At first, she struggled to take care of us. It wasn’t until she had picked up a few regular cleaning jobs that we started seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.
Then, mom got sick. It was a mysterious autoimmune disease, causing symptoms ranging from arthritis to stomach pain. The doctors had no answer for her, other than to tell her that she should retire and live out the rest of her days on a beach. Of course, that just wasn’t possible so it couldn’t be her reality. It almost seemed cruel for the doctors to suggest to a woman who was used to working multiple jobs just to be able to make ends meet.
In the months that followed, I saw her, worn out and tired, becoming a shell of her former self, slowly dying in front of my eyes. And my heart began to break. Losing my dad had been hard enough, something that I will never get over.
My dad had been my best friend and my hero. He was so fun, always joking and laughing, doing silly things that would make my mother scold him, but a smile always played at the corner of her mouth while she was doing it.
That was back then. Now, I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d seen her laugh.
I started helping her out with her jobs. I figured that because I was younger than she was, yet still old enough compared to my younger siblings, I could help lighten her load.
When I first offered to help her, my mom flat out refused, saying that it was her responsibility to care for the family and that she wanted me to focus on my own life. She wouldn’t even listen as I explained that my family was my life and that I would do everything in my power to make sure that everyone was okay.
Eventually, though, she acquiesced. She had to, because it was too much work for her to be able to do on her own. And once she started to see me as a worker bee, she started giving me lessons in how to grow up and earn my own keep like she had always had to do.
Despite her stern, serious lessons, I didn’t mind the work. I would throw on my iPod and rock out while cleaning. Time would always fly by. Even my mom was surprised at how well things were going at her jobs when I worked them. I told her that I’d learned from the best.
I had helped with all of her jobs, except for Mr. King. She told me that he was very particular and he made certain parts of the house off limits. She didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. We had been struggling just to pay bills for so long that once she started working for Mr. King, she saw that she finally had a chance to change things for us. That was because he paid more than anyone that she’d ever worked for. She cleaned his house once a week and then cooked his meals for the entire upcoming week.
“Sure, Mom, I can do Mr. King. I’ll get dressed and head over now.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, putting her hands up to stop me in my tracks. “We need to go over the rules of being at his house.”
We had been over it so many times, just in case I ever had to step in and help out at his house when she couldn’t, but I didn’t say anything to remind her of that just now. I knew that going over every detail again would help her feel reassured. I just nodded my head and listened as she recited her same speech.
“Now, Mr. King is very different. You can tell that just by looking at him. That is, if ever you get the chance to lay eyes on him. If you do see him, look at the floor, look at the ceiling, look at the wall. Look anywhere but directly into his face. If you need to tell him anything, write everything down on a note and leave it on the refrigerator. You never walk up to him directly. And there’s absolutely no walking into a room where he is if he hasn’t invited you. He spends most of his time in the west wing of the house, so most of those rooms are off limits. You get in, you get out. You clean and you leave. Got it?”
“Of course, Mom,” I smiled at her sweetly, hoping that that would reassure her. “I got it. I can handle it. Don’t worry.”
She looked me over skeptically, then sighed, her shoulders lowering like all the energy had been drained from her. She kissed my cheek and shuffled out of my room and back to bed.
She wasn’t going to listen to me. She was going to worry. But, there wasn’t much I could do about that.
I got up, showered, and ran out the door. I was eager to finally see the mysterious Mr. King’s house. Mom had told me that it was a cabin, but also a mansion. The biggest, most modern cabin she could even imagine.
Pulling up to the front gate, I was blown away by the sheer size of the building and I realized that Mom had not been exaggerating. I’d never seen anything like it, either.
I couldn’t rightfully call that enormous building a house or even a cabin, even though it did look like a log cabin. In my mind, it couldn’t be called anything but a building, because it looked like there was room enough for an entire company of people to live or work in.
I entered the code that my mother had given me and the gates swung open so majestically that I thought that I was about to walk into a castle. Walking through the giant oak doors, I had to catch my breath as I looked around at all the luxurious beauty that laid before me. I had never seen more gold and crystal in all my life.
I had to drive for a long time before I arrived, and looking out the expansive windows, all I could see were beautiful mountain views. The backyard was so wooded it looked like a forest. There were no other houses in sight.
The outside of the house had the wooden logs and cozy look of a cabin, and inside was no different. It featured a wood burning fireplace and comfortable nooks and crannies where one could curl up with a good book.
It was a gorgeous house. And it was amazing to think that only one person lived here. There weren’t very many other people to enjoy all the beauty this home had to offer, and from what Mom said, Mr. King didn’t have visitors over.
What did he do with all this space? And what did he do with all the other rooms? He could only really sleep in one. I couldn’t help but think of how my younger siblings had to share a room in our own small house.
I willed myself to stay focused on the task at hand. My mother had entrusted me with a huge amount of responsibility and I had to stay focused on that.
