Member-only story
Personal Responsibility
Harold walked out onto the balcony, leaving the door cracked. He always did now, ever since the time he’d locked himself out of his apartment and had to wait outside several hours until his girlfriend came home and let him in. She’d laughed at him, didn’t even care that it had been a chilly Columbus day and he didn’t have his coat, could’ve gotten frostbite and lost an ear or some fingers and then he definitely wouldn’t be going back to work. Wouldn’t that just serve her right?
The winter air stung his face and hands, burned his throat and lungs as he took a drag of his cigarette. Janet didn’t let him smoke inside, even though it was his place, not hers. She might pay the rent but it was his name on the lease. And besides, he was disabled, for Chrissake; couldn’t she throw him a bone once in awhile?
He imagined her voice, preaching the same points over and over. “You’re not disabled, Harold; you’re just lazy with a doctor friend. Why don’t you get off your ass and get a job?”
But he really was disabled. He’d pinched a disc in his back, making it hard to sit or stand for long periods of time. He’d been out on short-term disability when the plant shipped the jobs overseas. No job to come back to, and easiest just to collect a government check every week. Much easier than searching for a new job. What could a 51-year-old disabled guy even do, really…
