Poetry in Motion

09

The task in hand was reasonably easy to undertake and complete; Arthur actually left the local store, which was little less than ten minutes away near the train stations, feeling quite achieved. He was happy with his purchases, even happier still to think and muse over how Imelda would react. Surely, she would be happy to have food in her house, yes? Well, that was the general feeling Arthur believed, who would be happy with bare cupboards?

She was barely thriving, living yes, surviving was probably more apt; but he still meant it, even if she got bored of hearing it: if she didn't eat, she'd wind up in a worse state. Yet, no matter how Arthur believed she'd react, more on the positive side, than anything else, he was not expecting the opposite, but the opposite was what he got.

He fished out her keys, he walked through the door and listened as she came shuffling in from her room. It was good to see her up and about, even if she was snuffling and pale still. She was moving around and looked a lot more with it than she did when he left. But, but she took one look at the two full bags in his hands and her expression darkened.

Arthur's happy expression dwindled and he looked down confused. "El-"

"Chicken soup, Arthur. That's all you said you would get. Not this...not all of this...I'm not some charity case." Imelda said, pausing a few times to cough and clear her throat as her hand gripped the doorframe. She hadn't really moved into the living room, she was lingering on the threshold, clearly intending on going back to bed. Yet because she heard him return, she turned to greet him.

"I...no! No, El, I didn't...that's not what this is. I'm worried for you." He stumbled over his words before just full on blurting the latter part out in a rushed tone. He even shuffled forwards a few steps, the plastic bags rustling from the movement as he did so. Imelda's watery eyes just looked at him sadly. "Let me help you, please." She looked saddened, but it wasn't just sad; there was shame lingering too. Arthur didn't know why she'd feel such a thing. Was it honestly so bad to have someone do something nice for once? Or was it she just wasn't used to such a thing happening? Or was it that she felt ashamed for being caught out in near poverty? In contrast to how he lived, and his home, Arthur was living in a castle.

She inhaled shakily, she raked a hand through her hair and looked towards the window. Licking her bottom lip, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'll pay you back."

"No, you won't." Arthur said decisively, he sent her a pointed look while turning and walking into the kitchen. From the shuffling footsteps, he could hear Imelda follow after him. He put the bags on the counter, and then watched as she jumped up to sit on one beside him.

"Why are you doing this? It's not something a neighbour would do for another. Or, maybe it is and I am just out of touch with common civility." Imelda looked at him with a thoughtful frown. "Arthur Fleck, you are a mystery."

"And you, Imelda Henderson, are too proud." He countered with a smirk as he took to unpacking. It felt odd, admittedly unpacking someone else's shopping. But with pointed directions and Imelda having to dodge out the way of the cupboard behind her, or lift her legs up because of the one there, the shopping got put away. Spotting the yellow oval fruit at the bottom of this bag, Arthur reached down and clasped onto it.

Imelda looked up confused, especially from the wide smile which was on his face. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Well, seems this nothing fits in your hand, I am tempted to say it isn't soup." She laughed quietly, pulling at a piece of kitchen roll beside her. Newly bought and ready to use, it just got used by her to blow her nose on.

"It's another cure, for your cold." Arthur said, rocking on his heels still smiling. Imelda just shook her head, not following. With an overdramatic flourish, Arthur presented the fruit to her.