by Alice Wasser
“I noticed that Sam calls you Millie,” he said. “But I remember that Mr. Randall—I mean, Señor Randall—always called you Matilda.”
“Right,” I said, wincing. Some teachers insisted on calling me Matilda, despite my protests. “That’s my real name. But everyone has always called me Millie since I was a kid.”
“I like the name Matilda,” Jake commented. “It’s got a sexy British sound. Isn’t that the name of one of the Spice Girls?”
Believe me, none of the Spice Girls are named Matilda. The Spice Girls are Mel B, Mel C, Emma, Victoria, and Geri. I’m embarrassed I know that, but hey, I was a teenager when they were popular. Anyway, all I said to Jake was, “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I like the name a lot,” he insisted. He let it roll off his tongue: “Matilda.”
To be honest, it did sound like a sexy name when he said it.
“Would it bother you a lot if I called you Matilda?” he asked me.
If anyone else had said that to me, I would have been livid. But somehow, Jake’s request didn’t bother me. “Sure.”
“It’s just really great to see someone from back home,” Jake said. “Especially you, Matilda.”
Especially me? What did that mean? “Um, yeah,” I said.
“I have to be honest with you,” he said. “There’s something I should tell you…”
I looked up at him and my heart sped up. What was he about to tell me? Something awful? Was he about to confess some mean prank he pulled on me in high school involving pig’s blood? “What is it?”
“I, uh, I kind of had a crush on you back then,” Jake admitted.
I almost choked on a lettuce leaf. Was I hallucinating from lack of proper nutrients? This was too unbelievable for words. The extremely popular Jake Winston had a crush on me in high school? How could that be even remotely true? I can’t believe he even knew who I was except to maybe make fun of me behind my back.
“I always liked intelligent women,” he said. “Which you are, of course. Plus, to be honest, I always had a thing for girls who have really big… er, I should say, are curvy.”
(He was staring at my breasts as he said that last part. I got the message.)
I was frozen. For the second, I felt myself being swept up in a bit of a fantasy. The most popular guy in high school was telling me he had a crush on me. I mean, how amazing was that?
“Anyway, we ran in different circles, so I figured it wouldn’t work out,” Jake concluded. To say the least. “But… I just had to tell you.”
He laughed a little bit at himself. He sounded almost nervous, which was not really in character. The rich asshole in those eighties movies was never nervous. Maybe I completely misjudged Jake
“Um, well, thanks,” I said.
God, this was awkward. Yet... I wasn’t sorry he told me. I looked up at him and he was giving me this look that made me think that this crush wasn’t entirely in the past.
Then I looked down at the ring finger of his left hand. It was bare.
“Sam’s a really lucky guy,” Jake said.
With those words, he gave me one last look and wandered away. I looked back down at my salad and pushed it away. I needed a brownie ASAP. I wondered if the vending machine outside the elevators had one. I started digging around in my purse for loose change.
“Oh my God, Millie!” I looked up at the sound of Donna’s voice. She was staring at me wide-eyed. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I said. I was too embarrassed to explain what happened, even to Donna. But she bugged me a little more and finally I broke down and told her the story about Jake being the popular kid in high school and now admitting he used to like me and maybe still did. Even as I was saying it, the whole thing sounded completely ridiculous.
“Oh, boy,” Donna said. “You’d better not tell Sam about this. He’ll go nuts.”
I laughed. “Come on, Sam doesn’t get jealous.”
Donna snorted. “Are you serious?”
“He doesn’t!”
“Damn, he’s really got you fooled,” Donna said. “You honestly think he doesn’t get jealous?”
I frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, he’s not crazy jealous or anything,” she amended. “But he’s made comments to me before. Believe me, he’s aware of when other men are looking at you and he doesn’t like it.”
I was really surprised. Sam is such a prototypical laid back Midwesterner that I can’t even imagine him being jealous. But then again, I remembered how he kept his arm around me the whole time we were at lunch with Jake. Maybe he’s more aware of these things than I am. Actually, it’s a little sweet that he gets jealous.
I have to admit though, it added a little bounce to my step today after I found out that Jake Winston had a crush on me in high school. I actually felt kind of hot, for the first time in a long time, maybe ever.
APRIL
April 2:
Sometimes the nicest part of making love to Sam is lying in bed with him afterwards. I roll off him (I’m always on top) and then lie next to him, both of us breathing hard. Then every few minutes, we’ll look at each other and smile. Sam isn’t the first guy I’ve ever had sex with, obviously, but he’s the first one where I’ve ever felt like we could have sex then drift off to sleep together.
Yesterday after our exhausting lovemaking session, Sam didn’t look much like he wanted to sleep. He was running his hand along my bare chest like he wanted another go at it. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I was surprised when what he finally said was, “Do you want to have a Jewish wedding ceremony?”
I couldn’t believe he just said that. First, because it made me realize that Sam is already putting thought into our actual wedding ceremony whereas I am not. He’s actually very excited about it. I mean, somehow this is the first thing he’s thinking about after sex.
