"Oh," Mark exclaimed as Shylah pulled away.
"Am I hurtin' you," Shylah begged in great worry.
"A little, but it's more that you put your leg on me, and I think maybe you pushed on my bladder. I gotta pee so bad I can't take it anymore."
"Hurry up, Sexy. You're mine!"
"I would, Baby, but you know, once I'm out of bed, I'm up for good. It's too much work and too painful to get back in."
"Yeah. I guess you're right. Well then, my love, I'm gonna go fix us some coffee and some food. What do you want?"
"Anything'll be fine, Babe. Just make some of it sweet," Mark ordered as he turned to pull himself out of bed.
"So, you want me then, huh?"
"You have NO idea, Baby! If you're on the menu, I'd stay home and eat forever, but I can't. If there was a way, though, but I really gotta go to the bathroom."
"Go," Shylah demanded. "Ain't nobody stoppin' you!"
Mark entered the kitchen to find Shylah busy at work, cooking breakfast. He thought how amazingly lucky he was to have a woman that was not only extraordinarily beautiful but one who would cook for him, be there whenever he needed a shoulder to lean on, be his best friend in so many ways that T.L. could not be, and be so loving and giving so often when she would probably rather not be. He thought to himself that he must have the most perfect woman that had ever walked the Earth. She was his everything, his reason for waking in the morning and his reason to continue breathing. When many other men would have already given up all hope and all will to try, Mark found plenty of reasons to continue, and most of them were, in way or another, because of Shylah.
"Well, I guess you are NOT on the menu, huh," Mark commented as he rolled his wheelchair up behind Shylah.
Shylah quickly turned, startled by the sudden noise, and nearly hit Mark in the face with her greasy spatula. "Oh. I'm sorry, Baby! I didn't realize you were there at first. You startled me."
"It's ok. Kiss."
"Kiss to you, too."
"No, Goofy. I want a kiss. Lean that pretty face down here, and kiss the birthday boy."
"Oh," Shylah replied, leaning down, nearly falling onto Mark as she did. The kiss, though short, was electrical. Both of them knew, in that moment, that as long as they maintained that electricity, they would be golden, so to speak. As Shylah pulled away, she remarked, "You are pretty old now. You are what... fifty?"
"Somethin' like that. Twenty-seven, fifty, all the same."
"Yep, fifty, like I said. I guess I'm not too good at math. I guess I must be like forty-somethin', huh?" Shylah began to laugh so hard at her own joke that it caused Mark to start laughing in return.
As Mark laughed harder and harder, he could feel the pressure pulling at his stomach. He hoped that the doctor had stapled the wound together very well, but he wasn't sure. "Aww, Baby, please don't make me laugh like that. It hurts."
"Be careful with that. Will that cause problems or somethin'?"
"I guess the staples could come loose. I don't know. I don't even know how I'm held together inside, just on the outside. I imagine we'd have to rush to the E.R. again or call 911. I don't know."
"Let's not have that, please, especially not on your birthday. We don't need that."
"You think? I woke up this mornin', thinkin' 'Hey. How can I make sure I have to spend my birthday in the hospital?'"
"Ok, Smartass. Go sit down, and have some coffee and a smoke. Breakfast will be done in a while."
"I can't really carry a cup of coffee in this chair. I hate to bother you while you're busy, but could you help poor wittle ol' me? I'm kinda pathetic like that, I know."
"You're not pathetic, Baby. You're just a helpless little man child. Shylah to the rescue once again! I better get somethin' good out of all this work, though. I'm thinkin' a new car. Yeah, a new car. That sounds good!" Shylah turned the burners down on the stove and hurriedly fixed Mark a cup of coffee. "You can do all the fixin'. I'm just bringin' you your cup. Do it how you want."
Shylah set the cup on the table before Mark and turned to walk back to the stove but was quickly pulled downward for another kiss. "You taste way better than any food I ever had," Mark commented, slapping Shylah hard on her backside.
"And you can't back up that slap, but I'm glad you think that, Baby. I try. I'm just that sweet for you."
"Oh, so your other boyfriends don't like kissin' you so much? I see."
