by Shafer, Gina
I was amazed. Seriously. They had to drag me from exhibit to exhibit just so we’d be able to see them all. When feeding time came, I pleaded and pleaded that they leave me in front of the big cat exhibit, right across from the hot dog cart. She told me to stay where I was, so she could keep an eye on me while she and my cousin grabbed us lunch.
The line was long, so I had fifteen uninterrupted minutes to stare at the Bengal tigers. They were beautiful. One of them roared, and as it echoed through my chest, I remember thinking this is it. This is where the magic in the world hides.
And then a little kid and his father walked up next to me. They were loud, loud enough to disturb the tigers. I could see their agitation growing. They must have come prepared for this because the man pulled out a pocketful of those fireworks poppers, the ones you throw on the ground, and they explode with a snap. They took turns tossing them into the exhibit through the steel bars.
The tigers broke out in a frenzy as sparks exploded by their feet. In a fit of terror and panic, a small tiger threw himself against the steel bars, somehow entangling his front paw. He twisted and turned, injuring his trapped leg in a frantic desperation to escape.
This continued for a minute or two while I stood frozen in fear. Zoo staff finally caught on to what was happening and stopped it. My Aunt whisked us away, and we spent the rest of the day in the amphibian exhibit. I think the man was eventually arrested, and I don’t remember what happened to the boy.
When I went to bed that night, I laid on my pillow and couldn’t shake the vision of that tiger and the look in his eyes when he was faced with unimaginable fear.
I have that same look in my eyes.
Mama doesn’t get out bed much anymore. This disease has eaten its way through her brain and finally feasted on whichever part gives her mobility. She cannot brush her teeth. She cannot use the bathroom.
She’s an infant trapped in the body of the woman who gave me life, taught me to speak and walk. I hate that I can’t return the favor. She gave the best years of her life to me without a second thought, and I gave her a couple of months.
I don’t fucking understand the way the world works. How can such pain and agony exist in a world where love lives?
I spent most of the day caring for Mom while Dad visited the care home Dr. Manzano recommended. We’ve decided to let medical professionals take over soon. We fear we’re not strong enough to handle the day she can’t fight this battle anymore.
After Dad returned, I took a shower, and for the last fifteen minutes, I’ve been staring at myself in the fogged up bathroom mirror, unable to walk away. Because I fucking know fear is waiting, standing by for acknowledgement.
I turn my back and pull on my favorite sundress. It’s peach in color, with little white flowers all over it. I love it because, after washing it so many times, the fabric is soft.
I comb my hair with my back still turned and tie it into a loose side braid. Nick texted me a while ago, asking if he and Rose could come over. I guess she’s suffering withdrawal from a white fluff ball named Coconut. I don’t mind one bit, because it keeps my Nick withdrawal in check.
I go to the kitchen and begin to prep dinner. I’m in the middle of squeezing lemon juice into a marinade for grilled chicken when Nick and Rose walk through the back door.
My heart slams against my rib cage, fluttering like a bird begging to be freed. His face, my god. It makes me weak no matter how often I see it. He tosses a smile in my direction and then greets Dad, who is sitting in his recliner, enjoying a golf game. We haven’t had a chance to talk about the care home yet, but I don’t think either of us is eager to.
Rose and Nick talk with Dad, so I whisk in olive oil and freshly chopped garlic into my marinade. I try to make it seem like I’m not watching their exchange, but I totally am. I peek every chance I get.
During the past few weeks, Nick has made it a point to be as available as possible for my parents. In return, my dad has accepted his copious presence without protest.
I think he enjoys the house more full and lively anyway. I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely it must have been here, caring for Mama alone.
Dad checks Mama’s monitor on his phone. He does it religiously whenever she naps. Worry haunts our house like a ghost, possessing each of us for a while and then moving on.
I add a little salt, pepper, and smoked paprika to the marinade and then set out the chicken on a platter.
Nick’s laughter fills the room, and I look up, enamored. He uses his hands when he speaks, and I love it. He puts his muscular forearms and those sexy hands to use, capitalizing on what some would call a bad habit. I couldn’t disagree more. It reminds me of what else he can do with those hands, and it never lets me forget the way his arms feel around me.
My cheeks burn when I realize I’ve caught myself in a mortifying-if-anyone-ever-found-out moment of mentally undressing the man I’m dating in front of my dad.
I coat the chicken with marinade.
“Do you need any help?” Rose asks, and I startle, nearly spilling marinade all over the counter. I was so completely in my head, I didn’t realize she came over.
I smile but it feels odd and forced, and I know she can tell. “I’m good. Just finishing up this part.” I open a drawer and reach for plastic wrap to cover the chicken.
“Okay. Um, do you mind if I use your computer again? I want to finish up a project I’m doing for art class.”
“No problem. You know where it is.” I nod in the direction of my room as I bump the drawer shut with my hip. She holds back a grin. Hopefully she’ll soon feel comfortable enough to come fully out of her shell.
After rubbing the marinade into the chicken, I wash my hands. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Nick asks, joining me.
