by J. L. Salter
Then he turned to Amanda. That’s how she would look when pregnant — lovely with beautiful legs. Desirable even with a baby belly. Funny thing was, Jason had never before studied Amanda while his mind held any image associated with motherhood. Whenever he gazed at Amanda, Jason saw beauty and felt desire, but he’d never done much thinking beyond deciding what clothing article came off first.
The family of four and a half moved farther away, toward a fort built of weathered landscape timbers. Jason actually wanted to join them, but neither mentioned it nor moved in that direction. It looked like Amanda felt the same way.
“Jason, you know that Christine is my closest friend.”
He nodded. Why’d she have to mention Christine?
———
Amanda had wanted to broach the topic since the previous afternoon, but it had not yet come up in conversation. In fact, it probably never would, so she just blurted it out. “It’s important to me for you two to get along.” She inhaled and let it out slowly. “How do you feel about Christine now?”
“Like I said, melt her to the castle floor with a bucket of water.”
“Hmm. A little bit of grudge still simmering.”
“I’d at least like to pour some glue on her boobs.” Jason pointed to the shirt covering his hairless right pectoral.
“Oh, the poultice. Or maybe you just like Christine’s chest.”
Jason shrugged. “Well, they have a certain volume that appeals to me. But no, my gluing process would be purely revenge. She nearly ripped off my nipple. So, tit for tat.”
“Quite apropos. But I’m not convinced this is about glue and gauze. I think you want to check out her girls.”
“Her rack has impressive dimensions, to be sure. Other things being equal, I could admit a certain clinical curiosity as to their consistency.” On vary rare occasions Jason spoke like an alliterative instructor, yet didn’t seem to be aware of it. Weird.
“Clinical? You want to feel up my girlfriend!”
“Solely in the interest of science.”
“I don’t think Christine is presently sponsoring that particular field research.” Amanda touched Jason’s knee. “But will you try to forgive her and get along? For my sake?”
Typically, Jason was not one for long pauses, but he seemed to let this one linger to give his noble sacrifice more impact. “If anybody else asked me for Christine’s clemency, I’d let that witch burn at the stake. But for you, I’ll make an effort to get along.”
“A sincere effort?”
“As much as I’m able to muster.”
Amanda wasn’t certain how to quantify that, but she let the matter drop. He’d try. Good enough, for now. So she hugged him.
Near their picnic table, a few birds lit on the lower oak limbs; the sun — very slowly — moved higher in the sky. In the distance, they heard parent voices and childish laughter.
Since Amanda had already mentioned Christine, it was not surprising that Jason turned to her with a follow-up. “You and Christine kept talking about that so-called man-cold like they’re all exactly alike. I don’t even recognize the syndrome she described on that blog.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re a man.” Amanda’s eyes still monitored the family in the distance.
“No, I mean I did have a little fever, my head was actually hurting, and I couldn’t breathe much. That’s sick. At least according to my doctor.”
“Who’s also a man.” She patted his hand.
———
Jason realized it was time. He reached into his back pocket and unfolded the notebook page. “Look, I wrote this down before you woke up this morning. Maybe it’ll give you some understanding of what I was going through. Here goes.” He read it out loud.
.
When you get that first fuzzy feeling in your head, it’s usually the beginning of the warning signs. And you begin checking your body’s systems for other anomalies. It’s like you had this really primo muscle car: powerful engine, sleek design, cool wheels, and great paint job. One day there’s a slight hesitation when you accelerate. Hmm. That’s unusual. Then you hear a ping here… a rattle there. Maybe a tiny grinding noise. Warning signs. Could be you’re nearly out of fuel, tires nearly deflated, low oil pressure. Or is it more serious? Maybe the compression’s off or timing’s not right. What it really needs is some time in the shop for a complete diagnostic by a qualified factory-trained technician. You hope it just involves a tune-up… but you never know if it’s going to require a valve job, new brake pads, piston rings, tie rods, universal joint, or front wheel alignment.
.
Amanda probably didn’t know much more about cars than ignition keys and steering wheels, but she didn’t interrupt.
“So that’s kind of my perspective.” He folded the paper and placed it on the picnic table. “I felt lousy and I wanted a chance to slowly check out all my systems.”
“Why didn’t you explain any of this before?”
“I didn’t even think about it at the time. I mean, I felt bad and just figured you knew that I needed to be in the shop for a while. I didn’t think I had to wrap words around it.”
“So you wrote this out to explain.” Amanda pointed to the paper.
He shrugged. It was true Jason had written those words on that page, but he hadn’t composed the essay. It was somewhere on one of the parallel blogs. Right now he banked on Amanda never discovering that original post.
Amanda took a thoughtful sip of her cooling coffee. “Well, I feel awful for everything we put you through. I just thought you were being a big baby and wanted to regress to when you were the center of attention and the entire world revolved around you and your needs, or whims.”
Lame smile. “Yeah, that, too.”
Amanda whapped his hand.
