We're Here to Help
Some time after the accident, the Arnolds dropped by to offer their assistance. While they had lived next to us a long time, relative to other neighbors they were new to our street.
We’d invite you in for coffee, my wife said, but we have no coffee. You understand.
Of course, the Arnolds said. The accident. We’ll bring you some coffee. Would you like that? Would you like some coffee?
Yes, we said. Coffee would be wonderful.
The Arnolds went home and returned with specialty coffee beans, a grinder, cups, spoons, cream, sugar, and a coffee-maker. My wife explained we hadn’t lost our coffee-maker in the accident. Mrs. Arnold said we had to try the coffee from their coffee-maker, that it made the best coffee; and in fact their coffee-maker produced excellent coffee.
This is good coffee, we said.
We drank our coffee in the living room, and I sensed Mr. Arnold eying the room for a seat. The accident had also claimed our window drapes, so people passing on the street could look in at us.
The coffee is wonderful, we said. We’re very grateful for the coffee.
I think we can improve the sitting situation, Mr. Arnold said.
He lugged in their backyard lawn furniture, filling our living room with four folding chairs with adjustable backs, a lounger that reclined according to one’s weight distribution, and a glass patio table with the umbrella. Mrs. Arnold showed us how to properly distribute one’s weight in the lounger. We sat around the patio table with our coffee cups. Mrs. Arnold poured a second serving.
Is anyone hungry? Mrs. Arnold said.
Of course people are hungry, Mr. Arnold said. I’ll be right back.
A few minutes later, he was wheeling his gas barbecue grill into the living room, towing a gardener’s wagon full with grilling utensils, plates, plastic picnic ware, and a large picnic cooler.
Is it okay to grill indoors? my wife asked.
Honey, Mr. Arnold said, you can grill anywhere.
We opened all the windows. Mr. Arnold served up steak, baked potatoes with sour cream, grilled pepper strips. We pulled our chairs up to the patio table and ate.
This is nice isn’t it? Mrs. Arnold said.
It is, we said.
After dinner, Mr. Arnold, at Mrs. Arnold’s direction, set up a small black and white television he had found in his attic.
A little television will help us digest the meal, he said.
We watched a reality show about two couples sharing a hotel room in Las Vegas. My wife asked if we could watch a show on another channel, the one where the police employ circus animals to snare escaped convicts. Mr. Arnold explained his wife really liked the reality shows, and that as soon as it was over he would switch to my wife’s program.
It turned out the little black and white television did not pick up my wife’s channel. In fact, the little black and white television failed to pick up any stations after Mrs. Arnold’s reality show ended.
They suggested we play cards. They suggested euchre.
We don’t know how to play, we said.
We’ll teach you, they said. It’s a lot of fun.
They taught us, but we did not catch on well. We did not understand why there should be a thirty-two card deck instead of fifty-two. We struggled with the concepts of left and right bowers. We failed to see the value in ordering up trump when we couldn’t see our partner’s hand.
Mrs. Arnold tried to be polite with her suggestion that we not trump our partner’s tricks.
Mr. Arnold became exasperated by our persistence in trumping our partner’s trick.
Good God, he said. Don’t trump her trick.
I no longer had a watch, but I could see it was getting late, as it was dark outside our bare windows. I didn’t want to ask the time, though. We had lost nearly everything in the accident, except our sense of propriety when entertaining guests.
Mr. Arnold announced that he would like a drink. Mrs. Arnold made an unpleasant face as she returned the thirty-two-card euchre deck to its brother twenty cards in a rather forceful manner.
It seems a little late to start drinking, my wife said, as support - I presumed - to Mrs. Arnold.
Honey, Mr. Arnold said, It’s never to late to have a drink.
I’m sorry, I said, But I wish you wouldn’t call my wife honey.
I see, Mr. Arnold said.
He calls everybody honey, Mrs. Arnold said. Please don’t take it the wrong way.
No dear, he said, That’s not how they speak here. We need to respect their wishes. It is their home.
Suddenly, my wife suffered a loud, gaping yawn. The Arnolds looked at the watches on their wrists.
You two must be very tired, they said. The trauma of the accident and all.
Yes, we said. We don’t mean to be rude. Of course, we’re most grateful for your kindnesses this evening. We’re just exhausted.
Of course you are, they said. Just get yourselves off to bed. We’ll take care of everything down here.
We can’t let you clean up after us, we said. That would be the height of rudeness.
Oh, Mr. Arnold said, we’re not cleaning up. We’ll be taking turns minding our property. It’s too late and too dark to take it all home now. So I’ll take the first shift here on the lounger, and she’ll relieve me in a few hours.
My wife and I cleared the patio table. We threw away the paper plates and plastic tableware in the kitchen trash, washed the glass pot from the coffee-maker, rinsed the cups. When we returned to the living room, Mr. Arnold was settling into the lounger. We bid him an awkward goodnight and went up to our room.
Since the accident we had been sleeping on the floor in our bare bedroom. We used a comforter as a mattress, covered ourselves with a tarp, and fashioned pillows out of laundry. We had acclimated to the situation quickly, finding we were sleeping better than we had in years, usually straight through the night.
We woke a few hours later, when the Arnold’s switched shifts. Mr. Arnold was a noisy riser, and it sounded as if he had turned over the lounger as he tried rising from it. Then we heard their footsteps mounting the stairs. There was a brief commotion at the top of the stairs, and we guessed the Arnolds were setting up the lounger in the hall. We did not hear Mr. Arnold’s retreat. After the accident, we found we could sleep through anything.
