The Orchid

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The Orchid Page 6

by Robert Waggoner


  “I’m going to the store in a few minutes.” She looked up as I closed the refrigerator.

  “Okay.”

  I gave Lindsey her coke and rolled over to the window for a break while I sipped mine.

  Lindsey sensed my mood change and propped her bare feet up on the bed. She was wearing jeans and a pullover shirt that had short brown sleeves but the shirt itself was white. She was in one of those bantering moods I guess because she popped the top of her coke and then said, “So…did you see anything you liked on that web site?”

  “Maybe,” I could not decide if I should be embarrassed or not. It was completely innocent, except that I might have stayed for an extra few seconds longer than I should have. I could not really tell if she was upset. The fact that she brought it up meant it was important to her. But why?

  She looked serious. “Are you interested in stuff like that?”

  “No!” I was not upset with her question. Two friends talking about stuff, right? “I just typed in the wrong thing.”

  “Sure,” she teased.

  “No, really; I can’t look at crap like that. It just reminds me of how inadequate I am.” When I said it, I realized how true it was. That was what I thought. I said it without rancor, trying to explain. The only thing I hated about being paralyzed below the waist—and this had only recently started growing inside me—was that I would lose Lindsey’s companionship when she found a real boyfriend. Despite what she said to me at the beach that time, I knew marriage was out of the question. I knew she had simply been impetuous or worse, was just being kind.

  “Inadequate?” She threw the word back at me. “Is that what you are?” She grinned. “I’d have used a different word.”

  I shot her a look: “Been reading a thesaurus again?”

  She giggled. Then she saw that I was struggling a little. “What’s bugging you?”

  I was constantly amazed at her radar. Denying my feelings did not work with her. That was part of her magic. She alone knew exactly how I felt about everything because she asked and listened. Rarely did she disagree with my feelings. When she did, I could hear myself being stupid or selfish. I had to tell her how I felt because she could outlast me. It was better just to talk about stuff with her or ask her to drop it. She respected that request but denial did not work.

  “It just got me to thinking,” I admitted. “I’m in my senior year—a year late—but still I will probably graduate…”

  “…with highest honors,” Lindsey shot back at me, interrupting.

  “…anyway, I’ll graduate and then we’ll go our separate ways. I guess I was thinking of that.”

  She looked at me with peaked interest. “That makes you sad?”

  “Yeah, of course!” I shot back. Her question confused me.

  She smiled thoughtfully. “I think about that all the time! You’re just now getting around to it?” She giggled, “Maybe you should look at the chests web site more often.”

  I looked out the window. Mom was backing out of the garage and I watched her turn and head for town.

  “Sorry,” Lindsey said. Then she crossed her ankles on the bed. “It’s just that you never talk about girls or girl friends.”

  I gave her a disgusted look. “Look at me.” I pointed to the area represented by paraplegia. “Who wants a dead guy for a boyfriend?”

  “Me.”

  That was so unexpected I choked on my coke. It represented the third time she had said something like that to me.

  Her face registered vulnerability.

  “Why?” I barely got the question out.

  “We never talk about this subject and I know why,” Lindsey said as she folded her hands in her lap and stretched her legs across the open space between the chair and the bed. Her ankles were crossed and she seemed at peace. She did not let me respond but continued, “You’re afraid to like someone because you think you will just get hurt.”

  I stared at her.

  “You think a girl couldn’t like you as a boyfriend.”

  I shook my head in denial.

  “Oh no you don’t!” she said fiercely. “Don’t deny it when it’s true.”

  “What? Are you going to tell me what I think now?” I demanded. She was not giving me any space.

  “Okay,” she shot back, “You tell me why you’re afraid.”

  I wheeled the chair so that my back was to her. I looked out the window. The future was lonely without her but, in some ways, worse with her. I could not meet any woman’s expectations or needs. That was the curse of this horrible fate! I could feel the old anger bubbling up inside me, and self-pity with it.

  “I hate this damn wheelchair!” I slammed my fist on the arm.

  “What are you afraid of?” She asked again. She never let go once she sank her teeth into a question or idea.

  I turned to face her. “I said I was inadequate. Just let it go at that.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were shiny. “No.”

  I looked away. “I don’t want them to get hurt.”

  “That’s not your choice,” She countered.

  “Yes it is.”

  “No, it’s not. You cannot make people happy or sad. People do it to themselves. You don’t make me angry or happy unless I choose to let you.” She took a breath and said, “So that means I do it, not you.”

  I thought about that. “So what does that have to do with…?”

  She cut me off. “Everything; it has everything to do with you and me!”

  I rolled away from the window. “I don’t get it.”

  “Remember when you were so crass and ugly to me at the first?”

  I made a face.

  “Yeah, me too,” she said. “Anyway, I remember thinking that you didn’t like me but I realized it had nothing to do with me. You did not know me so how could you have decided already? You didn’t like yourself.” She waited for me to acknowledge her wisdom but I just looked at her. “And, you’ve convinced yourself that sex is so important no girl would consider loving you because you can’t have…it.” She finished lamely and turned an appropriate shade of pink.