"Most of 'em, no. A few of 'em like the way I taste, but I'm sure your other girlfriends feel the same about you."
"Cindy likes how I taste, but that's all I know," Mark said, feeling cocky enough to mention such a name.
"Back to Cindy? You can cook your own damn breakfast!"
"No, Baby. I was kidding. Don't take it so seriously. You know I love you and only you. You're the only girl I ever want!" Mark wrapped his arms around Shylah's legs and squeezed, hoping that she would feel the sincerity in his touch.
"You better be. Birthday boy or not, I'll whoop that ass!"
"Promises, promises," Mark jokingly sounded.
"Uh huh. Ok. I gotta get back to the food before it burns."
After breakfast, Shylah convinced Mark to attempt to wheel himself out of the house and out to the cypress grove. It seemed a fitting place for them at the moment, a place where they had not been for some time, a place that brought them closer together, a place that was so beloved by both. Mark found that it was not as difficult as he had thought. He made it easily out the back door of the house and had only a very minor difference in level between the concrete of the veranda and the grass beyond it. The only part of the journey that seemed to create any sort of problem was going down a slight incline in the yard, a four foot section of ground that sloped fairly drastically.
Mark felt himself becoming strangely dizzy, something that seemed gravely impossible given that he was seated at the time. As he descended the incline, he thought that he might lose control of his wheelchair and tumble over, possibly spilling from the chair violently, and opening his stomach wound. It was a birthday gift that he did not want to have given to him.
It was odd to Mark that he had to spend his time at the grove seated in a wheelchair when he should be walking, maybe even chasing after Shylah as he had done at their first meeting at the place. He wanted so badly to get up from the chair and chase her, to play with her lovingly, running his hands through her hair, kiss her in the rain, if only it would actually rain for once, and whatever else came to mind. On this day, however, it was nothing as it had been at previous times, nothing at all like the very first time, that wonderful, tremendously overjoyed serendipitous moment of pure, unadulterated love and giving, a time so benevolent in its bestowing of eternal gifts that it would be cherished forever. This morning rendezvous was somehow different, not only because of the change of physical state for Mark, but for other reasons. It just didn't feel the same. Mark loved that he could be there with the only woman that he ever truly loved, but it seemed nearly pointless at the same time.
"You don't seem happy, Baby," Shylah remarked as they were both situated, Mark in his chair, she sitting on the ground beside him. "It's a beautiful day! It's your birthday! We're together, in this place that we love! What's to be unhappy about, Baby? You're usually such a happy guy. Be happy! Don't worry... about a thing... cuz... every little thing.... gonna be alright."
"Who is that," Mark asked. "I don't think I know that song."
"Bob Marley. I know. You only listen to country. That's ok. I still love you, but you need to check out some other music. There's a lot of good stuff that wasn't done by a country singer. Just picture you and me on a beach somewhere, you not in that wheelchair, us just dancing under the swaying palm trees to some steel drum reggae band while the cool ocean breeze blows in and has my hair flyin' all around! I can just picture it, Baby. It's almost like I'm there. I'm thinkin' maybe... honeymoon in Jamaica or somewhere. What do you think? We do have to get that goin'."
"It all sounds amazing, Baby. I'll go any
where with you. I don't care where I am, as long as you're there." Mark tried so hard but could not safely lean over the side of his chair to kiss Shylah. The really bad part was that everything Shylah said only reminded Mark of his day in Tampa and of the woman that he spent his time with when it should have been spent with Shylah. Though he didn't cheat on Shylah, Mark still felt terrible about coming close to it.
It was ironic, Mark thought, that he should think of such things, as the next thing that he knew, Shylah spoke of exactly that, his having gone to Florida and having become too friendly with a woman there. "Just don't think of that girl when you're holdin' me out on the beach!"
"Like I told you a hundred times, Baby, I am so sorry about all that. She meant nothing, and nothing happened. Well, nothing more than that short kiss that I stopped. I feel horrible about it. You're the only one for me, and I'll do anything to show you that."
