Until the Stars Fall From the Sky (11 page)

The breath that I
didn’t realize I was holding came rushing out of my lungs, and I sag a little against the pillows as a sense of relief overtakes me. “I guess it’s time to change our Facebook status,” I suggest, “because, we are now officially ‘in a relationship’. I definitely wasn’t looking for you in my life, yet I’m so glad that I found you.”

“Hold your horses PC!” Kiera cautions, “before you go announcing it to the world, let me tell the Girlfriend Posse first. They would personally come and hunt us down if they read it on Facebook first.”

I reposition Kiera so that she’s partially on my lap and kiss her deeply. When we finally need to come up for air, I say, “That makes perfect sense, just update when you’re ready, and I’ll follow your lead.”

I find her remote and start the movie; though neither of us is paying any attention to the television. Without makeup, her freckles are more prominent. I am sure
, like every other girl I’ve ever met, she probably hates them. I, of course, think they’re sexy. I set out to memorize the location of each and every one by documenting their location with a kiss.

Initially, Pip dissolve
s into uncontrollable laughter after each round of kissing. As I kiss the three freckles behind her ear, I notice that her breathing becomes shallow and erratic. I move on to the column of her neck. The neck of her T-shirt is old and distorted, and I’m able to pull it over to the side as I place a kiss on a prominent freckle on her left collarbone, her hips lift off of the bed as if I’m some sort of magical puppeteer. Kiera gasps and whimpers. Her startled expression telling me that this is not a common occurrence. I can see under her worn T-shirt that her nipples are tight.

Despite my promise to drop the role of gentleman, I can’t bring myself to give into my baser instincts and rip her shirt off to gain access to her lovely breasts. My mouth is watering at the thought of licking and sucking her nipples. I’d be willing to bet that they are even softer than her lips. I wonder if they are rose-colored like her lips or more peach like her scent.

I place my hands on her shoulder blades in an effort to avoid temptation and feel her hair fall across my hands and arms. Our kissing is so intensely intimate and passionate, the top of my head is about to blow off and even Ty’s sweatpants are feeling a little tight in the crotch area. Despite my instincts, I’m trying to be very respectful and remember that this is our first date, and I can’t very well ravish the woman on her sofa.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Kiera asks with a puzzled expression on her face.

“No, Pip, if you do anything better, I will explode all over this hide-a-bed. Why?” I reply, curious about where she got the impression that anything is wrong.

“This is embarrassing...but... I’m wondering if maybe you find me repulsive or something because all you’ve done is kiss me. It’s like you’re a flippin’ Boy Scout. I’m just a little frustrated; that’s all... I can barely keep my hands off of you and you don’t seem to feel the same way,” Kiera flushes to a bright shade of pink and bites her bottom lip.

That about does it. I have to get off the bed and move around, or I’m going to go crazy. I start to pace back and forth in front of the television. I turn towards her and explain in exasperation, “God, Kiera! If you only knew the thoughts in my head, you would never think I was a Boy Scout again. I want you so much I can hardly see straight. The thought of your hands on me doesn’t make it any easier. I’m probably going to run out of cold water tomorrow just thinking about tonight. But, this is our first official date, and I’m trying to be a good guy. Good guys do not maul their dates, no matter how strong the temptation.”

To my astonishment, Kiera giggles. “So let me get this straight, this has nothing to do with my disability? You’re just being a model boyfriend, and I completely misread another situation? You might want to keep that crowbar handy. My foot seems to have found its way back into my mouth.”

“It would seem so.” I say dryly, sitting back down beside her and gathering her into my lap.

“Oh great! I had to find the one-and-only-math-loving-science-spouting-health-nut-Boy-Scout-boyfriend-on-the-planet.” Kiera banters, tapping me on the chest between each word.

“Hey! I resemble that remark. I did try to warn you that I’m a sad and twisted nerd,” I reply with a snicker and a laugh.

Kiera smiles at my pun, but then turns serious.
“Jeff, my hunky PC, while it’s admirable that you want to protect me, I don’t really need you to,” she says with some frustration, running her hands through her hair and raking it out of her eyes. “Having a boyfriend is a brand-new experience for me, and I want to experience all of the things that I’ve missed while I’ve been waiting on the sidelines for someone to notice me. Please touch me and let me touch you. The only stop sign that I have placed in your way is no sex or other related activities that risk a pregnancy. As far as I’m concerned, the rest is fair game. Are we on the same page now?”

