Shadow of Love

by by Dick Claassen

  Shadow of Love By Dick Claassen

  Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copyright © 1998

  Chapter One

  You're crazy, Jim. You don't know who may be on the other end waiting for you.

  Jim knew the risk, the craziness of it, but he was intrigued, and he fully intended to go through with this, even if his best friend said otherwise. He smiled. You've spent no time with this woman, Matt.

  Neither have you. You know her only from chat room conversations on the Net. You don't even know if the picture she e-mailed you is really her. It could be a friend acting as a stand-in. My God, do you have any idea what you're doing?

  Jim started the engine of his Corvette. He loved the sound of it. He took his alien-eyes sunglasses off the dash and slipped them on.

  Damn, Jim, when are you going to grow up? Matt stepped away from the car. Go ahead, then. Make a total fool of yourself. Disappoint yourself.

  Jim scowled teasingly from behind the glasses. I never disappoint myself. You ought to know that by now. He pushed the clutch against the floorboard and revved the engine.

  How are you going to know her? You're heading off to the Valu Mall parking lot to continue a relationship with a woman you've never even seen.

  And I just may find myself the girl of my dreams. Jealous, are we? He popped the clutch, and as he squealed away, he glanced into the rearview mirror to see his well meaning friend standing in the dust.

  When he reached the parking lot his Internet friend and he had agreed on, he drove slowly up and down the aisles of cars, craning his neck, looking for the one clue she had offered him. She told him she had a wild set of wheels, but that was all she had told him.

  Well . . . this would be easy. He began looking for a hot convertible with an incredibly beautiful woman sitting in it. If the woman looked like her picture, it would be only a matter of time before he found her. Let's see, upon meeting her what would he do first? He would introduce himself, gallantly bow, kiss her hand, and then proceed to sweep her off her feet.

  Suddenly he jammed the brakes. Hey! he yelled. Watch where you're going! A woman in a power wheel chair was slowly driving through the aisle of cars.

  Watch it yourself, damn it! the woman yelled. I've got the right of way!

  Jim took his glasses off and threw them onto the floor. Just who . . . ? He stopped in mid sentence. The woman gawked at him and he knew he was gawking back. You're . . . ?

  Looks like it, doesn't it? the woman said. Go home. You're not my type.

  He sat very still. I didn't mean to . . .

  I know. This was a bad way to introduce myself. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I apologize. Now that that's out of the way, go home.

  Wait a minute, Jim said furiously. Are you turning me down?

  You might say that. I'm turning you down before you turn me down. There. I beat'cha to it. The woman put her power chair in reverse and began to back away from him.

  Hold on. Jim put his finger up. I'm going to park the car. Hold on. He pulled forward, and was relieved to see an available parking spot eight cars down. He pulled it in the slot and got out of the car. Looking around and seeing no one, he picked up his sunglasses and angrily jammed them on his face. Then he half trotted, half ran to where he had seen her last. There you are. Stop, damn it. Stop.

  The woman wheeled her chair around and glared at him. Take those stupid sunglasses off your face. If you want to talk to me, act like a human being. Don't try to intimidate me. Take them off.

  Jim stood, frozen to the pavement.

  Well?

  He pulled the glasses off and tucked them into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Better?

  Much, she said. Much better.

  Maybe we could go have something to drink inside.

  You don't have to patronize me, James. That's your real name. Right? . . . James?

  Is Marilyn your real name?

  Yes.

  Then, Marilyn, let's stop yelling at each other and sit down and . . .

  And what?

  Why are you so suspicious of me? I've just met you. You don't have anything to be suspicious about. Or angry about, for that matter.

  No, I suppose I don't. But somehow I pictured a different person than the one you're presenting to me.

  How different?

  Well, for one thing, I didn't think you'd be such a hot shot. I can't deal with hot shots. This should be obvious to you by now.

  Wait a minute. I'll be right back. Please don't leave. You owe me this much. Please don't leave.

  Marilyn sighed. I won't leave.

  Jim quickly walked back to his car. He shucked his leather jacket and laid it across the seat. Then he unclipped the gold chain from around his neck and put it safely away in the glove box. He went back to where Marilyn was waiting for him. Ta da! He threw out his arms and half clicked his heels.

  Well, you're half handsome without all that clutter.

  Jim bowed. Thank you. I try.

  He said nothing while he walked beside her as she deftly drove her chair toward the entrance of the mall. Do you speak? Marilyn asked directly. Are you uncomfortable with my power chair?

  Jim pulled the door open for her as she drove in, then opened the inner door for her. Are you always this combative? I swear to God I've known you five stinking minutes and you've managed to beat me down to less than two feet high.

  I'm sorry. I'm very nervous and I'm acting like a jerk.

  Don't be sorry. He smiled. She smiled back. He liked her. She was feisty and she held her ground. He liked her. Are you up for some onion rings? There is a terrific place . . .

  Before he could finish the sentence, Marilyn turned left. This way, she said.

  Dang it, Marilyn, will you let me be the man here? Will you let me take you to where we want to go?

  Sorry. I'm used to doing for myself. I'll be quiet.

