Convenience Catch - I

Alfonse leaned over his desk, drenched in sweat and nauseous.

He tried focusing on the words that seemed to leap off the computer screen before him. The blue luminescence was starting to give him a headache. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease the heaviness behind his eyes and removed his glasses, throwing them onto the mountainous stack of papers beside him.

"I Just finished replacing the alternator for the corvette. Now, we have to fix the air conditioning unit and rotate the tires for Mr. Hennessey," Peter listed off frantically as he burst through the grimy office door. It was hardly an office in the car garage—more of a run-down utility closet that had a desk and computer stuffed into its corner.

"When does he need it by?" Alfonse asked, suddenly feeling a bit disoriented.

"Today. Today, today, today!" Peter reiterated impatiently. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and snatched a water bottle from the mini-fridge. After popping it open and taking a long swig, he turned to his now pale father. Taking no notice of his dad's complexion, he said, "I've told you a thousand times. We're already behind schedule. Mr. Hennessey needs his car by this afternoon. After that, we still have to replace Mrs. Thompson's rotors, change the oil for Mr. Jackson's truck, rework the wiring for."

Peter's voice trailed off as the sound faded from Alfonse's surroundings.

He felt his world closing in as darkness consumed his periphery. Not only was his nausea getting worse, but he was having difficulty breathing, too. He desperately wanted to tell his son that something wasn't right but couldn't bring himself to interrupt him or look weak, for that matter. Peter was right; they had a busy day ahead of them. There was no way he could afford to slow down.

Water, thought Alfonse. That's all I need, just a bottle of water. He scooted out from behind the cramped desk and stood up. Suddenly, intense pain shot down his left arm like electricity, as if he'd been tasered. Alfonse reached out and gripped the corner of the desk tightly until his knuckles went white.

"Dad?" Peter's voice seemed distant and echoey. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," Alfonse heard himself reassure his son. It was as if he'd taken a backseat inside of his mind, and autopilot had taken over. Oh, how he desperately wanted to tell Peter that everything wasn't all right, but he couldn't. The radiating pain down his arm intensified, spreading to the left side of his chest. This wasn't just any sort of pain, either.

This was a crushing, suffocating pain. As if an elephant were sitting on his chest. He clutched his left breast with his free hand and glanced over at his son, horror-stricken. "Peter? Wh-what's happening to me?" Just moments after he gasped out those words and got the last glimpse of his son's horror-stricken eyes, everything went black.

Alfonse woke to bright lights beaming hotly into his retinas and a blaring white ceiling. There was a persistent beeping sound to his left. He rolled his head over and discovered it was a heart rate monitor. His eyes followed the wires forking off the monitor and leading into a pulsometer clamped onto his middle finger. Confused, he tried sitting up but was stopped by the crushing pain in his chest. Though it wasn't as bad as before, it was enough of a kick to force him back into the slightly elevated bed.

He felt weak, shaky, and breathless, as if he'd just run for a straight twenty-four hours.

"Dad?" Peter's voice suddenly cooed from his right. Alfonse turned his head in the direction of the deep voice.

Peter rested his hand upon Alfonse's chest delicately. "It's going to be okay. You had a heart attack, but they...saved you." Peter felt himself straining to choke out those last few syllables as his throat tightened once again.

"What?" Alfonse asked in disbelief. "I had a heart attack? How is that possible?" Alfonse had always heard of others having heart attacks, but never in his wildest dreams did he suspect he'd be a victim himself. After all, he ate a relatively healthy diet, exercised, and was constantly on the move throughout the workday. His doctor even said his cholesterol was in a healthy range. Alfonse didn't know whether to feel shocked or a bit angry.

Peter shrugged in response to his dad's rhetorical question. "Luck of the

draw, I suppose." He forced out a nervous chuckle. "The important thing is that you lived. The doctor said it was a minor heart attack. You're lucky I was there when it happened. If I wasn't...well...you could've suffered a lot more damage. Or worse...had died." All the color in Peter's face drained when he said those last words.

Alfonse reached out and grabbed Peter's arm, giving it a rough squeeze. He tried forcing a warm smile, but it was hard to do with the plastic tubing poking out from his nostrils.

Peter fought back tears and swallowed in an attempt to rid the knot in his throat before speaking. "Dr. Lopez will be in shortly to give you your prescription. Do you want anything from the vending machine? I'm thinking of getting a soda."

Food was the last thing on Alfonse's mind. He could hardly sit upright.

Though, he figured he should eat something since he had no idea how long he was out. "How about a granola bar?"

"You've got it," said Peter with a nod. A few minutes after Peter exited the room, Dr. Lopez rapped on the hefty door before stepping inside the tiny room.

"Hello, Alfonse. How are you feeling?" she asked, taking a seat beside him on a tired rolling chair. Instead of scrolling through the notes on her tablet like she usually did, she locked eyes with Alfonse, and her lips curled downward in discern.