Kiera’s bluntness stuns me. I have had girls talk dirty to me before. Yet, I’ve never had anyone so honestly express exactly what they need from me. It is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. I try to be as emotionally naked for her as I answer her, composing my thoughts as I talk. “Pip, there is always going to be a part of me that worries about what other people think. I used to have speech problems as a child, so I was terrified of other people’s opinions. Since you are the most important person in my life,
I’m especially worried about offending you. On some level, I’m afraid that if I am less than perfect, you’ll disappear. Please don’t mistake my cautiousness for lack of desire. I think you are the sexiest woman that I have ever laid eyes on. Not just because you are beautiful. You are exquisite. You have self-confidence. You are witty and effervescent, and your mental reflexes are lightning fast. Your beauty and brains combine to make this one very lethally sexy woman that I find absolutely irresistible. I’m going to try my best to set aside my natural tendencies and be adventurous because my very sexy girlfriend asked me to.”

Kiera reaches up and folds me into a tight embrace. “Well PC, your best is all a girl could ask for. As far as people judging you, obviously people judge me all of the time. As my dad says, my only responsibility is not to provide them with a highlight reel. I do the best I can. If people judge me harshly based on my disability or anything else, it’s on them unless I do something deliberately stupid to justify the criticism. As nearly as I can tell, you’ve
done a lot of really positive things in your life, so you need to cut yourself some slack.” Kiera softly kisses me and curls up against my chest.

I begin running my fingers through Kiera’s hair and scalp as I ponder our conversation. If my dad had lived, would he be proud of me? Yes, I think he would. Kiera seems content with the silence. Soon, her breathing becomes rhythmic and steady. I realize that she has drifted off to sleep. I briefly consider moving her to her own bed but in light of our discussion about boundaries, I realize that there really isn’t any need to jostle her. My own eyes grow heavy. I gently turn us on our sides and spoon my body behind hers. As I drift off to sleep, it hits me that, for the first time since my dad died, I don’t feel like
I’m pretending to be happy. I actually am.

A sound of distress wakes me instantly. Kiera’s gorgeous face is contorted into a mask of pain. She grits her teeth, but she still cries out in agony. The sound cuts to my very soul. All of my EMT training flies
out the window in that instant.

“Kiera! Do you need me to call 911?” I urgently ask. I feel helpless watching her. This is completely foreign because usually I am the one person in the room that knows exactly what to do.

“What?” responds Kiera breaking out of her pain haze for a second, “No, it is just a muscle spasm. I get them a lot. It isn’t a big deal.”

“Is it always that painful? Can’t the doctors do something? What can I do?” I pepper her with questions.

“Not much that doesn’t have its own set of fun side effects. So, yes, this is a daily thing for me. Can you get my muscle relaxants for me and an ice pack? I’m tired and don’t want the pain to trigger a dysreflexic attack."

“Oh
crap, even this kind of pain is a risk factor?” I ask, panic edging into my voice.

“Not usually, I’m just trying to be careful. Jeff, please stop trying to be my EMT. I need you to be my boyfriend right now. I have teams of doctors and therapists for all that stuff; I just need you to hold me right now and ignore all this other drama.” Kiera grimaces as another wave of pain hits.

I don’t say anything, but nod to indicate I understand. I got her some medicine from the bathroom, a muffin and a bottle of Half and Half from the kitchen. I snag an icepack and cool, wet towel and take it all to Kiera. It is clear she is still suffering, so I hold out the medication to her. She takes it gratefully and smiles when she sees the muffin. “You’re such a Boy Scout,” she mutters under her breath, but she has a small grin as she says it.

I lay the ice pack across the back of her neck and folded the cool washcloth behind her
kneecaps. “I happen to know that you have a thing for good guys; so I like my chances,” I state confidently.

It took seventeen minutes before the medicine kicked in and started giving Kiera relief. Fucking. Longest. Seventeen. Minutes. Ever.

“I’m so sorry… I’ve ruined our perfect date,” Kiera mumbles, her speech slightly slurred.

Those three words, especially said like that are like my own personal IED, packed with lethal penetrating shrapnel. Emotionally, it brings me back to the time where I was waiting to see if they could resuscitate Donda, my anorexic sister
— a place I never wanted to revisit. As I watch Kiera sleep, I conjure up every worse case scenario ever dreamed up and cast Kiera and me as the lead characters — I superimpose my memories of my sister’s fragile grey body being kept alive by machines while we could do nothing but plead to God — over Kiera’s now sleeping form.

