Self-Help

By Elizabeth Morse

 

Sitting in a lounge chair in the living room, Ben announced that he’d been getting a co-worker to write his code for him.

“What?” Diana exclaimed, standing up from the well-padded chair where she had been sitting.

This was the last thing she’d expected since he always talked about the benefits of being dedicated to work and staying late. He expected her to, and she did. As a software developer, she could write code that was at least as good as anybody else’s. She was a whiz at SQL so she could get the exact information out of the database that the business needed.

“Well,” Ben explained, leaning back in his chair and gesturing with his palms up. “What would have taken me hours took Kevin forty-five minutes.” He must have thought that explained everything.

“You really did this!” Diana couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, Diana. And it wasn’t like I didn’t do anything for him. I bought him lunch from Delmonico’s.”

She thought of the restaurant’s reputation and the sumptuous dishes they served. “Bribery!” she accused.

Ben adjusted the neck of his tee shirt and rolled his eyes. “Our managers expect us to help one another. That’s why we’re a team.”

Ben and Diana were at Lila and David’s. Ben had just finished mowing their lawn. He did help others, Diana had to give him that.

“You’ve helped Cody with his homework. What’s he in, tenth grade?” Ben asked.

“I helped him with that write-up for model maglev train he built. That’s true. Mostly I convinced him to provide more explanatory text,” Diana responded.

“And wasn’t there a play?”

“I helped him connect the scenes he wrote.”

“That’s what parent does!” Ben insisted. “He got a good grade, didn’t he!”

She nodded, though Ben not doing his own work struck her as far worse. “I thought you had more integrity than that,” she accused.
Neither of them said anything. They were just waiting for Lila to come in with food and for David to join them. Diana shook her head.

 

***

David rolled his wheelchair into the living room. Lila followed with a platter full of canapés. David’s hair was sticking straight up, but the care Lila gave him for Parkinson’s addressed weightier issues. Diana had helped a few times, so she knew what was involved.

“Thank you so much, Ben, for taking care of the grass,” Lila said, setting down the plate. My arthritis makes it hard to wield a lawnmower. We’re all getting old, but you two not as much. I always appreciate the assistance.”

“Anytime!” Ben smiled.

David plucked a canapé from the tray, trembling mildly, and dropped it on his pants. Lila retrieved it and held the morsel close to his lips so he could bite it. Ben pushed back the strands of hair that were falling onto his forehead. Diana smoothed her own strands back toward a ponytail.

“I was just telling Diana that I asked Kevin at work to do my SQL assignment,” he said, “He really knows it so he could get it done quickly. You know what I mean? I don’t know why Diana thinks it’s corrupt for him to help me.”

Lila frowned. She and David had both been software engineers before they retired. “But Ben, I thought you were good with databases!”

“Not with Oracle.” He lowered his eyes.

“So, you think the end justifies the means?” Lila squinted behind wire-rimmed glasses and sat down in a hard-backed chair next to Ben.

“That’s just it!” Diana blurted. “He’ll do anything! Machiavelli!” She stuffed a canapé into her mouth, this one with the sour taste of cream cheese.

“Yes, he is!” Lila was staring at Ben.

“Give me a break!” Ben said, shifting his long legs in his chair. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“You can be so devious!” Lila accused. “All the years we’ve been friends, you always get in trouble. DUIs, speeding. And didn’t you shoplift when you lived in Florida?”

“That was more than ten years ago! I’ve stopped drinking.” Ben looked sheepish.

“Always the bad boy,” Lila declared. “But it’s part of your allure.”

No question. Diana had no great love of rules. She’d been an outlaw herself when she’d helped a boyfriend steal rare books more than a decade ago. She’d once dozed off on a bench when intoxicated, worn pink pajamas outside. Ben touched a part of her that longed for danger, risk, dismissal of the ordinary.

Ben had been fired a few times, mostly for drinking, but he always managed to pick himself up. He paid his rent on time, maintained his car insurance, worked late, and cared for his cat. He was mostly a solid citizen, but enough of a rebel to spark excitement.

He was basically a good guy, always supportive about jobs and promotions, putting in all the effort on their camping trip, calling her every evening without fail. Diana could only envy his confidence. She’d never had enough of it herself. That was why she was going to forgive him. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone had faults. She could depend on it.

Tonight, Ben’s gray shirt belied his devious attractiveness, which would have somehow been more apparent if he’d worn screaming colors. David trembled in his wheelchair, listening as best he could. Lila slouched in his direction; blue dress still crisp. Diana smiled, hair falling out of its ponytail.

Helping others was a wonderful thing, especially when the others included yourself.

 

Elizabeth Morse from US is a writer from New York City’s East Village. Her fiction and poetry are published in literary magazines, such as Kestrel, The Raven’s Perch, and Blue Lake Review, as well as anthologies such as The Brownstone Poets Anthology. A poetry chapbook, The Color Between the Hours, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2023. Her full-length poetry collection, Unreasonable Weather, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in 2025.