We have been out of touch and I hardly ever see him. He called yesterday for the first time in more than a year and asked me to bring in a bag hooked to his mailbox.

Without delay I stopped eating to get the task over with. I stepped out into the light rain, walked out the front door and down Ragin Lane two houses, and unhooked the bag from the doorless mailbox. The only “mail” was a bird’s nest.

I walked down his unpaved driveway and found myself trapped between his beat up Kia and a significant mud puddle. I jumped it because my stride would not bridge the little lake and used the overgrown sidewalk that led from the driver’s side door to the house.

More than ten feet out of range of the front steps, I bent low and then lower to negotiate the weeds and bushes that obscured the way to the steps. My first step up felt loose. The front concrete stoop was pulling away from the house, a house that can not be seen beyond faint outline due to overgrown shrubbery and volunteer trees that push against the structure.

I knocked hard on the front door and got Robert right away. He is a small man and now much smaller and thinner than before, short of 100 pounds. He looked down and I was in a hurry as a courtesy knowing he has to be ashamed of his living conditions. His glasses rode down on his noise and his beard was sparse and prickly with black stubble.

He thanked me and I said, “Let me know if you need help.”

Today he called five times, getting me up each time to walk toward the phone. He talked in his rapid way but had to stop after each sentence or two to gain his breath. Would I go up to Walgreens and get him a 20 oz. Coke and two packs of Camel Silver crush pack menthol in the black box with the green circle around the Camel? He said he would pay me on a certain date. Save the receipt.

The follow-up calls were classic Robert. He wanted me to make sure I got the right kind of cigarettes. His idea was for me to take my phone to Walgreens and hand it to the cashier so that he could tell her.

In one of the follow-ups he had the idea of leaving an old pack on the front steps so that I could take it but he could not locate a pack. He wanted to know about the time of my arrival. I was vague but said I was going out to walk and would have the package in about one hour.

I made my daily walk in the direction of Walgreens and bought his supplies with aid of a clerk who knew a thing or two about smokes so I felt good about the purchase. My walk route was not scenic but it gave a purpose and direction to my only outing on this rainy day in the COVID-19 era.

I tried another way to Robert’s front door but was forced back to puddle jumping. As per his instruction in one of the follow-up calls, I left the package inside the storm door and knocked hard. I could hear him talking on his phone inside what must be his lamp-lit living room.

What I feel somewhat bad about is the note I put inside the bag. In it I told him to forget paying me back the $14, to stop smoking, and not to call me. I told him if he needed serious help to call 911.

The money is nothing to me. The favor was no trouble but getting entangled with Robert is always sticky. I know from past experiences that once he calls a habit is formed. Maybe he just needs to talk, though he has very little breath and is on oxygen.

In one of today’s conversations I asked him about food. He said that Medicare had just sent him a box. “I’ve got food.” Not so sure. Medicare sent?

He talked about a sore on his leg and keeping “stuff” on it. I suspect that he lungs are diseased to the point that the daily walk out of his house down the steps to his car are too much.

What should I do?

My mind goes back to the time I agreed to meet him at his wife’s death bed along with a lawyer. I think back to his children–two were my students–and the entangled history of his residence. Mostly I remember the phone calls.

I will let him sort out his own affairs even though I could and, perhaps, should help.