Christmas Confidential - 5. Simon and Squeak

Simon and Squeak

By Valkyrie

Two hundred twenty dollars and twenty cents. Much less than the fifteen hundred dollars he needed by December first to pay his mortgage and health insurance premium. He had ten days to come up with the additional funds. Simon snorted. November 20, 2020. What’s with all the 20s? I can’t wait for this shitshow of a year to be over with, he thought. “At this rate, 2021 isn’t going to be much better,” he grumbled.

A gray blur appeared before his computer screen. He picked up the plump furball and set the cat on his lap, stroking its silky fur. Simon burrowed his face in the animal’s neck, hugging it gently. “Be glad you don’t have human problems, Squeak.”

Squeak purred and head-butted Simon before jumping down and walking away, tail raised stiffly in the air. He stopped at his food bowl and sat next to it, staring at the human expectantly. Cat problems were much more important than human problems.

“It’s not time yet. You have a whole hour to wait!”

The cat blinked its yellow eyes slowly and swished its tail.

Simon rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the computer screen. He’d receive one more unemployment payment before the first of the month, bringing his total up to six hundred and twenty dollars. Not enough to cover everything, but enough for him to maintain his health insurance for another month. The mortgage would have to wait.

Again.

Simon closed the laptop and stood, stretching his arms above his head. Squeak turned in circles next to his bowl, chirping hopefully. The cat knew he wouldn’t have to wait the entire hour before his usual dinnertime. He wove in between Simon’s legs as the human poured dry kibble into the white bowl with multi-colored paw prints surrounding it.

The human smiled as he watched the animal dig into the food like he was never fed. The size of the feline’s belly told a different story. Simon walked the few steps to the fridge to see what he could scrounge up for dinner. He opened the door and peered inside. “Ugh… what the hell went bad in here?” He scrunched his nose and waved his hand in front of his face in a futile effort to dispel the offending odor.

The contents of the fridge were meager. A carton with two eggs. Leftover bratwurst from two days ago. It couldn’t have gone bad that quickly! And a can of pop. Subtract another hundred from his bank account, to pay for more food.

He grabbed the eggs and bratwurst and set them on the table, then got out a frying pan. He had a little bit of cheddar cheese left, so at least he didn’t have to eat his eggs plain. He’d had worse meals. The stench persisted after he closed the refrigerator door. Was it the eggs? He opened the carton. No. Then he realized, with disgust, that the offending odor came from himself.

He braced his arms on the kitchen table and took several deep, gasping breaths. Fuck! He couldn’t remember the last time he showered, although he did remember thinking he needed a shower three days ago. It was bad enough being stuck in the house all the time. Taking a shower required all his willpower.

It had to be done though. He was seriously grossing himself out. Simon returned the food to the fridge and headed for the bathroom, steeling himself for the ordeal of cleaning his body.

The hot water felt good at first. Washing his hair, then running the washcloth over his body felt refreshing and invigorating—a sorely needed renewal. It helped to think about other things…anything other than being in the confined space of the shower’s walls.

And that was the end of Simon’s tolerance. His breath came in short bursts as the water now felt like it was scalding, even though it was the same temperature as when he started. The steam in the small space felt like a living thing, surrounding and enveloping him as the walls moved inward. It invaded his lungs, stealing his air. He had to get out. NOW.

He rinsed off as best he could, turned the water off, then grabbed the bath towel from the rack. He left the tiny bathroom and headed for his sanctuary—the living room, the largest room in the house—dripping water over the hardwood floors along the way. He held the towel in front of him as he closed the curtains, and basked in the larger space.

This was why he showered so infrequently.

He dried himself off, then headed to the bedroom, hoping to find clean clothes in the pile occupying the bed. He was in luck, and threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. His stomach growled, so he headed back to the kitchen to fry up his eggs and sausage.

Back in March, when the pandemic first hit, Simon never envisioned being out of work for eight months. His job was considered non-essential, so the museum let him go. What use was an archivist when there were no new exhibits, and the museum was closed to the public anyway? It wasn’t like he could go and apply anywhere else, since all museums were currently closed. I should have gone into IT. They’re certainly in demand right now.

He’d had some savings, but not enough to cover this length of time. Or the major expenses that all happened at once. First, his laptop went. Then the joys of home ownership reared their lovely head, costing him a few thousand dollars in repairs. Squeak decided to get sick at the same time, resulting in some hefty vet bills as well. So good-bye savings.

He’d been all right until the pandemic unemployment supplement stopped. Now he was months behind in mortgage payments, and facing the possibility of not being able to pay other bills as well. With another surge in numbers, he was looking at several more months of unemployment. At least.

How am I supposed to recover from this?

He’d always considered himself a pretty stable guy. He had lots of friends, a nice house, a good job, and Squeak. He kept busy with hobbies and volunteer work.

Now there were times where he felt like he was losing his mind. Like in the shower. Nights were pretty bad too. Sometimes his blankets felt like a straightjacket. He’d have to throw them off and sit up to control his breathing. Then change his sweat-soaked shirt.

The stress of being cooped up, now that the weather had turned, was too much. He didn’t know how to deal with it.

One day at a time, Si. One day at a time.

