.

“Why are you thinking about god all of a sudden? You find jesus?”

“nah, not yet,” she said, leaning back, “whatever.”

Thank god, I thought.