  No, Jim said, frustrated. I don't want you to be quiet. Just relax with me. Just relax. I don't bite. He briefly put his hand on the back of hers. He felt her react. He was pushing her, and this woman was not one to be pushed.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Jim led the way to a booth. He looked at Marilyn, confused as to how to treat her. She sat proudly in her high tech power chair. Uh, do you want to sit in your chair while we eat, or, uh, could I . . .

  Marilyn looked at him. No, I'll stay in . . . He could sense the wheels suddenly turning in her brain. I must be nuts. I've only known you for a grand total of ten minutes, but I can sit in the booth if you help me out of the chair. If you don't mind doing that, I'll let you.

  Without hesitation, Jim picked her up and set her on the padded bench of the booth. I, uh, suppose I should sit across from you. What was he getting himself into? This woman was a disabled person. She was limited in so many things she could do with him. She couldn't dance. She couldn't go jogging with him. She couldn't carry on with the same physical ease he experienced. She might not even be able to have sex with him. He had wanted to sit next to her.

  That's good. Sit across from me, James. If you sit next to me you'll try to do everything for me. I have reasonably good upper body strength, and I can actually feed myself, in case you want to know.

  I was not implying you were helpless, Jim said. He knew his voice was straining from sheer frustration. He felt helpless. This woman was tough to deal with. He sat down on the other seat.

  Truce, James. She reached across the table and caught his hand. Sorry. Truce. I get on people's nerves, I know. It's just me. It's the nature of the disability. I'm always on the defensive, always trying to prove myself.

  They ordered onion rings, this particular food chain's specialty. Jim wa
s pleased she didn't try to fight him on the food order.

  What do you do? Marilyn asked, as she took a finger full of onion rings off the plate and put them on her own.

  You mean, what do I do for a living?

  Yeah. Does your rich daddy give you an allowance so you can drive Corvettes and intimidate girls with your very expensive and very weird sunglasses?

  Jim put his hand to his eyes. Lord, woman, will you give me a break here? Can we have a reasonable conversation?

  Sorry. Cheap shot. I'll restate my question. What is your career?

  I'm a programmer.

  Marilyn leaned forward. A computer programmer? she asked, unbelief registering in her eyes.

  Jim smiled. A computer programmer. I design and write computer applications for desktop publishing, among other things.

  Marilyn's jaw dropped. Did you have anything to do with writing a digital art program named Super Vector?

  Jim grinned now. Yeah, as a matter of fact. I was one of the chief designers on that project.

  I'm amazed, Jim. I'm amazed for two reasons. First off, you don't look like you have the self discipline required to design something like that.

  And the second reason?

  The second reason is that I use Super Vector every working day.

  So what do you do with your time?

  With my time? You think I don't work to support myself but instead just wile away my time? Is this what you think?

  There was an edge to Marilyn's voice that Jim had regretted putting there, even though it wasn't intentional. I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Marilyn. I'm . . . I'm sorry. Really . . . I . . . uh . . . apologize.

  Marilyn sighed deeply. No, I should be the one to apologize. She put her hands up in the universal sign for 'enough'. I am, she began in a forced civil tone, a website designer. I design sites for big companies and I charge and get very hefty prices. It seems you and I are in the same general business.

  How interesting, Jim said.

  Ask your next question.

  What? Jim was uncomfortable now.

  I'll answer it. Spina Bifada.

  I'm confused, Jim said. I'm confused. What are you talking about?

  I was born with Spina Bifada. That means my spine was still open when I came out of my mother. Vital connections weren't made, neurologically speaking, and that's why I've lived my entire life in one kind of wheel chair or another.

  Jim didn't know what to say. I'm sorry, he said.

  I knew that was coming. People always say they're sorry when I explain it to them. I can't afford that kind of attitude, Jim. If you really are sorry for me, we'll never get past first base.

  Not knowing what else to say or do, Jim flagged the waiter. Would you please refill our Coke glasses?

  When the waiter had refilled the glasses and walked away, Jim said, I don't pity you, Marilyn, if that's what you think. I just feel bad that you've had to live your life this way. You obviously cope well. I've been running for my life from the moment I met you. He smiled, trying to comfort her through his expression.

  She took a swallow of Coke and then carefully set the glass down on her napkin. I don't think we should see each other again, Jim. I don't know if you planned on wanting to see me again, but just in case you were, this isn't going to work.

  Jim lightly chewed on the backs of his knuckles while keeping eye contact with her. What would you say if I told you I very much want to see you again?

  Don't, Jim. This was foolish from the start.

  It's not foolish. I like you. What's wrong with liking you?

  There's nothing wrong with it. That's the problem. I like you too. But sooner or later the questions and doubts will begin to nag at you. You'll begin to look at me as an incomplete person. You'll look at me as an inconvenience. I'll be someone you'll have to be constantly nursing. And that will get old. I guarantee you, this will become a pain in the rear to you far faster than you realize now.

  I want to see you again. I will see you again.

  No, you won't. You don't know where I live. You don't even know my last name. And I'm giving you neither. Go home, Jim. You're really not my type.

  How will you get home? Do you have someone to take you home?