We’d invite you in for coffee, my wife said, but we have no coffee. You understand.
Of course, the Arnolds said. The accident. We’ll bring you some coffee. Would you like that? Would you like some coffee?
Yes, we said. Coffee would be wonderful.
The Arnolds went home and returned with specialty coffee beans, a grinder, cups, spoons, cream, sugar, and a coffee-maker. My wife explained we hadn’t lost our coffee-maker in the accident. Mrs. Arnold said we had to try the coffee from their coffee-maker, that it made the best coffee; and in fact their coffee-maker produced excellent coffee.
This is good coffee, we said.
We drank our coffee in the living room, and I sensed Mr. Arnold eying the room for a seat. The accident had also claimed our window drapes, so people passing on the street could look in at us.
The coffee is wonderful, we said. We’re very grateful for the coffee.
I think we can improve the sitting situation, Mr. Arnold said.
He lugged in their backyard lawn furniture, filling our living room with four folding chairs with adjustable backs, a lounger that reclined according to one’s weight distribution, and a glass patio table with the umbrella. Mrs. Arnold showed us how to properly distribute one’s weight in the lounger. We sat around the patio table with our coffee cups. Mrs. Arnold poured a second serving.
Is anyone hungry? Mrs. Arnold said.
Of course people are hungry, Mr. Arnold said. I’ll be right back.
A few minutes later, he was wheeling his gas barbecue grill into the living room, towing a gardener’s wagon full with grilling utensils, plates, plastic picnic ware, and a large picnic cooler.
Is it okay to grill indoors? my wife asked.
Honey, Mr. Arnold said, you can grill anywhere.
We opened all the windows. Mr. Arnold served up steak, baked potatoes with sour cream, grilled pepper strips. We pulled our chairs up to the patio table and ate.
This is nice isn’t it? Mrs. Arnold said.
It is, we said.
After dinner, Mr. Arnold, at Mrs. Arnold’s direction, set up a small black and white television he had found in his attic.
A little television will help us digest the meal, he said.
We watched a reality show about two couples sharing a hotel room in Las Vegas. My wife asked if we could watch a show on another channel, the one where the police employ circus animals to snare escaped convicts. Mr. Arnold explained his wife really liked the reality shows, and that as soon as it was over he would switch to my wife’s program.
It turned out the little black and white television did not pick up my wife’s channel. In fact, the little black and white television failed to pick up any stations after Mrs. Arnold’s reality show ended.
They suggested we play cards. They suggested euchre.
We don’t know how to play, we said.
We’ll teach you, they said. It’s a lot of fun.
They taught us, but we did not catch on well. We did not understand why there should be a thirty-two card deck instead of fifty-two. We struggled with the concepts of left and right bowers. We failed to see the value in ordering up trump when we couldn’t see our partner’s hand.
Mrs. Arnold tried to be polite with her suggestion that we not trump our partner’s tricks.
Mr. Arnold became exasperated by our persistence in trumping our partner’s trick.
Good God, he said. Don’t trump her trick.
I no longer had a watch, but I could see it was getting late, as it was dark outside our bare windows. I didn’t want to ask the time, though. We had lost nearly everything in the accident, except our sense of propriety when entertaining guests.
Mr. Arnold announced that he would like a drink. Mrs. Arnold made an unpleasant face as she returned the thirty-two-card euchre deck to its brother twenty cards in a rather forceful manner.
It seems a little late to start drinking, my wife said, as support - I presumed - to Mrs. Arnold.
Honey, Mr. Arnold said, It’s never to late to have a drink.
I’m sorry, I said, But I wish you wouldn’t call my wife honey.
I see, Mr. Arnold said.
He calls everybody honey, Mrs. Arnold said. Please don’t take it the wrong way.
No dear, he said, That’s not how they speak here. We need to respect their wishes. It is their home.
Suddenly, my wife suffered a loud, gaping yawn. The Arnolds looked at the watches on their wrists.
You two must be very tired, they said. The trauma of the accident and all.
Yes, we said. We don’t mean to be rude. Of course, we’re most grateful for your kindnesses this evening. We’re just exhausted.
Of course you are, they said. Just get yourselves off to bed. We’ll take care of everything down here.
We can’t let you clean up after us, we said. That would be the height of rudeness.
Oh, Mr. Arnold said, we’re not cleaning up. We’ll be taking turns minding our property. It’s too late and too dark to take it all home now. So I’ll take the first shift here on the lounger, and she’ll relieve me in a few hours.
My wife and I cleared the patio table. We threw away the paper plates and plastic tableware in the kitchen trash, washed the glass pot from the coffee-maker, rinsed the cups. When we returned to the living room, Mr. Arnold was settling into the lounger. We bid him an awkward goodnight and went up to our room.
Since the accident we had been sleeping on the floor in our bare bedroom. We used a comforter as a mattress, covered ourselves with a tarp, and fashioned pillows out of laundry. We had acclimated to the situation quickly, finding we were sleeping better than we had in years, usually straight through the night.
We woke a few hours later, when the Arnold’s switched shifts. Mr. Arnold was a noisy riser, and it sounded as if he had turned over the lounger as he tried rising from it. Then we heard their footsteps mounting the stairs. There was a brief commotion at the top of the stairs, and we guessed the Arnolds were setting up the lounger in the hall. We did not hear Mr. Arnold’s retreat. After the accident, we found we could sleep through anything.