I could see why my mother had been so careful about how she dealt with Mr. King. But, the more I walked through the house, the less concerned I had become about following the rules that she’d drummed in my head.
I was curious and I wanted to explore the house. I was glad to be helping Mom out with this job, because it was a lot more exciting than anything else I would be doing today.
I’ll just walk around and get an idea of what my work day is going to look like, I justified to myself.
I set off to look around, not quite sure what I would find. But I had a feeling that today had a lot in store for me. And that meeting Mr. King was going to be very interesting indeed.
Chapter 3 – Darren
“What seems to be the problem?”
Dr. Milton was using his hallmark question for what seemed like the millionth time since I was young. He had been our family doctor since before I was born, so it just made sense that I would keep seeing him now.
I had gone to see him shortly after the helicopter crash. He didn’t say much. He just hemmed and hawed, looking at me from over from the top of his glasses, his lips pursed as he evaluated me.
I had just been glad he didn’t recoil in disgust or respond in some other way that made me feel uncomfortable, like every other person in my life. Well, almost every other person. My maid, Eve, never made me feel like the monster that I knew myself to look like, either.
So, I kept my regular appointments with Dr. Milton and would even call him, like I was doing now, if I ever had a concern.
“There have been some… uh… developments,” I said, my voice trailing off.
Even though Dr. Milton had been very understanding of my situation, what I called to talk to him about was not the easiest discussion to have with anyone.
“Developments?” he asked softly.
“Yes… I… uh… it seems that I am having trouble performing sexually.”
I s
aid the last part in a voice so low it was nearly a fucking whisper.
“Oh, okay. I think I understand. This is not uncommon given your condition. Are you able to have an erection?”
I couldn’t believe that I was talking to the man who had given me a lollipop after my kindergarten shots about the functioning of my penis. Or, rather, the dysfunction of it.
"Yes. But, well, honestly, Doc, I don’t really get them that often, but it seems as though they don’t last very long and I can’t quite… finish.”
“Yes, that seems to be pretty straightforward. Of course, we should run further tests to be sure, though.”
“To be sure of what?”
“The accident probably has had more of an effect on you than you realize. It may have affected your testosterone level and sperm count. And, if that’s the case, then it’s very possible that your possibility of having children would be drastically lowered.”
“Really?” I said.
I was annoyed. Annoyed by the situation and, in that moment, by Dr. Milton.
“How can you say that without having run any tests?” I demanded. “I mean, um, is that just your best guess or a certain diagnosis?”
I backed off my initial anger, because it wasn’t Dr. Milton’s fault I was in this mess. I knew he was just trying to help.
“Oh, trust me, we will definitely have to run some tests just to make sure,” he answered, not seeming to be bothered by my testiness. I was sure he was used to all kinds of push back from patients. “But, I was actually afraid of this from the very beginning, due to where you have sustained injury. The tests will confirm it, but based on what you’re telling me and the results of the preliminary testing, due to the burns you suffered while in the helicopter, your sperm count is likely declining.”
“Don’t mince words with me, Doc,” I demanded, suddenly not caring about my tone. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“Well, it means that if you still have the capability of producing children, then, every passing day, the odds go down. The longer you wait, the odds are slim to none. It means if you would ever like to try, the time is now.”
There it was: the death sentence that no man ever wanted to hear. For various reasons, I wasn’t as concerned about the fact that I couldn’t make a baby right now, but not having the option to choose in the future was devastating. So was the fact that my dick was limp and it seemed that wasn’t going to improve, either.
“So, what about sexual performance?” I asked Dr. Milton. “I’ll be just as frank with you as you’re being with me, because I appreciate that. At this point, I can hardly see how I’m supposed to work on making a baby when I can’t even get it up. Or at least, I can’t keep it up.”
I wanted to tell him how it starts off good: I would think about someone sexy, or the thought of sex in general, and get hard. But then after a while, it all collapsed, literally as well as figuratively. But, as I struggled to find the right words, Dr. Milton cleared his throat to answer my question, and I realized he knew more about what I meant than I thought he did.
“Have you had sexual contact with a woman?” he asked. “Or are we just talking about one on one, on your own?”
“That one,” I answered, feeling rather embarrassed about how long it had been since I’d been with a woman. “The on my own thing.”
It wasn’t that I couldn’t get a woman. Since I was over six feet tall, with a full head of hair and a powerful presence, the women threw themselves at me. But I had been burned before— not just in the accident, but in relationship matters— and I was determined to stay away from women because it only ended up damaging me even more.
“Well, the good news is that it’s different with another person,” the doctor said. “We’re not really sure why. There have been inconclusive studies. But sexual arousal can often be sustained by another person, during intimate contact, even when it can’t be sustained by oneself. I would recommend you try that out and see what happens. Responsibly, of course.”