He watched YouTube videos as he ate his meal. Cable had been one of the first luxuries to go. The mindless entertainment kept his mind occupied for a little while, at least.

Tears flooded his eyes when a Christmas commercial interrupted the street food video he’d found. He set his plate down, since he couldn’t eat with his throat so constricted.

What the fuck is wrong with me? At any given moment, he felt like he would explode, yet the release never came.

The thought of Christmas was particularly triggering. One of his favorite things to do was exchange gifts with his friends. He felt like a kid every Christmas morning, waking up with an ear-splitting grin, knowing he’d be able to finally open the parcels sitting under his tabletop tree. It was most fun opening them while video chatting or on the phone with his friends. He put a lot of thought into the gifts he gave, and everyone always gushed over them.

To Simon, it wasn’t receiving the gifts that was important—it was knowing he had so many people in his life that cared enough to send them every year.

This year was different though. He couldn’t afford to send his friends anything, and felt guilty that they were still sending them to him. He’d make up for it next year, he vowed.

He stood and walked to the door. I can check the mail. At least I’ll get a burst of fresh air. For a few seconds, anyway.

There were a few white envelopes nestled in the center of an advertisement, like a paper taco. Car insurance. Water bill. Professional license renewal.

It all added up to more than what was left over after he paid his COBRA bill. He flung the papers down on the kitchen table and walked woodenly away.

7:30 pm. Time to do the dishes and clean the cat box. Routine helped. Washing the dishes was something Simon could do without thinking. And it’s not like there were that many to do anyway. He sighed and slumped against the kitchen sink. Just the act of doing routine chores was so exhausting lately.

He pushed away and resumed his task. The night was nice and clear out the kitchen window. Maybe I like doing dishes because I can see outside. Light from the streetlight at the end of his driveway glinted off the large, fluffy snowflakes languidly drifting from the sky.

Huh… when did it start snowing?

The snow already dusted the ground, trees, and parked cars—including the bright red one parked in front of his house. Simon hadn’t noticed it pull up. He saw the footprints that led from the car, up his driveway at the same time a loud knock sounded on his kitchen door. He jumped, almost dropping the slippery plate in his hand.

Now who on earth could that be? Anyone he knew would have called or texted first, and door-to-door sales were prohibited.

Simon grabbed the mask he kept next to the door and put it on. He opened the door and saw a tall man wearing nice clothes, a buttoned up black pea coat, and a bright red Santa hat. The man grinned as he made eye contact with Simon, then put a red mask on. Simon gawped at the stranger, wondering if he was really asleep and in some strange dream.

Bright blond—almost white—hair curled around the edges of his hat and coat collar. Piercing blue eyes, like two sparkling diamonds, shone with friendliness and perhaps a touch of innocence. The man’s cheeks flushed bright red with the cold, in stark contrast to his pale face. There was a mesmerizing energy about the man… something Simon had never experienced before. It felt like he was in a snow globe tableau and someone had shaken it vigorously.

The spell was broken when Squeak made an uncharacteristic dash out the door, between Simon’s bare legs. The blond Santa reached down and caught the fat cat, cradling him close to his chest. Squeak purred loudly and rubbed his head all over the stranger’s chin.

“Squeak! Oh my God! Thank you! He never goes near the door,” Simon opened the door further. “Please, come in.” The thought that he was inviting a stranger into his home occurred to him briefly, but was quickly dismissed. This man was no threat. Simon knew it deep in his soul.

The man stepped inside and set Squeak down gently. The cat—who normally ran from strangers—purred loudly, weaving and rubbing against the man’s legs.

Simon smiled. “Wow, he’s not usually so affectionate with people he’s never met.”

The man laughed, a musical, beautiful sound. “He must know I’m a cat person.”

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Simon Adams?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Gabe Murray with the local news. I’m here on behalf of an anonymous benefactor, who heard about you and wanted to give you a gift for Christmas.”

Simon furrowed his brow. Was this a joke? He started to regret letting the beautiful man into his home. What kind of scam was he running?

Gabe laughed. “It’s no joke… We had someone who wishes to remain anonymous contact us and ask us to distribute gifts on his behalf. You’re one of the people he asked us to visit.” He held out a small, brightly decorated box. “Please, open it now.”

“Wow… I don’t know what to say. Other than I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before!”

The man’s eyes crinkled, as if he were smiling underneath his mask. “It’s been a tough few months, hasn’t it.”

Simon nodded wordlessly, holding in his emotion.

“Open the box, Simon.”

He slid the cover off the box and removed a rectangular piece of paper. A check. His eyes widened and mouth opened when he saw the amount. He grabbed the wall to keep his knees from buckling. “How… why… I don’t understand! Who would do such a thing?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars should be enough to get you back on your feet until you can start working again.”

“Well, yes! Is this for real?”

The man’s eyes shone with kindness. “It’s most certainly real. Merry Christmas, Simon.” He turned to walk out the door.

“Wait! Who do I thank? I—” Tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away, then blinked at the empty space before him.

He opened the door to thank the man properly, but was met only with swirling snow. The bright red car was gone, and there were no footprints in the driveway.

He stared at the check in his hands, not daring to believe, but knowing in his heart it was real.

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