  I looked away from her. She pressed her point. “That’s why when I put my head on your shoulder you don’t respond. That is why you ignore me when I tell you that I am going to marry you. That’s why when I try to kiss you, you turn your face—it’s because you are afraid.”

  I could feel a lump in my throat and I had to take a swallow of coke. The lump was still there.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Lindsey,” I started to tell her that it was too early to have this discussion.

  “I’ve liked you ever since you got over your pity party—or at least most of it. You haven’t talked about this part until now. And maybe you don’t want to talk about it but before we finish this conversation I’m going to tell you that I love you and I don’t care if you can never have sex with me. I am going to marry you Jimmy Turner. Do you hear me?”

  “You’re supposed to be coy and elusive about this boy-girl stuff, or hasn’t anyone told you that?” I responded. I desperately needed time to think of a serious response. I hoped that my humorous response would diffuse the emotion of her declaration.

  She gazed at me and then spoke simply. “That’s not who I am, Jimmy.”

  She was right about that. She did not play games. Life was too short for games, she always said. I gave her a long, thoughtful look as I tried to decide how to respond. She deserved an equally honest reply. Too much stuff was banging around in my head; I could not sort things out now that I was trying to be serious.

  I liked Lindsey but marriage was a concept I refused to consider. I had nothing to offer a girl unless all she needed was a partner—not a real husband. Thinking of it in terms like that caused me to slough off Lindsey’s earlier declarations about marriage when she was thirteen. How could she know? I felt myself getting angry.

  “You say that now, Lindsey,” I said, “but our wedding night would be just like any other nigh
t you’ve ever had… and the night after that and every night of our marriage after that! You might not think so then!”

  Lindsey waited until my fists unclenched before she replied. Her response was right to the point. “You don’t scare me,” she said softly. “But I think I’m scaring you.”

  It took a while for me to get my emotions under control. But when I did, I grinned at her. “If I start thinking about girls and chests and stuff like that, my head…” I pointed to my shoulders, “…might explode.” Then I sobered because she did not laugh. “Lindsey, what do you want from me?”

  I knew she was older and wiser than I was in everything that was important. She reached out and took my hands in hers. She looked into my eyes and said simply, “Stop being afraid that I’ll change my mind because my body is changing or that I don’t mean what I say because I’m not capable of having my mind made up yet.”

  I realized that it was true. I was afraid to like her in that way because she was nowhere near old enough to make firm commitments about the future. No matter what she said, it was still true that her attitudes, opinions, and feelings were going to change in the next few years.

  “I didn’t know I was afraid of that.” I did know it—but not until she said it.

  “Well, aren’t you?” She was persistent.

  I looked away. I did not want to talk about it any longer. The subject was too painful for me. I used to dream of marrying someone as beautiful as Lindsey—but marriage was out of the question now. My mouth said words unconnected to my heart. “Isn’t it possible for us to just be friends, Lindsey?”

  Her face reacted as if I had slapped her. “We are just friends!” She said flatly. “Does that mean you don’t find me suitable as a girlfriend?” She was starting to get emotional.

  “I never said that!” I was shocked by her sudden outburst. It was not the Lindsey I was used to. My brain told me that she was trying to get me to see something that she saw clearly. But I could not get through my own emotions enough to figure that out. Again my mouth spoke, “Look at what this discussion has done!” I waved my hands at the invisible, churning aura in the room. “We’re both upset.”

  “So as long as I never mention that I like you as more than a friend, everything is fine?” She was not sarcastic; she was hurt. I had never seen her get this emotional. She was the calm one.

  “Lindsey!” I could feel frustration like lava in my chest. “You have no idea what you are asking!” In reality, I felt like she was demanding something.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, “I do.” Her eyes burrowed into mine.

  The complications of falling in love with her were monumental. For starters, I did not really know if I should love someone when I could not, you know…and she was too young to know the future; I did not even know the future! She was a pony-tailed girl with a love for life and a zest for learning…and she had helped me—but was I in love? “I need time, Lindsey.” I stared at my hands trying to sort out the obstacles.

  She looked at her watch. “I’ll let you know when time’s up.”

  I looked up, worried.

  She was grinning. She had made her point.

  My defenses collapsed. I looked away from her. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to admit something that scares the hell out of me.” I stared at her feet on the bed. “I did feel something when you put your head on my shoulder in the car coming home from school after the chess match. The smell of your hair, the way it seemed so natural for your head to be on my shoulder…” I looked at her eyes so she could see that I really meant what I was saying. “I began to fear the day you would walk out of my life on the arms of another man who wasn’t…inadequate. I don’t want to disappoint you, Lindsey.” My voice choked.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she got up, untangling her wonderful legs, and walked the two steps to where I was. She knelt in front of me and put her head in my lap. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” she said. “And, as far as I’m concerned, you could never be inadequate.”

  All I could do was stroke her hair with one hand and wipe my eyes with the other.

  At the halfway point in the school year, Lindsey hosted a party because it was the last year for me and two other Chess Club members as well. Then it was drudgery to the end of the school year.