Second, I was surprised because he’s Christian and presumably would want to get married in a church, if he wanted to have a religious ceremony. Not that I’d ever even heard him say the word “church,” much less suggest that he wanted to spend possibly the most important day of our lives there. As far as I know, Sam has absolutely no religious inklings. I think he once said he’s Protestant, but obviously not practicing.
“What do you know about Jewish wedding ceremonies?” I teased him.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “You get married under a chuppah. And then after the ceremony, you have to break a glass by stepping on it.” He looked down at his legs apologetically. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do that part.”
I almost laughed. “What—did you look on Wikipedia or something?”
“Something,” he said with a grin. Then he got more serious-looking. “Really, I’m okay with it if that’s what you want.”
I shook my head. “That’s okay. I can live without a chuppah and a broken glass.”
Sam nodded. “Then do you want to get married in a church or…?”
This conversation was suddenly making me very uncomfortable. It made me realize that Sam and I had never discussed religion before. I had figured the fact that neither of us went to church or temple or, I don’t know, a mosque said it all.
“I didn’t know you were so religious,” I said jokingly, although I actually was getting a little nervous that he really was religious and had somehow been concealing it from me. Maybe when he said he was going to the bathroom, he was actually sneaking off to church.
(He does spend an awful long time in the bathroom.)
“You know I’m not,” he said. “But my brothers got married in a church and I know it meant a lot to my parents to have a religious ceremony. You know, a ceremony under God.”
“Hmm,” I said.
“You don’t sound excited,” he noted.
“I just think it would be a lie,” I said. “I mean, neither of us believe in that stuff.”
Sam was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said in a surprised voice, “You don’t be
lieve in God?”
Oh no.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in God,” I mumbled. “It’s just that… well, there’s no proof of it. And there’s a lot of bad things that happen that make me think that… I don’t know, it’s less likely. But I’m not sure. There might be.” Sam wasn’t saying anything, so I kept on babbling. “I mean, you have to admit, a lot of bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it. I would think that you, of all people, would…”
Sam was looking at me with raised eyebrows.
“Forget it,” I said.
“So basically,” he said, “because I’m crippled, I can’t believe in God?”
I felt my cheeks getting hot.
To my surprise and relief, Sam laughed. “To be honest, I think I would have agreed with you 17 years ago. I remember when I came home from rehab, my mother made me come with her to church, and all I could think about was what kind of God would do this to me. And then some old lady at the church had the nerve to tell me that if I had enough faith, I’d walk again. I told my mother I was never going to church ever again.” He paused thoughtfully. “But maybe I’m getting more philosophical in my old age. I think everything happens for a reason. I survived that accident, I’m here, I have a great job, and I’m marrying the woman I love. So it’s hard to be bitter at God. If He exists, that is.”
That’s one thing I love about Sam. He’s not a bitter person. I feel like some people are never happy, no matter how much they have. Sam has the ability to be happy with almost anything he’s given. I wish I were more like that.
“We don’t have to have a religious ceremony,” he said. “I can see it makes you uncomfortable. And you’re right—we’re not religious.”
“We can compromise,” I said. “Next year, we’ll get a Christmas tree and a menorah.”
Sam laughed and hugged me. I felt relief that a religious wedding ceremony was off the table. But I still feel decidedly unexcited about the whole wedding concept.
April 6:
There’s been something going on with Sam that I’ve been sort of hesitant to write about. Writing here is therapeutic for me, but I feel like it’s somehow hard to write about the things that upset me the most.
A few days ago, I caught Sam on the phone, making some sort of appointment. As soon as I came into the room, he quickly hung up. Which of course, made me suspicious as hell.
“What was that about?” I asked him.
He blinked innocently. “What was what about?”
I sighed. “Come on.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a doctor’s appointment. Nothing to get freaked out about.”
Naturally, the fact that he mentioned freaking out caused me to immediately start freaking out. “A doctor’s appointment for what?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“Then why won’t you tell me?”
“Look,” he said, “this is getting way too built up. I promise you, it’s not a big deal.”
“If it’s not a big deal,” I retorted, “will you just tell me already?”
At that point he finally realized that I was not going to let it go until he told me. He finally admitted that he had a sore on his heel. I remember he told me once before that he has to be really careful about his feet. He can’t feel his feet at all, so he wears large shoes with a lot of cushioning and tries to adjust his feet to take pressure off them, but I guess things still happen.
“Could I see it?” I asked.
Sam raised his eyebrows at me. “You want to see my disgusting heel sore?”
“Yes. I do.”
He looked at me a long time, then finally sighed. “Okay,” he said.
I was shocked he agreed. “Really?”
“Yeah, knock yourself out,” he said with a wry grin.
My heart sped up a little bit as he removed his shoe and sock from his right foot, then held it up for me to see. I’d never seen an open wound before, and when I took a look, it honestly didn’t look too good. I’m not going to describe it or anything because that would be gross, but it didn’t look like you could put a band-aid on it and it would be all better by tomorrow.
I did a bad job hiding my reaction. In fact, my exact words were, “Whoa.”