“It’s not always easy to separate what’s described here,” Jason tapped the paper, “from the way you just stated it. But a man needs, occasionally, to shut down his systems and run a complete…”
“And the little boy wants Momma to hug and coo and comfort him at her breast.”
“Is that so bad?” Jason shrugged again. “Anyway, it’s not so easy to differentiate. All those needs rolled up together and the body has signaled it’s time for a diagnostic.”
“Runny nose, headache, and half a degree of temp.”
“I didn’t say I was Code Blue on the E.R. crash cart. Look, it might not seem justifiable, but I’m at least trying to describe it. I do want you to understand that it’s not just manufactured. The cold really happened.”
“And then fabrication clicks in, so you can stretch it out.” Amanda made that motion with the fingers of both hands.
“Well, once we shut down for the checkup analysis and receive a bit of extra attention or comfort… it feels good. So, if it does drag on, it’s because we feel so at home that we don’t want to leave.”
“I guess I can’t blame you for wanting that. But it’s still unfair, off balance — most women just have to keep going. Cooking, cleaning, working, handling children, et cetera. When do women have this little vacation in the diagnostic shop? When do females get a reprieve from responsibility, obligation, accountability, whatever?”
Jason shrugged. He started to mention PMS and menstrual cramps, but since he didn’t understand a single thing about either one, he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Chapter 26
Amanda watched as the distant relaxed family returned to their minivan; all got inside except the young girl, who needed a few final swings before leaving. She was probably about eight and looked like a tomboy. About twenty years before, Amanda had been just like her.
The mother called several times, with increasing volume. The girl finally left the swings and, distinctly disgusted, entered the family vehicle.
Their minivan drove away slowly, the girl gazing toward the swing set.
Amanda watched the vehicle disappear around a tree-lined curve and then turned to Jason. “Thanks for sharing your essay. And since yo
u’ve decided to bring up colds again, let’s establish some ground rules, just in case either one of us should ever get sick again.”
“Hold on. Just to make sure… these are rules for each of us. Right?”
She nodded. “Number one, it’s a lot easier to visit a sickie and bring him meals… so stay at your own apartment unless you’re truly at death’s door.”
Jason frowned. He likely thought he’d just recently experienced that dire status.
“Number two, if you absolutely have to be in somebody’s else’s dwelling, shower every day and comb your ratty hair. At least every other day, you shave.”
“That includes legs, for you.” He stroked her thigh, still surprisingly smooth from last night’s shave.
Amanda smiled as she nodded. “And burn those nasty jammies.”
“What do I have to wear? Prison uniform?” Jason looked down and possibly imagined garish stripes on coarse gray wool. At the moment he wore a tee-shirt, jean shorts, and sneakers.
“I’d settle for decent looking sweatpants with an actual waistband, and a clean shirt each morning.”
“So, what’s your sick apparel going to be? Sexy negligee?”
“Dream on. Probably warm flannel jammies with the feet sewed on.” She touched his upper chest. “But they’ll be clean each day.” She closed her eyes to think of other components. “Oh, and brush your teeth, morning and night. Plus, clean up after yourself.”
“Not crazy about having to endure my illness in solitary confinement, but I think I can hold up the rest of that contract. Is that it?”
“We’ll have to work out something about food — maybe the sickie brings his or her own food as long as it doesn’t inhibit recovery or cause extra mucous.” Hmm. Food and diet would need additional study. “Biggie: no channel flipping TV marathons in the middle of the night. I need my rest since I have to work the next day. Oh, and I require at least an hour to chill after I get home from work.”
“Sounds fair enough.” Then Jason grinned cheesily. “What about the kindly nurse fluffing my pillow and other stuff.”
Amanda recalled how much she’d wished for someone to take care of her during those first three days after her accident. “Okay, tit for tat. If I’m the desperately ill sickie, on the day I get well enough to leave your apartment, you’re the cabana boy who gives me a full body massage.”
“No problemo, señorita.”
Amanda thought for a second about reciprocation. “Your next cold better not be during the remainder of this decade. But the next time you’re truly ill, I’ll try limited participation in your attentive nurse fantasy. But only on the day that you leave my apartment.”
“So, that’s my incentive to get well quicker? No sex ’til I’m walking out the door?”
“Not walking out per se. But, you know, I’d need a certainty you were heading the direction of the door.” She smiled.
“Like a parting gift.”
“Maybe a departure celebration.”
“So, how would that work? Would I be in actual departing motion?” Jason’s fingers mimicked walking. “Or would a bed be involved?”
“I don’t know. Bed, couch, floor, gurney. Whatever’s convenient.” She smiled fondly. “Remember that time we made love on a dining room chair?”
He nodded vigorously. “It was so good, I nearly passed out.” Jason seemed to like the turn of their conversation. “Well, we could do the nurse thing even if I don’t have a vicious cold. You know… practice, so we could work out the kinks.”
“You want to be sure we’re on the same page…” Her fingertips touched the inside of his forearm.
“Received the same memo…” His hand returned to her thigh.
“Attended the right briefing…”
Somehow their list transitioned to a close embrace. Then they kissed.