I imagine Kiera’s bones being twisted and deformed by her muscle spasms and me waiting in a death vigil by her hospital bed. I know
I’m being stupid. I get that. I do. The uncertainty of it is a slap in the face. A few hours ago I knew that she was the one, now I’m not sure I’m the best man for the job. I’ve already failed my sister and Kiera deserves so much better than what I can do for her. Watching hope grow and then be destroyed by every setback and complication has nearly torn my family apart. I’m not sure I can go through the cycle with another person I love — even Kiera — especially Kiera.

I lean over and kiss Kiera on the cheek. This is a screwed up decision all the way around, and I know it. My own weakness pisses me off; I should be stronger than this. Kiera did nothing wrong except be an amazing survivor with a bad muscle cramp. It’s my own shitty baggage that makes me a
world-class jerk. I can be man enough to explain in person. It feels wrong to stay in bed with her after I’ve made my decision, so I park her wheelchair beside the sofa and move to an old recliner.

I wake up to the delicious smell of bacon cooking. Well, this is new. The only other guy to ever cook for me is my dad. I’m not really sure how to deal with the morning after protocol. Except, this isn’t really much of a morning after because much to my embarrassment, I fell asleep. That is so not how I planned for things to go. Just one of the many reasons for me to hate my body. I hope that Jeff doesn’t think
I’m a huge tease. Deciding that there is only one way to find out, I brush my teeth and throw on a sundress.

As I join Jeff in the kitchen, he is standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, a dishtowel stuck in the waistband of his sweatpants. “Good morning. Now isn’t this a sight to behold? My man barefoot and bare chested in the kitchen first thing in the morning, fixing yummy food? What more could a woman ask for?” I tease, a wide grin on my face.

Although Jeff answers me with a tight grin, I notice that his smile does not reach his eyes, and he looks like he’s about ready to face a firing squad. “I hope you don’t mind; I rummaged around a little bit and made you a frittata,” he says in a stilted, almost formal voice.

“Actually, I do mind – although not about you rummaging around in my kitchen – I was hoping that we would wake up together like couples do. I was really looking forward to that,” I reply, befuddled. “I am a little confused this morning. I thought you’d want to pick up where we left off last night. By the way, I’m sorry for conking out on you.” Of course, I choose that moment to blush like a teenage girl at a Sadie Hawkins dance
. Smooth Kier, I’m sure he is going to
really
believe you’re ready for a big seduction scene now. How old are you? Twelve?

I watch as Jeff seems to shrink in size before my e
yes. Jeff looks at me with a haunted look on his face. “Of course you are confused. Guys shouldn’t do the jerk-wad thing I’m about to do to you,” he reaches up and tucks some loose hair behind my ear, “would you like some orange juice to go with your frittata?”

“No, thank you. I don’t need anything except to figure out what exactly happened between l
ast night and this morning,” I reply, suddenly very confused by the overly polite charade. My heart sinks. I knew my fairytale was too good to be true. I had just hoped I would get to live the fantasy for more than a few hours. Maybe I’ve overlooked some huge clue.

Jeff looks at me for a long time before speaking and I can see his eyes are rimmed with fiery red inflamed veins and noticeable bruising underneath, “Pip I –,”

“French Toast! Are you sick? Did I miss that completely?” I rush to interrupt him. I breathe a sigh of relief because things finally makes sense now. “I told you, I misread clues all the time. It’s weird, in my professional life, I’m known as one of the best at reading cues. Yet, something gets lost in translation when it comes to my private life. I apologize for missing the clues and unjustly suspecting that you’re about to be a jerk.”

Jeff touches his index finger to my lips to silence me as he advises, “Pip, I’m not sick.” Jeff starts wiping my breakfast bar down with a dishrag, diligently cleaning every square inch. Finally, he turns back to me and squats down beside my chair, his expression full of despair as he grimly says, “Kiera, don’t ever question that little voice in the back of your head. Your gut instincts are right on. I
am
a jerk. I don’t think I started out that way, but life has made me that way, and I don’t want to drag you down with me. Rather than continue to hurt you. I’m letting you go.”