Sam rolled his eyes and let his foot drop back onto the footplate. “Thanks a lot, Millie.”
“No, I just…” I hesitated. “I’m just worried about you. How long do these things usually take to heal?”
“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes clouded slightly. “My circulation sucks. Last time things got pretty bad.”
After seeing the way that wound looked, there was no way I was letting him go to the doctor by himself. He had his appointment today and he reluctantly allowed me to tag along. The doctor was a wound specialist named Dr. Jamison. As I sat with Sam in the waiting room, I couldn’t help but notice that he was the youngest person there.
(But he wasn’t the only person in a wheelchair. Not by a long shot.)
We finally got called into the examining room, where the cute young nurse took Sam’s blood pressure. He must have really been nervous, because he didn’t even flirt with her.
“Do you think you could get up on the examining table?” she asked him, patting a table with white paper covering it.
Sam glanced at the table. Even I could tell it was way too high for him to mount without help. “Could I just stay in my wheelchair?”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” the nurse said, patting his arm. “Just take off your shoe and sock. Dr. Jamison will be in any minute.”
By the time Dr. Jamison arrived, Sam and I were both sitting there in nervous silence. Dr. Jamison definitely inspired confidence though. He was old as the hills, and looked like he had been treating patients since the time of horses and buggies.
“Sam,” Dr. Jamison said, stroking his white beard sagely. “I hear we’ve got another foot wound.”
Sam nodded. “Yep.”
Dr. Jamison took a look at Sam’s foot, as he clucked his tongue appropriately. He swabbed it with a Q-tip, then retrieved a bunch of supplies from a drawer.
“I don’t think it’s infected,” Dr. Jamison said.
“That’s good,” Sam breathed. His shoulders sagged slightly.
“I want you to do dressing changes twice a day,” Dr. Jamison told him. “I’m going to give you and your aide here specific instructions on how to do the dressing changes. Will she be available to help you in the morning and at night?”
I almost started looking around the room for the aide that Dr. Jamison was talking about before realizing that he meant me. God, this was awkward. Not that we haven’t been in an uncomfortable situation before where somebody assumed I was Sam’s aide or nurse, but I just didn’t expect it from a doctor. Although in all fairness to Dr. Jamison, Sam hadn’t actually introduced me.
“Millie is my fiancée,” Sam said flatly.
“Oh!” Poor Dr. Jamison’s face turned bright red. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize…”
Sam just shook his head as if it didn’t even surprise him. “I’m going to hire a visiting nurse to come in the morning to help me, and I’m going to do the dressing change at night myself. Millie isn’t going to help me.”
“I don’t mind helping you,” I spoke up.
“No,” Sam said. “I can do it myself. Really.”
“Listen, Sam,” Dr. Jamison said, having recovered his composure. “I know your dexterity isn’t great. This is going to be very hard for you to do properly. If your fiancée is willing to help…”
Sam glanced at me. “No.”
“The dressing needs to be done appropriately,” Dr. Jamison said. “You don’t want to get an infection. You remember what happened last time, don’t you?”
The way Dr. Jamison said that was incredibly ominous. “What happened last time?” I asked.
Dr. Jamison didn’t say anything. There was this long, awkward silence in the room until Sam finally said, “I almost had
to have my foot amputated.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help myself. Sam seemed nonplussed by my reaction. “Yeah, not something I was too excited about either,” he said. He looked from me to Dr. Jamison and then back again. His shoulders sagged in resignation. “Fine. Teach her how to do the dressing.”
So Dr. Jamison showed me what to do. I can’t say it was the funnest thing in the world putting a dressing on a big foot wound, but it wasn’t the worst thing either.
That night, Sam was decidedly subdued. He barely talked to me, which is unusual. Sam is one of those people who is always in a good mood, to the point where it’s almost annoying sometimes.
After he got into bed, I changed the dressing on his foot the way Dr. Jamison showed me. He watched me the whole time, looking generally miserable. I tried to ignore his expression and focused on doing exactly what Dr. Jamison told me. I didn’t want him to lose his foot because of me.
Once I had the bandage in place, I finally hazarded a look at Sam’s face. He didn’t look angry or anything. Just… troubled. “Millie,” he said softly, “would you still love me if I had to… I mean, if I lost my…”
“Of course I would!” I cried. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that.”
But between you and me, part of me was really horrified by the possibility that he could need an amputation. Losing a foot is a big deal. Under the “for better or for worse,” it falls solidly in the “for worse” category.
(Although to be fair, it’s probably less of a big deal if you already aren’t able to walk.)
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. I just worry. I don’t want to feel like I’m falling apart or anything.”
Sam is actually in pretty good health in general. Aside from a few issues with his feet, which I guess is a problem area for him, he seems like he’s never sick. He never even gets a cold.
But even though he’s relatively young, I know that deep down he’s scared of his health deteriorating. And I’m scared too. I mean, didn’t Christopher Reeve die of a sore? And he was a celebrity with the best medical care. The thought of it makes me shudder.