Page 73 of Homestead

“I needed to clean the chicken coop this evenin’.”

“I can do that. I know how.”

“You’re not feelin’ good today.”

“I feel fine now,” I say through my teeth. He must believe I’m absolutely useless if I can’t even handle the basics in a crisis. “I can do it.”

“Okay.” He takes a raspy breath as he shifts his hips slightly, obviously trying to ease the pressure on his back. “Thanks. Sorry ’bout this.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

I leave the bedroom after that. I go outside to retrieve his gardening tools and stow them in the shed. Then I figure I better clean out the coop now while I have some remaining adrenaline from the emergency.

Jimmy can usually get the chore done in thirty or forty minutes, but it takes me an hour and a half. When I’m done, I have no time for a break because I need to start chopping vegetables for dinner.

I work on the stew and let it simmer for a long time to break down the tomatoes and soften the other vegetables. Jimmy is still lying on the floor with his knees up. His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. I ask him if he needs anything, and he says he’s fine.

He’s not fine, but there’s nothing I can do to change that.

I finally sit on the couch and rest for a little while, getting up occasionally to stir the stew.

When it’s done, I ask Jimmy if he wants to eat on the floor in there or if he’s able to get up.

He needs to pee, so he manages to get up with my help.

I tell him I can bring him something to pee in, but he insists that walking might help stretch out his muscles. I walk with him out of the house and across the walkway to the outhouse. He has to rest a few minutes after he goes until he’s able to walk back.

This time he sits in his seat at the table. He readjusts several times until he evidently finds a tolerable position. He’s silent and broody as he eats his stew and cheese toast.

I’m still not very hungry, so I only have a very small bowl and a piece of toast.

He notices the small amount I eat. I know he does, although he doesn’t say anything about it. When we’re done, I ask if he wants to try the bed, but he insists the floor will be better for now.

I’m not going to argue. I hold his pillow in position as he lowers himself down. His body visibly relaxes when the pressure is finally off his lower back.

“Okay,” I say, jittery and uncertain about this whole situation. “I’m going to clean up, take care of the animals, and get things ready for the night. Is there anything special I need to do tonight?”

“Nah. Just the normal. Thanks.”

I wash dishes and clean up the kitchen. Then I go outside to take care of Jimmy’s normal evening chores. It takes me twice as long as it takes him, so it’s fully dark by the time I get back inside and lock up.

I clean myself and change into my nightgown. “You’re okay on the floor like that for the whole night?”

“Yeah. Think it will be better.”

It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, but I’ve never had my back go out like that, so what do I know? I don’t argue. Just give him an extra blanket so he won’t be cold and bring his toothbrush over with a cup so he can at least brush before bed.

When everything is done, I turn off the lantern next to our bed and climb under the covers. I scoot all the way over to my side even though Jimmy isn’t in bed with me.

We lie in silence in the dark. I occasionally hear him breathing. Moving around.

This whole situation sucks.

I can only pray it will be better tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up while it’s still dark, feeling kind of sick to my stomach.

---