I'd only been home from the hospital for a couple of weeks. Divorced for over two years now, I lived alone ... in a home that was far bigger than what I needed. I knew, especially now ... that in time I'd probably need to sell it, find a different place to live. But I had enough on my plate already, there'd be time enough for that when I got used to everything. If I ever did. You see ... I'd been in a car accident, and had lost my right leg just below the knee because of it.
I'd of course been given some help from friends and neighbors shortly after I came home. I guess it was pride perhaps, and hating to depend on anyone else aside for myself in doing things. But as I was still trying to manage my way around on crutches, I'd eventually given in and allowed a few people to help me out, in small ways at least. It would be a while yet before I could be fitted for a prosthesis, in the meantime, in was hobble, jump, or crutch myself along in order to do anything. Because of that, I'd become a virtual prisoner in my own house. That or lazy, however you want to look at it. I know that part of it was feeling sorry for myself. That and being angry at the dumb fuck that T-boned my car, severing my leg. The fact he died in the accident seemed unfair in a way, the way I looked at it. I found myself wishing I'd been the one who'd been killed, as opposed to trying to make my way through life at almost fifty, without the use of my leg. I know ... but that's how I felt at the time. And still did as I took in my surroundings and realized I needed to do something about my situation before the board of health came in and condemned my home. Ok, it wasn't that bad ... but it was getting there.
With the bedrooms on the second floor, along with the only full bath/shower room, it had become too difficult for me to try and hobble up and down the stairs all by myself. As such, I'd managed to convince a friend or two, to help me make things a bit more comfortable for myself on the main floor. At least here I had access to most of what I needed ... or wanted, and thus began making the best of it where I was. The couch became my bed of course, I hardly ever left it. Luckily, there was a small bathroom on this floor, though my bathing consisted of standing (or rather balancing) on one leg in front of the sink while I washed myself. I can't even remember the last time I had washed my hair, I guess when it started standing up all on its own, I'd do something about it. Until then...
And though the kitchen was on the same level, even hobbling around in there posed problems for me. Cooking anything that needed attention being paid to was out of the question. For now, I didn't have the stamina or the patience for that. Needless to say, my cell phone, the phone book, and various "take out" food joints became my primary staple as far as meals went. And with that of course, the ever-growing mess of discarded cartons, pizza boxes, empty sacks and the like that had begun to clutter up my world. I couldn't even take the fucking garbage out. Funny how the small things become monumental when you're still trying to learn how to pee while standing there on one leg. Sure, you can tell yourself it's not that hard, or that I should just sit down to pee. Which I did. But day in and day out of jumping on one foot down the hallway (no it was too big of a bother to try and negotiate my slick floors with the fucking crutches) sort of takes it out of you after a while. So then I started peeing in a large mason jar instead. Hell of a lot easier. Until I had stacked ten of them behind the couch full of piss. Now what?
It was time to get a maid. Someone who would come in and clean up after my filthy self. Someone who wouldn't mind emptying out mason jars full of piss hopefully. At least until I got a better handle on this missing leg thing. But at the moment, I was holding onto my anger, my "woe is me" attitude, and hating everyone around me that was still walking around on two good legs.
Life wasn't fucking fair. And since it wasn't, then whoever was unfortunate enough to come in and clean up after me, was just going to have to deal with it. At least I had plenty of money ... the accident, insurance policies, and one hell of a good attorney had seen to that. So whoever came in to pick up my messes would at least get paid well for doing so. I figured in doing that, they could keep their mouths shut and just do what needed to be done.
I searched through the ads looking for someone that was willing to come in once or twice a week. Oh yeah, and the last thing I wanted or needed, was someone who'd remind me of my mother. Or worse ... act like one. No, I wanted someone younger, willing to put up with my nasty old filthy self. Yeah I know, it was a lot to ask. But I was willing to pay for it too. Hopefully they'd even be good looking or attractive. Not that it really mattered, since the accident, the last thing I had on my mind was anything to do with sex. It was almost like I had lost my dick, and not my leg. Not that it really mattered. In a way ... I had.