"Huh. You better, Mark Crady. You better. And you only told me sorry once, well, twice now. You have yet to see the truly bad side of Shylah Dawn King, and don't you say a thing about me usin' my middle name. I can do it. You can't, even after we're married! It's mine, all mine, as much as I hate it. Now, kiss me!"
"Get your butt up here then, Beautiful. You know, you're just makin' me wanna stay home from work."
Shylah felt more special at that moment than she had for some time. It was wonderful to have Mark back to his old self, as much as he could be so, given his state of affairs. The couple kissed so passionately and so violently that Mark's chair began to go backwards, nearly taking off, except for Shylah's sudden jerk reaction to grab it by its handle.
"That was close," Shylah huffed. "I thought you were about to roll away. You might not have stopped til you were in Florida, but you would've liked that. You could go see whatever her name is."
"Enough of that shit," Mark screamed. "Damn. I said I was sorry. I never meant for that to happen, and I can only say sorry so many times!"
"Geesh," Shylah exclaimed, taken aback and a little angry. "I was just jokin'! Damn! Take a damn joke once in a while! Isn't that what you always tell me?!"
"Ok. Sorry. Sorry. Please, Baby, let's not fight. Let's just drop the other girl thing. I really am sorry, so sorry. You have no idea how sorry, but it is my birthday, and we're supposed to be enjoying this time here. Of course, in just a little bit, I'm gonna have to go inside and try to take a shower. I'm gonna need your help, though." Mark looked sad as he said this. He felt so helpless and so lost, not knowing why he had been degraded to such a seemingly worthless condition.
Shylah knew where her duties lie but felt too overwhelmed with sexual grief over the idea of seeing Mark nude and not being able to act on the feelings that the sight would inspire. "You know I will, Baby, but that's just a tease! We can't even do anything! I wanna cry. I really wanna cry! No sex in so long. Hell, I don't even know how long it's been! I'm goin' just as crazy as you are! I need it! I really need it! When you get all better, you better be plannin' on draggin' me into the bedroom, ripping my clothes all off, and turnin' me into your sex slave for about a week!"
"You know I will. Like I could actually turn you down! I'd have an easier time growin' wings and flyin' away! You're the one that better be ready cuz you can't even imagine all the stuff I'm gonna do to you! I'd give you an idea right now, but you seem like you're horny enough the way it is." Mark burst out laughing harder than he had earlier that morning, holding his stomach the entire time out of fear of what it might do to his stapled wound. He lived in constant, unbearable, and disheartening fear of the wound springing open like a child's jack-in-the-box. If it did, Mark would surely be back in the hospital, and that was the last thing that he could allow to happen, for a laundry list of reasons.
Shylah took Mark inside and did her utmost to resist the temptation to throw herself at him. It was one of the most difficult ordeals of her life, but she maintained composure as best as she could, astonishing to both of them. She treated the affair much as if it were a job so as to not give herself to lustful yearnings. The thought was always present in her mind, toying with her, somewhere, but outwardly and consciously, it was pushed far away, shoved off as if it were an attacker that had thrown its hands all over her unwilling and unyielding body.
T.L. soon arrived to take Mark to work, bringing his mother with him to help Shylah plan Mark's birthday party for that evening. Mark thought that something might be up, as Mrs. King rarely ever came to his house, but he could say nothing. He simply kissed Shylah goodbye and climbed into her car with her brother, ready to get his committee meeting finished so that he could come back home, but unbeknownst to Shylah, Mark kind of wanted to stay at work even longer than usual. He didn't look forward to come home and do nothing. At least, at work, even if he could do very little, he felt like he was still in charge. He was still in charge, actually, but he felt like he had real control and something to do. He could tell others to do something, and the speaking of the orders and watching the employees do as told was enough to keep him happily busy.
T.L. and Darius, despite having so little to do at the plant, felt much the same as Mark. They had gained some control, feeling empowered, and looked ever forward to having anything to do to stay busy. Most of the time, they sat around at home, reading hunting, fishing, and car magazines, watched a lot of TV., drank so much beer that they often felt as if they were swimming, and did a lot of fishing in their pond. It was all good and well for weekends, but through the week, they wanted to work. They needed to work. It was all that they knew. Unless they were to suddenly be able to go far away, somewhere really fun, they did not want to be away from work, if they could help it. Darius knew, however, that even if he were given the opportunity to go on a vacation, he would never know how to enjoy himself.