  “All I need to do is show up and take the tests,” I complained to Lindsey one afternoon as we were driving home. “School has become so boring.”

  She took her head off my shoulder long enough to show me she was smiling. “Big change for a jock, isn’t it?”

  “I liked being dumb and athletic,” I told her.

  “Yeah, right,” she commented.

  Our relationship was comfortable since “the talk” as I referred to it between the two of us. She felt better now that I understood where she was in her head and I felt better not having to fight to keep from thinking about it…us.

  “Where do you want to live, Jimmy?”

  The long straightaway allowed me to take my hand off the wheel and stroke her hair. She lived for the straightaway and so did I. “Maine sounds like a nice place,” I said teasingly. She once told me that she hated Maine and I had forgotten why.

  She gave me the grin. “Really, where do you want to live?” Lindsey had settled the question of our future together even if I had not. Her question made me glance over at her.

  “The better question is where am I going to college?” I corrected her.

  “Tennessee U,” she said. “They offered you a full scholarship.”

  I turned into the driveway as Lindsey moved over to her side of the bench seat. It would not do for her parents or mine to suspect romance of any kind. We did not want to upset the applecart.

  Stuck to the door was a note from my mom that said supper was in the freezer. I read the rest of the note aloud. Lindsey’s mom says she can stay and fix supper for you tonight. Her dad will be home around 9 p.m.

  “Great!” Lindsey said. She preceded me into the house carrying our books. I wheeled in after her and hit the button to close the garage door. We had no homework, so we had the rest of the afternoon and evening to ourselves.

  Lindsey checked the freezer, “Yum!” She said, “Your mom cooked a casserole.”

  “I’ve got to do something,” I said as I wheeled toward the elevator.

  Lindsey was poking around in the refrigerator, looking for dessert. “I’ll be up in a minute,” she replied.

  The elevator door whooshed open. I wheeled in backwards and blocked the door from closing. She normally did not come in the house immediately when we got back from school unless it was to say “hi” to my mom.

  “I’m going to be in the bathroom,” I said. I thought she needed an explanation so she did not wonder where I was.

  “Okay.” She resumed her search.

  I’m on a regular schedule with the bathroom because if I wait too long…let’s just say, I don’t exactly know when I have to go and I’m not going to wear a diaper! I went up the elevator and into the bathroom.

  It was always a ritual getting personal bodily functions taken care of. It was impossible at first, but dad modified the bathroom to make the task easier.

  While I was on the toilet, I began to feel dizzy. I grabbed the support bar. My brain felt fuzzy. I rested my head on the cool ceramic of the sink. The light in the bathroom dimmed. I floated down, down, but never landed.

  “Jimmy?” Lindsey’s worried voice penetrated the fog. “Are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes. The ceramic tile was cold against my face. I had a hard time focusing and my breathing was rapid, shallow. “Lindsey…” I managed to call her name, but it was barely audible. It was enough. The door opened and I saw bare feet and the frayed bottom of Lindsey’s blue jeans as she hurried to my side. Then I was floating again.

  The tiny green light of a monitor came into focus. I blinked to clear my vision and turned my head. The parts of my body that retained feeling were stiff and sore. I groaned.

  Lindsey
was reading a book in the easy chair. She sprang up and the book crashed to the floor, but she ignored it and hurried to my side.

  “Jimmy!” She said. Her brown eyes filled with relief.

  “Hi,” I said. My tongue was dry and my mouth tasted awful. Warmth crept into my face as I remembered how she must have found me.

  “I was so worried!” She pressed some buttons on her cell phone. “Your mom and dad wanted me to call them when you woke up. They went out for breakfast.”

  I struggled to get my bearings. “What time is it?”

  Lindsey glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s 9:30 a.m.”

  “Help me sit up,” I said. My arms felt weak.

  Lindsey rushed to the hall and spoke into the cell phone as she went out the door. In a minute, a nurse followed her back into my room and came over to the bed. She took my pulse and blood pressure. When she was satisfied, she cranked the bed to a sitting position. She watched me until she was sure I would not pass out. She did a few tests, having me follow her finger with my eyes and grip her finger as hard as I could in my fist. She wrote something on the chart and fussed with the beeping monitor beside the bed.

  Lindsey moved in as soon as the nurse gave her some room. “When I found you passed out in the bathroom yesterday, I called 911 and they brought you here.”

  I could only remember Lindsey’s feet and jeans. I remembered going into the bathroom and putting my head on the sink because it felt so heavy and full of cotton. There was a tender spot on my forehead. I touched it with my finger.

  “Does it hurt?” Lindsey’s eyes filled with concern.

  “Just a little,” I admitted.

  Lindsey touched the spot, smoothing it with cool fingertips. “The doctor said you had a clot and it nearly killed you!” Lindsey’s face was ashen.

  “Was I still dressed?”

  Lindsey shook her head no. “Don’t worry; I got your pants back on before the medics got there.” She blushed delicately.

  I bit my lip. My body was so useless! Inside me, tiny bombs could break loose at any random moment and kill me. All this talk about college and our futures seemed like so much wasted breath now.

 

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