The Signs Are All There

Joe bumped through the door, the contents of the tray sliding precariously then settling as he straightened it out.

“How are you today, Mum? Here’s your breakfast.”

“Ah Joey, you are a good boy. Such a good boy to your old mum.”

Joe hooked his arms under her armpits and heaved her upwards, yanking the pillows into a hummock behind her back. He could feel the bones through the crepey skin. She smelt of pee and old person. He moved over to the window and opened the curtains. It was a dour day outside with rain pending. Joe glowered at the clouds.

“Window open or shut?”

“Shut, I think dear, it looks like rain.” With an exhausted sigh, she leaned back against the pillows. They aren’t very comfortable but she hasn’t the strength to move them.

Joe placed the tray on her knees, slopping some of the tea. “There you are, tea and toast just the way you like them.”

“Thank you, Joey.”

“I’ll look in on you later. Take the tray away.” Joe whistled his way down the stairs and into the kitchen where he tucked into his fry-up. Breakfast finished, he poured himself a second cup of tea and took it into the living room; turfing the cat off the couch. The remains of last night’s fish and chips licked down to the paper. Stupid cat. He turned on the telly but doesn’t watch, preferring the company rather than the content. He flicked to the want ads in the paper; reading each one carefully. There’s nothing he’s qualified to do. Nothing that interests him.  He’d like to be an astronaut or a detective but hasn’t the least clue where to get those kinds of jobs. Truth be told, he hasn’t had a job since he was laid off in his thirties. But he needs to do something.  Mum isn’t going to last much longer. The signs are all there. The wasting, the pain, the shortness of breath. All signs of a person in decline. A person not long for this world. Without her pension, well…

Joe sighed. He was a house painter for a few months but fell off the ladder and spilled paint all over the pavement and that was the end of that. He can make curry and boiled eggs and toast but that was the extent of his culinary skills. He can grow weed but now that it was regulated, for his own use only. He could try his hand at dog walking but most of the folks round here walked their own dogs and they were all on the dole too.

His caseworker at the job center told him to bring a list of his skills the next time he came to sign on. Said they would help him work on his curriculum vitae. The story of his work life. Not that there was much to tell.

She’d been telling him for years and he never had. This time she said if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get any money. Joe sighed again. He knew the signs. This person was losing patience with him. He’d better do as she asked. Joe fetched a pencil from the drawer in the kitchen and wrote on the back of an old flyer. It wasn’t a very long list.

Listening – he was good at that.

Music – he liked to sing in the bath on Saturdays nights.

Grow Cannabis – he had his own grow-op in the basement.

Delivering – he couldn’t drive but he could fetch and carry.

Neutering animals – he saw it on the telly and knew all about it.

After much thought, he added, “I would like to try dog walking or being an astronaut if there are any jobs for that”.

There, that should do. He folded his list and put it in his back pocket; grabbed his jacket and left the house. Soon he would have a job and his worries would be behind him. With a feeling of accomplishment, he strode out towards the Job Center and was killed instantly when a billboard fell on his head.

Media Focus

Clo Carey Feb/20

Blog challenge One Word Prompt: Signs

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