2
“Fuck,”Art Cromley said as he cut the side of his thumb on a rose thorn. He pulled his hand to his mouth and licked his thumb, cursing himself again for not having been morecautious.
Just hisluck.
Gardening was supposed to be his safe space, his time for reflection and meditation, not a source of stress andinconvenience.
Art engaged in a variety of activities within the Heathrow Estates community, and gardening was a particularly pleasurable experience for him, to the point that he had volunteered to tend to the community garden as well as several of his friends’ allottedsections.
He wore kneepads as he continued trimming some of the dead branches on the rose bush he was working on, tending to some of his friend Gabe’s roses. Gabe’s deceased wife had kept roses in their garden, but unlike her, Gabe didn’t have a green thumb and had struggled to keep them alive, so Art had volunteered to assisthim.
Normally, Art was far more careful about his work, especially around the roses, but the day was particularly humid, and in his hurry to finish and quit wiping the sweat from his brow, he’d hurt himself, and judging by the size of the cut, he needed to tend to it promptly and return to his worklater.
Therein lay the benefit of retirement. He had little else to be concerned about outside of his work in the gardens, catching up on his reading, and attending his regularly scheduled activities. Still, the intrusion into his day was a great inconvenience. He cleaned up his tools and headed back to his apartment unit in search of a Band-Aid andantiseptic.
It became quite a quest as he rifled through his cabinets. He recalled having some in the bottom drawer of the bathroom, but he couldn’t find themanywhere.
At one point, he called his friend Gabe, asking, “Didn’t I loan you some Band-Aids some weeksback?”
Gabe replied, “Eh…I remember needing one, but I’m pretty sure you just gave me one and kept therest.”
“That’s probably right, but I’ve searched high and low, and I don’t want to have to run out to grab more, but I think I’ll haveto.”
“Just have them bring a box. That’s what the delivery service is for,Cromley!”
“Nonsense!” Art insisted. “I can certainly go to the store and get my own Band-Aids.”
“Well, earlier Frances was talking about needing sugar for pie, if you wanted to grab some while you’re out.” A bag of sugar sounded exhausting to Art, but if she needed it, then he could grab some if he was going to be out anyway. “And I wouldn’t mind some candycorn.”
Art chuckled. “Of course I’ll get you some candy corn. I’ll probably call over to Frances and then Tony to see if there’s anything else theyneed.”
That bag of sugar meant Art would need to bring his foldout cart with him. Even though the store was just on the other side of the community, the trip was far enough that he could justify it, particularly if he could help his friends out by grabbing a few moreitems.
Fortunately, when he called over to Frances, she also needed some milk, but only half a gallon, as she didn’t think she could use a whole one before it expired, and Tony wanted some bottles of water, which was just enough to make the adventure that had originally been intended for a single Band-Aid more than worth it. However, after all the planning, Art noticed the cut that hadn’t been bleeding very much to begin with had dried up enough that the Band-Aid was altogether unnecessary, but at least he could be sure to grab some more Band-Aids for when he needed themagain.
He opened the closet and retrieved his foldout cart, which he opened up before heading out. Then he made his way to the elevator and took it to the first floor, a process that was interrupted at nearly all eleven floors below his. Art engaged in a lively discussion with some of his elevator companions about how annoyed they all were with the amount of time it was taking for the ACs to be updated in the building, and how between that and the other functioning elevator being worked on, it made for an extremely troublesome regular routine for the residents. The outrage settled as they reached the first floor and wished those entering the elevator a quicker journey back to their units, everyone equally annoyed by the disruption, something that was only adding time to Art’schore.
He walked along the sidewalk, across the bridge over the pond in the middle of the main courtyard, glancing around at the busyness as residents made their way about for their activities that day, many of them heading toward the fitness center, leaving Art trying to recall what activities were scheduled for that day. He saw his friend Roger and his wife on their way, dressed in shorts and tees, so he inquired about theevent.
“It’s a new yoga class,” Roger said. “You need to come joinus.”
“No, no. I’m on my way to the store to get some Band-Aids,” Art said, which earned him strange glances from Roger and his wife as they eyed hiscart.
He would have explained had they given him time, but they were in a hurry to make it to the class before it began. They parted ways, and Art kept on his way to the grocerystore.
Of course, it was near the townhouses, where the wealthier of the residents tended to gravitate. And while everyone was cordial to one another, certainly Heathrow Estates wouldn’t have been as much fun if they didn’t have a certain amount of class tension between the ones who lived in the townhouses and the ones who lived in theapartments.
As Art headed into the store, cart in tow, he checked his phone for the list he’d compiled and saw additional text-message requests from Gabe and Frances. He sighed as he added the items to his list. This was not the first time he’d found his hospitality abused as his friends packed on supplies for him to pick up from the store. Of course, a few more items wouldn’t do any harm, but if they pushed for too much, he would make sure they requested them via the deliveryservice.
Art figured he could certainly grab this and that without too much issue, but as he collected items until his cart was halfway full, he realized that his friends’ small requests had stacked up quite a bit—something noted as he was greeted by friends with comments like, “Oh, are you having family over today?” and “Art, you know there is a service, right?” Art just rolled his eyes as he continuedshopping.
He finally reached the end of his list, checking through the items once more before grumbling, “Band-Aids.” Of course. The one thing he’d set out for, he’d nearlyforgotten.
He turned his cart into the personal hygiene aisle when to his surprise, he spotted Wes Brenner. He’d run into him the previous week at the Heathrow clinic, but hadn’t seen him around the community until just then. His grandson, Justin, stood beside him as they looked through the different painkillers. Art recognized Justin from having taught him eleventh grade English oh-so-many years earlier, and Wes from around town so much longer beforethat.
With specs on, Wes picked up a bottle of pills and studied it as Justin leaned against the handle of their shoppingcart.
“No, I prefer the one with caffeine in ittoo.”