I tease, “Thankfully nothing with dairy, because you’re about all the cheese I can handle.” I turn in his arms and his hands fall to my waist.
“Ouch,” he says with a dimpled smile.
I kiss the left dimple, because I can.
“How are you today?” he asks and I shrug.
I consider telling him about the fear festering inside me, but what good would that do? Fear is like an infection, a pathogen riding on the coattails of spoken words and doubt. I’d rather not pass on this sickness.
“Just another day,” I finally say, breaking away and busying myself with dishes in the sink. If there was ever a time to wish for a dirty kitchen....
He knows something is up with me. He also knows I need him to ignore it. That’s the problem with meeting your soul mate. They know things about you before you’re willing to share them.
My phone dings, and I grab it from the counter, slipping it into my back pocket after I get a look at the name of the person who sent the text.
I just hid that from Nick. Why did I do that? And now I feel guilty.
The thing about soul mates? It works both ways.
His eyes don’t meet mine when he says, “Do you mind if I pop back over in a bit? There’s some work I’ve gotta get done before dinner.”
He lied to me. How, in a matter of minutes, did we let this happen?
“We’ll be here,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But it is. It is a big fucking deal. Tell him, Whitley. Just fucking tell him.
But I don’t. Nick nods like a lunatic, and I act like this is the dirtiest damn fork in the whole northern hemisphere.
He starts to walk away, but then he stops and places a gentle kiss on my head. Before I know it, he’s telling my dad he’ll be back and then he’s out the door.
I want to stab something with the sparkling clean fork. I check on my mom instead.
She’s lying on her bed, the picture of frailty. It shocks me every time I see her. My mother has always had a healthy build. She was a nurse for twenty-five years. I can’t even begin to calculate how many steps she’s taken on hospital grounds.
I carefully crawl into bed with her. I know Dad is probably watching on the monitor
like always, and she’s by herself basically never at this point. I’m thankful he gives me this time alone with her. I place my head on the pillow next to hers and study her face.
She’s still beautiful. I’m not sure why that surprises me. The ugliness that grows inside her brain has not taken her beauty with it.
My lip quivers. She lets out a soft snore, and I turn on my back and pull out my phone.
David: Please call me soon.
Me: Why should I?
I instantly regret the moment of weakness and insecurity that had me press Send.
David: Because I miss you.
Me: That’s your fault.
David: I know. I wish you’d give our relationship another chance. We were so fucking good together.
Me: I think you’re getting a good relationship mixed up with good sex.
I say good because I think it was good for him. Now that I’ve been with Nick, I know the difference between good sex and change-your-life sex.
David: Is that what you want?
Me: What?
David: Some good sex?
My jaw drops. I didn’t think he would be this bold. It pisses me off and suddenly I want to hurt him. I want to extend the pain I’m carrying to someone else.
Me: Someone beat you to it.
It’s childish, I know.
My phone vibrates with a call. David is calling me. I panic and press ignore. He calls again. I press ignore again. Five more times. Same routine.
David: You fucked someone else?
Me: Currently fucking. You can have a little side piece to keep you warm at night, but the minute I get with someone, all hell breaks loose? Newsflash, David. You don’t own my vagina.
Oh god, this is so stupid. But I can’t stop.
David: Who the fuck is it?
Me: Why would I tell you?
David: Because I fucking love you.
Me: Ha! That’s a joke if ever I heard one.
David: No one else is ever going to love you like I do.
Me: You’ve lost your mind.
David: Please tell me who you’ve been seeing.
Me: Why do you want to know so bad?
David: Because I want to beat his face in.
Me: Leave me alone.
David: Please, Whitley. I don’t even care. I just want you to come home. Let me take care of you.
Me: I’m taking care of myself.
David: Living carefree at mommy and daddy’s house while fucking some prick behind their backs. You’re a real piece of work.
Me: You have no idea what you’re talking about.
David: So you’re not running around fucking some guy while your mom is dying?
I cry. The tears blur my eyes, and I have to blink them away to see the screen.
Me: I hate you.
David: No you don’t. You love me, and you’ll be back when that guy kicks you to the curb.
Me: Don’t ever contact me again.
I block his number, then close my eyes and rest the phone against my chest, sobbing. Mama sleeps peacefully, but I know Dad will be in here soon to check on us.
I whisper to her that I love her and then leave the room quietly. I bow my head, tears splashing on top of my bare feet. I stop by my bedroom door but remember Rose is there. I keep going, seeing Dad through the window, checking the mail. I send a text to him, telling him I’m leaving, and then I duck out through the sliding glass door.
I think about walking to the water’s edge and not stopping. I think about walking until I sink. Then I think about what it would feel like to stay there, in the quiet world where, deep down in the dark, even the sun can’t touch me.
I don’t want to kill myself. If Mama’s disease taught me anything, it’s the value of a single life and the havoc death can wreak on loved ones.
I just want to stop feeling.
I end sitting up cross-legged in the warm sand, staring out to sea.