After ruling out several possibilities, I ended up with only two possible choices that even sounded remotely close to what I was looking for. The first one ... no one answered, though I left a message. I then dialed the second number. On the third ring, someone finally answered.
"May I speak with Karen? Karen Martial?" I asked.
"Sorry ... you must have the wrong number."
"Ok, thanks," I said hanging up, suddenly irritated. I could have sworn I had dialed the number correctly. I looked at the ad in the paper again, making sure of the number, and then redialed.
"Hello?" Came the same voice I'd heard only moments ago. I considered just simply hanging up, and almost did, until she spoke again. "Is this about the ad in the paper for the cleaning lady?"
I was surprised when she said that. That, and a little confused, especially if I did indeed have the wrong number. "Yes ... yes it is, but you said..."
"Yeah, the number listed was listed incorrectly so it seems. This is the third call I've received today from someone looking for a cleaning lady."
"Oh, well that makes sense ... sort of," I responded back. "I'm sorry to have bothered..."
"Funny though," she continued on interrupting me. "I've been looking for a part time job here myself ... maybe I should look into something like that. What're you paying anyway? And what all's involved?"
She sounded young, and interesting. I could almost see the smile on her face. I gave her a number, higher than I'd actually intended, but then gave her the bad news.
"Ok, that's doable. And as far as everything else goes you told me, we'll discuss that in detail after I get there. I'm sure we can come to some agreements," she informed me. "Is three o'clock this afternoon good for you then?" She asked. It was a little after noon now. I figured I could at least clean up a little. Not the room ... me.
"Yeah, three's good," I told her, and then gave her the address. Surprisingly, as it turned out, she only lived two miles away from where I did. "Oh yeah, I've been by there many times," she informed me. "There's that really nice bakery there on the corner of the street, just a few houses down from you."
There was, and I confirmed that with her, wondering then if perhaps I hadn't in fact run into her there before as I'd very often frequented the place myself. Up until the accident that is ... since then, the furthest I'd been was out on my porch a few times to pick up the paper. After hanging up with her, I managed to hop down the hallway to the bathroom where I proceeded to take a bath in the sink. At least I wouldn't smell bad, even if my hair was in fact starting to stand on end all by itself.
Tracy, as she introduced herself to me was a young, and rather attractive looking woman. I guessed her to be in her late twenties at the most. She worked part time as it was, doing some book editing, made decent enough money whenever she did that, but unfortunately, it didn't promise or guarantee her a steady income. Doing something in addition to this, on the side, would help her make ends meet a little easier. And it was something that she could manage to work both jobs around time-wise. Even though she rolled her eyes and almost covered her nose when she saw the conditions I was living in. I almost felt bad for the way things looked, especially as cute as she was. She wore her dark hair short, almost too short, but in a sassy, almost devilish sort of way, with the bangs far longer, and constantly falling over into her eyes where she almost continuously brushed them away. It was almost annoying, in a cute sort of way. She had nice tits too, or from what little I could tell anyway. But then again, I hadn't really been thinking along those lines recently, so even thinking the word "tits" was almost enough. Not like she was big busted, nor small. Probably average in proportion to her five and a half foot frame. I think her most striking feature to be honest about it ... besides her tits, were her almost gray colored eyes, that seemed striking, along with her delicate features, small nose, full sensual lips, and a dimple in the middle of her chin that became even more pronounced whenever she smiled. Though looking around the room at the moment, she wasn't doing much of that.
I had introduced myself to her as Jack, trying to make light of it. "Call me Jack," I had told her. "Not so nimble ... or quick," I had added. She ignored my comment however, along with my attempt at humor.
"First things first," she informed me. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to get this place back in shape again ... and then back the day after tomorrow to finish things up, and then begin working with you."
.... There is more of this story ...