"My chest still hurts, and it's hard to breathe," he said. "But I lived, and I supposed that's all I could ask for."

"Yes, you did. Honestly, I'm as surprised as you probably are that you got a heart attack in the first place," Dr. Lopez confessed. She glanced down at her tablet and perused over her notes from his last physical. "You're not a smoker, you exercise, eat healthily, your bloodwork is good, and you have no family history of cardiovascular issues."

"So, what was the cause of it then?" asked Alfonse curiously.

"I'm thinking it's all due to stress that has built up over these years.

Every time I see you for a check-up, you're always talking to me about running the car shop and how hard of a worker you are. You hardly take any days off, and you work long hours, seven days a week."

"I...don't feel stressed," Alfonse said aloud to himself. Though, now he wasn't so sure. "I mean, occasionally, I have trouble sleeping.

"Bad sleep hygiene and high stress are interrelated," said Dr. Lopez all-knowingly. "Chronic stress and lack of sleep can lead to inflammation in your body. After a long time, inflammation can cause havoc on your arteries, resulting in a heart attack."

"So, you're saying I shouldn't work as much? I can't do that..."

"You will if you want to live a long, healthy life," Dr. Lopez gently coerced.

"If you keep pushing yourself that hard at work all the time, the next heart attack might be worse than this one. Then, you could have another...which might end your life. You don't want that, do you?"

Alfonse shook his head solemnly, swallowing hard. "You don't understand; I can't just take off from work. We're already behind sched—"

Dr. Lopez raised a silencing hand, cutting him off. "This is doctor's orders.I want you to take it easy for the next month—no going to the shop. I'm sure Peter can manage. You'll also need to take blood thinners and walk with a cane."

Dr. Lopez quickly scribbled down the prescription on a scrap of paper and handed it to Alfonse, who mumbled it aloud to himself. "I'm sending the prescription over to your pharmacy, and I want to see you at the end of the month for a follow-up visit. Does that sound good?"

"What about visiting the shop only on the weekends?" asked Alfonse, completely ignoring Dr. Lopez's question.

She gave him a stern look and said, "No visits. One month of rest. That's all I'm asking. You have your entire life to work. But without minimizing your stress, you won't have a healthy life to live. I can't stress enough how important it is to prioritize your health and wellbeing."

Alfonse let out a long, agonizing sigh and rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right. I'll take the medication and ease up on work. I guess I'll see you in a month."

A thin, sympathetic smile spread across Dr. Lopez's face. "Good, that's what I like to hear. Now, let's concentrate on getting you better." She stood up and gave Alfonse a rough pat on the shoulder before letting herself out.

"Easy does it," Jewel said calmly as she helped Alfonse sink into the sofa.

He pushed her off in retaliation.

"Get off," he scoffed. "I'm not like glass."

"I'm just trying to be helpful," Jewel snapped back, slightly offended. "Dr. Lopez said you should take it easy, and that's what I'm here to help you with."

Alfonse let out a defeated sigh and forced a thankful smile. "I know you were just trying to help. I'm sorry for being cranky. I just don't know how I'll keep sane for an entire month at home."

"You could help me out with some of the chores," Jewel suggested. "The doctor said it's okay for you to get some movement in. Doing chores will keep you on your toes and also take your mind off stressful things."

Alfonse wrinkled his nose at the thought. Before he could answer, Peter cut in. "I don't think that's a good idea. Dad has to prioritize rest, remember?"

Alfonse sat back on the couch as relief washed over him. "Yeah, the chores would probably just stress me out even more."

"Exactly," Peter agreed, whipping out his phone. "Which is why I ordered one of these." He flashed the screen to his parents, who stared back at their son in confusion. After a few awkward moments of silence, Alfonse lifted his gaze to Peter."A robot?"

"Not just any robot," Peter assured them, pointing his index finger to the sky. "It's Kathy the Convenience Bot. She can do all the chores for you. It'll save you and mom a ton of time and energy."

Jewel's baffled expression was replaced with a frown. "You shouldn't have ordered one of those. I have no problem doing the household chores. In fact, I kind of like having a bit of movement throughout my day. I find solace in doing chores."

"But you'll have time for more important things now," said Peter, dismissing his mom's objections. "Think about it. With chores out of the way, you both will have more time to take gentle walks around the neighborhood or work on hobbies."

"But we do take walks—"

"Yeah, but with dad around the house all of the time, you'll have twice as much cooking to do," Peter continued, interrupting Jewel once again.

"Twice as much cleaning and doing the dishes. Kathy the Convenience Bot can help. Trust me, Mom. It'll save you so much time, and you won't have to worry about taking care of Dad. Kathy will do it all."

Alfonse raised a curious eyebrow at the sound of that. Perhaps having a personal caretaker by his side wasn't such a bad idea after all. It was less he had to stress over anyhow. He shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen? I say we give this robot a shot."