I’m not a religious person. I’m not what you would consider a believer. I respect the decision to worship a god, but I don’t. Deities don’t make sense to me.
But today is different. Today I wish there was a god that atheists could to pray to.
I have nothing, no one to turn to. No one to ask forgiveness from. No one to tell me that everything is worth it… that it’s all planned.
My tears fall harder, and I lose myself in my sorrow. The sun disappears behind clouds, like even it knows now is not the time for happiness and cheer. The air grows colder, and I shiver.
“Whitley?”
I freeze when I hear Nick behind me.
“What are you doing out here? I stopped by your house. Your Dad is concerned about you.” When he finally gets a good look at my face, his eyes widen.
I almost laugh, wondering what I look like, windblown and hysterical. Luckily most of the beachgoers have packed up for the day, and few are around. Nick places a quick call to my dad and tells him where I am. I hear Dad ask if I’m okay, Nick says, “She’ll be fine.”
She’ll be fine.
Yeah okay. I’ll be fine.
But Mom won’t.
I spent years with a man who talked to me like I was utterly insignificant. Now I’ve found this amazing, wonderful, caring man, and I’m afraid to give my heart away because I’m not sure I’ll survive losing my mother.
Is this what actual torture feels like? I sob. He wraps his arms around me as I weep.
“I’m so selfish,” I cry into his chest. “Why am I so selfish?”
“You’re not selfish, you’re just hurting.”
“No!” I yell, pulling away and standing. I back away as I speak. “I can’t handle things. I fall apart. I expect everyone around me to clean up the pieces. I gallivant around, screwing you while my mother lives out the remainder of her days in fucking misery.”
“Whitley, what—”
I won’t hear the hurt in his voice. I just won’t. “I can’t fucking do this anymore,” I scream to drown out his words.
I’m out of options, since I’m getting too close to our houses, and I can’t bear to be trapped under a roof right now. I consider running down the beach, but I don’t think I’ll get very far.
I try anyway, but Nick rushes me, picking me up and hoisting me over his shoulder. He carries me as I flail. I’ve never felt so off balance.
He sets me down on the sand in a private area between sand dunes. He remains standing, and I bury my head between my knees. I’m not angry about what he just did. I’m angry that being in his arms was the safest I’ve felt in forever.
“Listen,” he commands, and I snap my head up. I feel like a petulant child, and I know I’m acting like one. That’s who I am. Childish. Selfish. Insecure.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, and I’m surprised. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “I don’t care about who you think you are. You’re forgetting that I know you. And I’m not saying that because it makes me feel good, okay? I’m saying that because even when it hurts me, I know you. You think you’re selfish? I think you’re letting yourself feel the emotions you have a right to feel. You think you’re insecure? You have got to be out of your mind. You’re so secure in yourself that you hide from nothing. You let your sadness out like it bleeds from your soul. When you’re happy… my god, when you’re happy I can hardly fucking breathe.”
“I-I—”
“You’re saying you can’t be with me while you mother is sick. How can you say that? That, right there, is the only selfish thing I’ve heard from you. You’re not thinking of what your mother would want, what your father wants... what I want. You’re thinking about what you think you should do. But you should be asking yourself, ‘What do I want to do?’”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “That’s the honest truth. I want Mama to get better. I want to be with you. I want to love you like no one else in the history of time. Only, I don’t know how. And I already know I can’t have one of those things.” I stand and dust sand off my le
gs.
“So your solution is to blow off everything because there’s one thing you can’t have?”
“I don’t know,” I say again.
“Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you until you feel better.” He turns toward the ocean, his back to me.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. I can’t not look at him.
I get up and walk around him, standing face to face. His jaw clenches as he avoids looking at me. “I’m just so fucking afraid,” I let out, my voice cracking on the last word. In an instant, he wraps me in his arms.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I want to be strong and powerful and a pillar for my family. Except I feel like I’m collapsing and everything that once held value in my life is tumbling down around me.”
“You’ll rebuild,” He says, and I nod, taking strength from his words. “It’s okay not to feel strong right now. It’s okay to break. It’s okay, baby.”
We lie in the sand, and I straddle him. “Are you—”
I quiet him with a kiss. A steamy kiss that turns into more. We grope and moan, and I can’t get his cock out fast enough. I unbuckle his belt and dive into his jeans, pushing his underwear aside and freeing him.
“Baby,” Nick whispers between kisses. “I don’t—”
“Please, Nick. Please. I need this.”
I pull my panties aside and sink on top of Nick’s hard length. He groans, pushing his head back into the sand. And then, like he can’t believe what’s happening, he watches as I rise and fall on him.
“Oh my god,” he moans, his bottom lip between his teeth. He pulls the top of my dress down, exposing my breasts, and my nipples pebble in the cool sea breeze.
I grind on him while he’s buried deep. He holds me against him as he flips us over, so now I’m cradled between him and the sand. We’re a mess, frantically making love.
“You feel that?” he asks, thrusting. “I’m inside of you so fucking deep. But it’s not deep enough, is it, baby?”