“Wait! What–?” I stammer, unable to completely process what I’ve just heard. I go over to the sink to get a drink of water. To my surprise, Jeff physically recoils from me as I pass him in the kitchen. I take a couple of calming breaths and gather my thoughts. I think about the hundreds of things that I want to say to Jeff right now. I could tell him how sad and twisted it is for him to fall on his sword and sacrifice a potential relationship for the sake of the better good. I want to tell him how ticked I am that he believes so little about himself that he is throwing in the white towel before the fight has even started. I could list the many positive attributes that he doesn’t seem to notice about himself. Instead, I choose to go with a deceptively simple observation, “If I were in your shoes, I might choose
not
to be a jerk.”

He flinches as if I have physically landed a blow. Jeff pales visibly as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and swallows hard. I watch in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, he seems to gather his composure as he harshly whispers, “It must be easy with your perfect little life to tell me how to live mine, but you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

I am tempted to laugh out loud at the outright absurdity of his statement, but given the serious tone of our conversation, I elect not to laugh. I mentally count to ten before I respond, and I try to remember he is reacting to pain that really has nothing to do with me. This really isn’t any different from working with an injured child in my office, so I try not to take his remarks personally. Although it is very difficult because my relationship with him is very personal.

I fight to stay objective because I understand that this conversation between us may define the rest of our relationship, but honestly I have an overwhelming urge to snap back like a valley girl in junior high. I make a conscious effort not to raise my
voice, as I respond, “No, you’re right. I don’t know exactly what you’ve gone through. I hope to have the time with you to figure that out. However, I do know what it’s like to have life kick you in the teeth over and over again. I am the star poster child against child abuse; my mother went to prison and into a mental institution until she finally died, and my father nearly went to jail when a teacher’s aide thought that a little girl in a wheelchair made a perfect target for his sexual advances. You can say a lot of things about me. However, one thing you can’t say about me is that I don’t understand what it’s like to face adversity.”

Jeff holds up his hands as if he’s trying to push the information away as he interjects, “No, that’s not what I was trying to –“

“Wait, I wasn’t finished… I couldn’t control the things that happened to me any more than you could control the bad things that happened to you. The only way that I learned to cope with all the things that were being thrown at me was to learn to control my reaction to them rather than anticipate all of the things that could go wrong. People sometimes surprise you. ”

“Isn’t that just a little naïve?” Jeff smirks, as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Life isn’t that simple, and people aren’t really that good.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I argue, “if I’ve tried my absolute best and people let me down, that’s on them. It doesn’t reflect poorly on me. It’s taken me a really long time and a lot of practice to get to this point and I sometimes still backslide into a really ugly place of self-doubt, but I try to come from a place of inner strength and happiness that isn’t dependent on the opinions of other people.”

Jeff nods. “That’s a really cool approach to life, and I admire you for it. Though, I think you’re underestimating the impact your childhood had on your life. I think our childhood can and does change our paths as adults. For me, I’m not sure it will ever be as easy as stepping out of my old life and into my new life and simply deciding not to be a jerk. Maybe being a jerk is part of my genetic make
up. I don’t really know the answer to that. I was a small boy when my dad died, and he was very young when he passed. I don’t know what kind of man he would’ve been if he had lived.”

My heart br
eaks for the young boy I see hidden inside of the amazing man that is sitting at my breakfast bar. I position myself so that I am sitting between his legs. I hug him around his waist and rest my head on his chest. “All evidence to the contrary, Jeff,” I declare softly, “you said your great-grandfather was a Tuskegee Airman, right? It looks to me like you inherited lots of those genes. Now, I don’t know your whole story, but the parts I do know, show a man of great character and honor. The Jeffrey Whitaker I know put his life on hold at an age when most young men are out partying, so that he could help his sister raise a child — even when it meant giving up on his dream of becoming a doctor. He is also willing to set aside his pride and braid hair in order to pay the bills and maintain a strong relationship with his sister. He is willing to recognize that alcohol has played a dangerous role in his past and not just talk the talk, but also walk the walk. He doesn’t just ignore a potential ethics situation at work but takes proactive steps to avoid the problem. The Jeffrey Whitaker that I know is a strong, caring person with impeccable character and honor. I cannot imagine that your father would have been any different. He married your mom in the 1980’s before multicultural marriages were celebrated and en vogue. In my opinion, that says a lot.”