  I drive, Jim. I have my own van. I can go anywhere I want, and if you would be so kind as to put me back in my chair, I'll go pay for both of us. Then I'm going home. And if you follow me, that will really tick me off. Are we communicating here?

  Jim picked Marilyn up and put her back in her chair. I really like you, Marilyn. Jim felt sick at heart. This meeting hadn't gone well and he wasn't sure if it was his fault or hers. Maybe they were both to blame.

  Marilyn smiled briefly and drove her chair to the cash register. She turned and mouthed the words. 'Nice meeting you. Go home now.'

  ---

  You don't want to get involved with someone like that, Jim. Leave it alone.

  They were on their lunch break. It was a warm summer day and Jim and his very good friend Matt were sitting at a picnic table on the campus of Xenon Software. I like her. Her physical disability at first scared me a little. I felt uncomfortable with her. I didn't know how to act with her. I was unconsciously treating her as if she were a leper. And I was so cocky when I met her. No wonder she doesn't want me to see her again. I've really screwed this up. He took a bite of his very bad fast food hamburger.

  Look, Jim, we both know your cockiness is just a front to cover your own insecurities. Surely she could see that.

  Oh, thanks a lot for pointing out my weaknesses, best friend. I really needed that comment in the worst way.

  Come on, man, you know it's true. You're a great guy. If you weren't, I wouldn't give you the time of day. I can overlook your strutting and your cocky facade most days, but if you really like Marilyn, then go after her. But cut the phony side of you. And think very hard about what you are for sure getting yourself into.

  What would I be getting myself into? She's a great person.

  I'm sure she is. But it seems to me that whenever a person with normal abilities becomes involved with and maybe even marries a person who requires a lot of physical assistance, the relationship can become one-sided pretty damned quick. Think about that, Jim. The able-bodied one does all the work.

  There's more to a relationship than that, I hope. What was he getting himself into?

  Of course there is, but the work you'll end up doing will totally overshadow your love for her.

  Jim wiped his face with his napkin, stuck his leavings in the bag the food came in, and got up. He opened the trash container near by and tossed the bag into it. Let's get back to work.

  Chapter Two

  During the next five days Jim tried to reconnect with Marilyn. He'd sit down at his computer every night, connect with the Internet, and go into the chat room where they had first met. But she never logged on. He pleaded with her to talk to him, but as time passed he suspected she never even looked to see if he was there. Heartsick, he found himself having trouble sleeping. And going to work everyday no longer enthused him. There was one outside chance that he would find her. It was exactly one week ago that he had met her here on this parking lot. There was a chance, albeit small, that she may show up on this day again. Jim had no assurance this would happen. It was only a hope he had. They had met at 5:30 in the afternoon and it was now 5:30. He was out of his car, standing on the asphalt, praying she would come to him. He waited five minutes, then ten minutes. This was crazy. He knew he'd lost her. He was going home. No woman was worth this kind of pain. As he put his hand on the door handle, he heard a woman yell, Don't you dare get into that car!

  He turned and grinned when he saw her. She came flying up to him in her high tech power chair. Where are you going? she asked.

  Nowhere.

  That's good, because I wanted to talk to you.

  Well, we could go inside and talk. Would you like to do that?

  Yes. I very much would like to do that.

  Let's g
o, then.

  Marilyn turned her chair and started across the parking lot while Jim half ran to keep up. Wait, Marilyn said. She skidded to a stop and looked up at him, squinting against the late afternoon sun's glare.

  What? Jim said, out of breath.

  Where's your leather jacket?

  I thought you didn't like my leather jacket?

  I didn't, but now I do.

  I'll go get it, then.

  Yeah, go get it. And bring your glasses too.

  What?! You're making me crazy. You didn't like my glasses.

  I didn't, but now I do.

  Jim blew out his breath loudly. Is there anything else you'd like me to bring?

  No. That'll do it. Just hurry up.

  Jim ran back to the car, pulled on his jacket and stuck on his glasses. Then he ran back to her. He threw out his arms and half bowed. Ta da, he said.

  Better. You look better. If you're gonna act like a hot shot, then at least dress the part.

  I'm not a hot shot, Jim said gently. If I were, and if you really believed that I am, you wouldn't have shown up today.

  True.

  They went inside. Would you like to get something to eat? Jim asked.

  We could, but I'm not very hungry. If you are, we can get something. She looked up at him. It's your call.

  All right. Let's go down to the fountain. We can talk there.

  They slowly meandered their way through the mall until they came to a large, bubbling fountain set into the middle of the crossing square. The mall wasn't busy, but there were the usual number of families with children in strollers along with a few elderly people who were obviously walking for exercise. Jim sat down on the end of a bench and Marilyn pulled up to him and faced him. Well, she said, this is very pleasant.

  Is this because I'm here with you or are you just making a general statement about fountains in malls?

  Both, hot shot. She reached for him and carefully took his glasses off his face. You won't need these until we go back outside, will you?

  No, he said. He felt his blood pulse through him.

  She pulled open his jacket and tucked his folded up glasses into the inside pocket. Then she patted his chest where the glasses were. Now they're safe.