When her fractured toes touched the broad cement base of their massive picnic table, Amanda groaned and pulled away. “Let’s head back to my place.” Breakfast sausage is not tasty enough to revisit in a kiss.
———
Jason did not want the kissing to stop, but he figured Amanda’s apartment held promise for other delights.
For the moment, however, he was using restraint. He’d seen pain in her eyes and she probably needed another pill.
His natural urges would have pressed the issue, but somehow his rational brain and newly empathetic heart kicked in instead. So he waited and watched. And drove.
When they arrived at her apartment, Jason hurried to the kitchen cabinet to bring her the pain pills. She only took one.
After they got settled in, Amanda propped her right leg on the hassock and watched portions of two different sappy movies. She leaned against his side with her shoulders under his right arm, until Jason nearly dozed off.
Apparently tired of television, she accidently roused Jason as she got out from under his heavy arm. Then Amanda repositioned her footstool and moved over on the couch nearer the lamp. She gave him the remote and resumed reading the paperback she’d left the previous evening.
Jason surfed for a few moments. As usual, with over 30 good channels, it was difficult to make up his mind. It was only late morning and the pre-season football Sunday games hadn’t started yet. So bored with television at the moment that he actually felt like talking, he put down the remote. “The other day my mom was telling me stuff I’d never heard before.”
“Like what?” Amanda marked and closed her book.
“Mom said Dad had a couple of suspicious colds, sometime before I started school, I guess. She was at the point with him that she actually felt like leaving my dad if she couldn’t break him of the alleged man-cold syndrome.”
“Sounds pretty serious. And…?”
It was painful for Jason to phrase this. “But she said she loved him too much to leave him.”
“So she broke him instead.”
“Uh-huh. And early this morning… I was thinking.”
———
Amanda sat up straight. This is new. “Thinking about what?”
“I figured…” He started hesitantly. “If you loved me enough… to do all that stuff… to break the cycle of what you call man-colds… then you probably loved me enough… not to leave me.” Jason appeared relieved that he got all those words out.
She snuggled into his side. “I’m not going to leave you, Jason. But I sure was ready to throttle you.”
“But you do love me?”
“Yes, Jason, absolutely. Even at your grungiest, even with that awful breath and those pitiful jammies. Even with all the whining, I never stopped loving you.” She kissed his cheek. “But I didn’t like you very much, not last week.”
Jason scrunched his brow. “How do you tell the difference? How far can it go — not liking someone — before the love is gone, too?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s what Margaret found out with your dad. There must be a point when the weight shifts over and you could stop loving someone, but I don’t know what it is.” Amanda touched his wrist for emphasis. “I’ve seen old married couples who didn’t seem to like each other at all any more, but somewhere deep inside, a core of mutual love remained.”
“My mom said love was about the person, but liking was about the behavior. She said when me and my brothers were kids, she sometimes hated what we did, but never stopped loving us.”
Amanda nodded. “That’s maternal love. There’s a lot of primal instinct and other stuff involved with motherhood. Part of that’s about you’ve got my blood in your veins and you came from my body. That’s different from romantic love.”
“I guess I’d agree, but I’m not sure I could explain that difference.”
She thought for a moment. “Romantic love is about attraction, passion, bonding, and whatever, but it begins with two people who have no blood ties. So whatever grows out of that romantic love doesn’t have the blood to back it up.” She wondered how well she was explaining her grasp of the difference. “The love of par
tners has to do with commitment that involves, at least to some extent, a series of choices. I think.”
Jason looked into her eyes. “What are your choices?”
Amanda didn’t answer. She’d only recently realized that, until yesterday, she’d never truly been in love, even though she’d convinced herself at those other times that she was. Whatever she’d experienced with her sleazy college professor had certainly not been love. And her attraction to that Cary Grant executive had been little more than inflamed infatuation.
Jason watched her for several moments and probably guessed she didn’t have a response. So he sighed quietly and resumed channel surfing.
Nobody could imagine how many times Jason had zipped through sequential channel numbers during the past hour. Though he seldom reviewed the programming guide for the locations of interesting shows, he now checked that screen for the time. Nearly noon. “You feel like any lunch?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.” She was not willing to try tuna again.
“I was thinking simple… like cereal. We got milk at the store yesterday.”
“True, but I think the only cereal I have here is flax, hemp, and those large shredded wheat bricks you complained about.”
He frowned. “How ’bout I make another grocery run and get some good cereal?”
“Define good.”
“You know, tasty, sweet. Regular stuff. Real cereal.”
Amanda eyed him skeptically. She suspected this was some kind of guy maneuver but couldn’t imagine his motive. Men don’t eagerly rush to the store to pick up cereal. Nonetheless, she nodded slowly.
He checked his pockets for keys and wallet. “This’ll be a commando mission: in-grab-out. Twenty minutes, tops.”
“Okay, but get me some ordinary generic raisin bran. I don’t think I can handle Fruity Pebbles or whatever you’re likely to come up with.”
“Okay, red-bunny.”