Jeff shrugs as he argues, “I can’t get the thought out of my head that my dad went jet skiing that day because I was bad. What if I
hadn’t been so annoying? Would he still be around? Maybe if he had stuck around, Donda wouldn’t have gotten so sick, and Gabriel’s life wouldn’t be so chaotic.”

I
sigh as I say, “Jeff, you have to stop beating yourself up about that. You were five years old when your dad died. Five-year-olds are supposed to misbehave. It’s in the occupational description of a kid. Here’s a novel idea; have you even checked with your mother about what really happened that day? It’s entirely possible that your stepdad lied about what happened that day and why it happened. In my job, I have learned that people lie at an astonishing rate. They often have their own agendas even when it’s harmful to the children in their lives.”

Jeff shook his head “No, I’ve never asked her anything about my father directly. It seems really awkward to talk about him because
my asshat of a stepdad is always around.”

“It sounds to me like you might feel more connected with your dad if you and your mom had a few of those conversations. I know that after my dad and I were able to finally open up and talk about what really happened with my mom, I was able to understand both of my parents much better and feel
far less guilty about what happened,” I explain, giving Jeff a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll think about it. My mom’s life is pretty stressful, I don’t want to make it worse,” Jeff replies thoughtfully.

Finally, I can no longer hold back the questions that are swamping my brain and I blurt them like paintballs from a high velocity paint gun, “Can I ask you a question? Things were going so great last night. What happened? Why did you decide to be a jerk this morning? Was it something I did?” I stop my stream of questions as I realize I’m beginning to sound like an insecure witch, but it’s too late to pull them back now
. Darn my stupid curiosity. Why can’t I just learn to leave things well enough alone? I’m like a four year old that has to pick at a scab.

Based on the surprised expression on his face, Jeff was not expecting the barrage of questions during this phase of our conversation. He speaks slowly as if he’s formulating thoughts as he answers the questions, “Those are fair questions. I’m just not sure I
have coherent answers for you. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all my sh–stuff. You had some extreme muscle spasms last night that came really close to triggering an autonomic dysreflexia episode. Seeing you in that much pain freaked me out and brought back memories of watching them resuscitate Donda when she weighed 81 pounds and was in the ICU. I felt really helpless, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be there for you. Frankly, I don’t know if I can be good enough for you. You deserve better than me. I took all sorts of classes and joined several support groups to help Donda with her anorexia and substance abuse problems and she still struggles every day. Having me in her life seems to bring destruction. I don’t want that kind of stuff to even come close to your life.”

I have to take just a moment to absorb all of what he just told me and even then it doesn’t really make all that much sense unless I’ve run it through what I’m beginning to learn are “Jeff Filters“ where everything on the planet is his fault. “Well, it’s going to take me a minute to unpack all that.” I cautiously say, “First, Donda’s anorexia and substance abuse issues aren’t your fault any more than you are to blame for my spinal cord injury. They are medical diseases; there have been many causes identified for both diseases and never has having a pesky little brother been identified as
a scientifically valid cause of either condition.”

Jeff is drinking coffee and lets out a startled laugh at the cheekiness of my answer. After he stops choking, he salutes me and acknowledges, “Point taken.”

I return his grin, but continue answering his questions, as my expression turns somber, “Look, I understand why you were scared and defensive. I haven’t helped matters any. I’ve done a terrible job of explaining my own life and issues to you. I guess I am afraid if you see the hassle of it all you might just decide I’m not worth all the trouble — ”

“Pip, honestly, I’m so tied up right now that I can’t
really make any promi — ” Jeff starts to say, but he trails off and I continue my thought.

“
Living with me is not for the faint of heart. It is messy, gritty and in-your-face. If you decide that I’m worth the risk, I’m going to warn you right up front that there are a lot of things in my life that are going to make you really uncomfortable. I have pain in my life. A lot of pain. The good news it is that I’ve lived with it for a really long time, so for the most part, it doesn’t really faze me. I deal with it at the moment and move on. The bad news is, it’s one of a million things in my life that have to be ‘managed’. Managing all of those things is a giant pain in the asterisk. For example, I’m physically capable of having children. In fact, I would really like to someday. But — and this is a big but – my autonomic dysreflexia makes it dangerous for me to be pregnant. I’ve thought about adoption too. However, I know how the selection process works and I know that the way the scoring process is weighted, agencies are unlikely to choose me because of my disability regardless of my professional accomplishments.”