Everyone was raring to go when they arrived, even Don. Don promptly let Mark know that he had been there since seven-thirty a.m. He was livid with fear of losing his job, and Mark could tell. In fact, Mark had plans of letting Don know that he could be replaced, thinking that it might motivate him. He didn't want to be mean. Mark nearly always tried to be the nicest guy possible, but he still felt resentment toward Don. Though he had decided previously to not say anything, today, he would let Don in on his secret, that he had thoughts of finding a new assistant plant manager.
When Don began to show obvious signs of sucking up to his boss, Mark knew that it was time to let Don have it. "Don, I wasn't gonna say anything, but you're kissin' ass a little too hard. You're makin' me sore. I'm glad you're tryin'. Keep it up, but you gotta know somethin'. I think you're scared that your job is on the line. Well, it is. I've been thinkin' about your screw-up and thinkin' about replacing you. I know you know this job better than anybody, except for me, Hell, maybe a little better than me, but I'm gonna have my eye on you every chance I get. If you do anything remotely like you did, you're busted back to production, and by production, I don't mean supervisor. I mean you're gonna be on the floor, running a furnace or a rolling mill. Just do your job the way you're expected, and you're good. If you mess up from time to time, that's gonna happen. Everybody messes up. It's when do wrong on purpose that it pisses me off. I don't wanna do anything to you or to anybody. I want you to be in that office, where you're meant to be. I want you to take my place one day when we open a new plant. That, or you go there to be the GM of that plant. One way or another, I'm hopin' that you will show yourself to be every bit the leader and manager I know you to be. I wanna believe in you like I used to. I'm givin' you a second chance, with no more said after this, but I won't give ya a third. Don't make me regret my decision. Please."
"I know, Mark," Don said, shaking, almost in tears. "And I wanna thank you for that. I won't let you down. You have my word! Don Birchum doesn't have much, but he has his word!"
"Good. I know you're right for it. I've seen it. When you get goin', you're hard to stop. You're like a machine. You really get stuff done. I wanna see you like that all the time. If you make it to be GM, think about
it, that's a lot more money, better benefits. You'll be set. You and Betty Jo will have such a better life. Notice, though, that I said IF, not when."
"I know. I know. I will not let you down. What would you like for me to do?" Don seemed as though he were backing up his words, standing ready, alert, and anxious to start doing some serious work.
"Just stick around for a few, til we've gone over everything. I have some ideas of what we need done, but I wanna hear from everybody first. What ya got, guys?"
T.L. quickly glanced to his father, hoping that he would be the first to speak, but he knew that Darius had few, if any, ideas about anything. "I ain't thought of nothin' much, Mark, nothin' you haven't already thought up. I think as long as we make sure we get all the machines in the new building and make sure we got enough men to cover it all, we're good. That's all I know. I think it might be a good idea, though, to get all the foremen back in here real soon and have them start trainin' me and the boy here since we're gonna be supervisors, too, and anybody else you plan on makin' supervisors. We all need to start learning the job fast. If we plan on openin' back up real soon, we gotta be ready the very day the door opens. We gotta be ready, waitin' on our guys to get here so's we can start 'em in on everything firs thing that mornin'!"
"Good. Hey. That's all good. I like that. See, that's what I'm talkin' about. It might seem like simple ideas, but it helps. Everything helps. Believe me, Mr. King, that's a lot better than you think. You made real good points. Is it weird I keep callin' you Mr. King? I've been callin' you that all my life, but I'm marryin' your daughter. Could I just start callin' you Dad?" Mark belted out a laugh that echoed throughout the entirety of the long metal platform above.
"Yeah, Daddy," T.L. chimed in. "He should just start callin' you Dad. He's always been just like a brother to me anyway. So, Dad, how do you like it if he calls you Dad? Don, meet Dad. You should call him Dad. We'll all call him Dad. We'll get all the guys on the floor to call him Dad. Won't that be good, Dad?"
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