The only thing I was worried about being responsible with was my fucking heart. My body and spirit had been broken, and I wasn’t about to hand my heart over to a woman to have her way with. In the past, a relationship had come close to destroying me and I was determined not to let that happen again.
But, I thought, realizing my cock was getting a bit hard from just the thought of being with a woman again, a little fucking hanky panky never hurt anything.
I would just have to leave my heart out of it.
“Thanks for the advice, Doc.”
“When can you come in so that we can run further tests?”
I guess I would have to leave my peaceful palace and venture out into the world I’d tried so hard to leave behind. That happened every now and then, for a doctor’s appointment or some other urgent need. But I tried to have it not happen, because I liked staying here, away from everything out there.
Just as I was about to answer, I was startled by a sound that I had never heard in my home. It was a voice, someone singing. Although the voice belonged to a female, it didn’t sound familiar.
I knew that it wasn’t Eve because she knew to never come to this side of the house. I had only told her one time and she never forgot and left me unbothered.
Plus, she never sang. She knew better than to disturb me like that. In fact, most of the time, I didn’t even know that she had been in my house until I found one of her refrigerator notes. And I liked it that way. I had built an isolated cabin in the woods for a fucking reason.
“Hello? Darren, are you there?”
Dr. Milton was getting impatient. He wanted to know when I could come in for follow up questions, so he could get off the phone. I understood his position, since I so hated talking on the phone, or to anyone at all. But all I could think about was whoever was fucking singing in my house.
Who the fuck was in my house? And how did she get in?
“Yes, Doc,” I hurriedly said into the phone. “Let me think about it and get back to you.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding confused. “I really do mean that the sooner you address these problems, the better the likelihood is that…”
“Yes, Doc, I know,” I assured him. “My time is limited. I have to get in to see you right away. And I have to make a move on knocking someone up.”
“Is that possible?” he asked. “Are you in a committed relationship?”
Most definitely not, I thought, but, before I could answer, he rushed to continue.
“I mean, I don’t want to be nosy. It’s none of my business, personally. But, I’m asking because science and technology have many options available. There is surrogacy…”
“Doc, it’s fine,” I told him. “I appreciate your help. I’ll figure it out.”
If being intimate with a woman would help me keep my cock hard, and if having a baby was something I needed to do sooner rather than later, then impregnating someone the old fashioned way would be the best of both worlds. I could kill two birds with one stone that way.
I just had to find a willing participant. Someone who would want money to carry my baby, and who would want me enough to let me do it the old fashioned way.
That might be the hard part, because even though I was used to having a lot of women at my disposal, I wasn’t so sure they’d still want me when they got up close and saw my scars. I hadn’t tested that theory, and, for many reasons, I had purposefully stayed away from women after I got home from Afghanistan and my stay in the military hospital.
I guess it was time to see if I still had swagger, even with my scars.
I hung up the phone and grabbed a bat that I’d had tucked away in the closet. Then, I headed toward the sound of the singing.
Chapter 4 – Hope
There were so many rooms in the house, it was a wonder how anybody could ever find their way around. I got lost and couldn’t tell which part of the cabin I was in or if it was a part my mom had said not to go into.
Opening one of the doors, I stumb
led across one of the biggest libraries that I had ever seen. There were books from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. I walked into the room and spun around, looking them all over.
“Wow!” I exclaimed loudly.
I was singing show tunes and being sure to alert Mr. King I was here, since I didn’t know which room he was in and I didn’t want to startle him. I had just started my whole repertoire of songs I listen to on my iPod while I clean. But now that I was in this room, I had no more need to sing “Light My Candle” from Rent.
I felt like I had walked into a dream. Reading was one of my favorite things to do and this room seemed to offer tons of options that could keep my imagination busy for centuries. I so wanted to grab a book and head to one of the cozy corners near the fireplace in the living room to read all day long, to my heart’s content, and forget all about working.
By the looks of it, though, no one had been in this room for quite some time, not even to dust. I guess this was one of the rooms my mom had said not to enter. Oops. It was hard to keep these things straight. But it was clear she never came in to clean, or the place would have been spotless because she’s damn good at her job.
I ran my finger down along the spine of one of the books and it came back up with a thick layer of dust on it. I sneezed as some dust particles wafted up into my nose.
I looked up and saw a book with gold letters jutting out of the shelf. It was my favorite book: Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens.
I remembered the first time that I’d read Great Expectations. I couldn’t have been any more than eight years old. I remember snuggling into my father’s lap, surrounded by his strong arms and the smell of peppermint, his favorite candy. I could almost smell it as I stood there remembering his smooth, low voice lilting up and down as he read to me.
He loved that book. He read it with so much life, the words seemed to jump straight off the pages. I always had so many questions and I would interrupt at least three times per page. But he never got angry. He actually seemed amused and happy to answer my many questions.
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