The Electric Lecky Returns

For those of you who lived through the

Electric Lecky Era with me, you know

my history of becoming caretaker to an elderly 

person I'm a). not related to and b). barely know.

For two years I managed the Electric Lecky's bills,

medication, and sore feet (i.e. feet covered in sores)

while at the same time serving as her chauffeur.

During that time period, I rented the apartment 

above the E.L. and thus had to sneak in and out

of my own front door to avoid the vacant death glare

cast from her cataract covered eyes as she stood

as still as Death behind her adjacent screen door.

When my roommate had to "go away" for a while,

I had to add lying about his whereabouts to my

Lecky repertoire; needless to say, he spent a lot

of time "babysitting his nieces and nephew" that winter.

I knew the end was near for the Electric Lecky when

I found her standing in a dark corner of her even darker

dwelling, begging for the Lord to come and take her;

when she died a few months later in the bedroom below me,

I was the one standing in a corner, my friend Cat having 

forced me to go and pay my final respects while she

dripped drops of morphine down the Electric Lecky's throat.

Needless to say, that was one of the most horrific 

moments of what was then, a pretty abysmal life.

When the E.L. was carted out of the house, I must

admit that I caught my first breath of fresh air in years

and vowed to never again get suckered into caring

for someone other than family and close friends.

Well, today the Electric Lecky returned in the

form of JSA, the crippled old man who lives upstairs.

I'm not going to sugar coat it - JSA has been a pain in the 

ass since we moved in here.  On day 1, he lectured us on 

how to recycle and separate our garbage properly 

and when our friends moved in next door to him, 

they called the cops on him within 36 hours.

However, it was a peaceful summer and fall because 

JSA was missing; we didn't know where he had gone

and frankly, we didn't inquire.  Last month, we found 

out that he had been ill and in hospital but was returning.

What's worse than the E.L.'s behind-the-screen death glare? 

Turning the corner onto our street and spying J.S.A.

hobbling in front of you, dragging his too short leg behind.

Since his return, we've been fortunate to only hear him. 

Unfortunately, that came to an end today when I bumped

into him in the vestibule on my return from the laundry room 

and he told me that he has bone marrow cancer and is 

most certainly living out his last days and could I please

go get him some Tropicana orange juice with extra pulp

and a pack of Windmill biscuits that he's been unable to find?

Ugh.

The Electric Lecky may be back but I refuse to become her patsy.

I'm having a baby in a few days and I don't have the

mental wherewithal to deal with her latest incarnation.

That may sound cruel but dammit, I've done my time - 

I'll get the darn juice but that's where I draw the line!