Naked Beneath

I'm not emotional. I was raised in the 'only girls and sissies cry' mold, but I'll be damned if I wasn't choking up. But I swallowed the tears back so I could get a few steps in front of her and-blackmail material for anyone who knows me because I am big and tough you know-sang that stupid song with the rest of the nurses.

My wife walked up to me with a look of not just joy and adoration on her face, but determination. Her beautiful green eyes-the ones that had caught my eye from across a crowded bar fifteen years ago-had that fire in them she was known for. She put her hands on my shoulders, using me to keep her upright and said, "Baby, we are so going to be home for Christmas."

The next morning at five am when I came back to her room doctor 'house' was being told by the night doctor how my wife had walked and how the nurses had done it. This guy, the best of the best, the top dog in a hospital full of the best in their fields, got up and proceeded to run, yes run around the ICU high fiving every nurse there.

When they transferred my wife to a regular wing, we walked the length of the hallway with me behind her with the chair. The day nurses were as good as the night nurses, cheering her on, hugging her wishing us well.

The head nurse pulled me aside and said in my ear, "You may not think you had anything to do with this, but you did, she did this for you, she did this because of you. You share the same heart, never forget that." I agreed but left out the share was 90/10 in my wife's favor, don't you forget, I'm tough....

My wife continued to improve, mobility was difficult, but she could get around the room with walker and they felt she was ready to go home. On December Twenty third they sent us on our way with the walker, a wheel chair which they said she may need for the first few weeks and a lot of well wishes-and serious pain meds for the ride.

We couldn't get out until noon which put us in a position to hit every bit of traffic along the way and adding to that was the fact it was two days until Christmas. My wife was in a lot of pain; sitting was hard on her leg and leaning back in the seat pulled on the small incisions from the operation.

Even with the pills she was in rough shape and after three hours of listening to her moan and wince in pain I suggested we stop at a motel and leave early the next morning. She looked at me and shook her head, "I'm spending tonight in our bed, next to my husband." She gave me a tired smile, "Get me home, baby."

Easier said than done; they had predicted heavy rains and they started when we were still on the Jersey Turnpike. Between the rain and traffic we were at a crawl and I had slept like shit for weeks. I was tired and my nerves were shot. I thought of asking her again about stopping, but she was in bit of a daze by then, between pain and the pain meds she wasn't quite lucid and all I got was another, get me home.

So I stopped for gas and a couple of cups of the strongest nastiest coffee I could find and said, Okay, let's go home. Normal drive time was eight hours. Eight hours into this trip saw me on the George Washington bridge and five o'clock traffic.

My eyes were burning and my knuckles white on the wheel. Next to me my wife was in a half sleep half stupor moaning in pain which did nothing to settle my nerves. We cleared the bridge and had an hour of smooth sailing before getting near Connecticut which according to the local news was dead stop most of the way through.

I began to think in terms of common sense and safety. I was too tired for this and no matter what she said I was going to need to stop. Which is when a kind of stupid, no, I'll admit petty thing happened that gave me a second wind.

We had to stop for her to use the bathroom. It was a driving rain and I had to stand in it while I put the wheelchair together and I was drenched by the time I got her out of the car. She had an umbrella for her, but it didn't really cover me, but that was fine, if anything the rain woke me up.

I wheeled her up the ramp and to the doors which for some reason were not automatic. It was then I got a very good lesson in class and looks can be deceiving. A man had pulled up in a brand new Bentley and was hurrying to the door.

Expensive suit, snotty look on his face, mister money himself. He reached it just before us and opened it to get through and then just let it go in our faces.

The door hit the edge of the wheelchair causing her some pain. The guy looked back and with a half ass grin said, "Sorry didn't see you." and kept walking. The first thing she did was say "Don't do anything stupid!"

But now I'm trying to figure out how to hold a door open and get her through with one hand. At that moment two young men who looked as if they were trying to look like stereotyped gang bangers came over. The baggy pants, the gang tats up and on their arms and necks. Wearing t-shirts although it was mid-winter.

One of them yells hold on and grabs the door and the other grabbed the front of her chair to help me get it over the bump, "There you go ma'am." Total respect from someone who looked like nothing but trouble.

I thanked them and took my wife to the bathroom where she had to use the walker to get in. A woman was passing by dressed in scrubs and seeing my wife struggle asked if she wanted a hand? She was a nurse at a local hospital and offered to help her in and wait for her.

Still an unbeliever I had to admit we were running into some good people. As I waited for her Mister Bentley showed up hurrying along the store with a tray containing three coffees. As he approached I heard my wife saying not to be stupid, but hey, if I always listened, I wouldn't be me.

As he passed me I did the right thing, the mature thing.

I stuck my foot out and tripped him.

Right down in a big splash coffee everywhere, especially all over his nice suit. He jumped up and looked at me and with a smile I said...say it with me now "Sorry, I didn't see you."

He muttered something I am sure was derogatory, but didn't catch it, instead my attention was drawn to the two 'thugs' who had helped us in the door, both of them laughing and giving me a thumbs up.

Naked pettiness, what can I say? We all can't be perfect.

As bizarre as it sounded that gave me a second wind, I felt pretty damn good watching mister class fuss over his stained suit. When my wife came out and the woman helped me settle her back into her chair, she caught site of an employee cleaning the coffee and mister manners standing there in line with another tray of coffees in his stained shirt.

"You were stupid, weren't you?" She asked.

"Yup," I never lie to my wife. "That's why you need to be around, to save me from me."

As I pushed her out of the store she looked back again at the asshole and actually waved at him and said, "Okay, you're off the hook, he deserved it." Who says I haven't rubbed off on her?

The rest of the ride was tedious, three hours to get through Connecticut, an eight hour drive turned into twelve and counting. Despite my little rush of excitement acting like a spiteful child the exhaustion had returned and my eyes were struggling to stay open. Again safety crossed my mind. My wife was saved from cancer and that sure as hell wasn't so she could get hurt in a car accident.

But she was back in her stupor and every once in a while would just moan the word home. Just as she could use a cell phone in her delirium, the woman could wield Italian guilt while semi conscious.

I kept driving, one mile at a time, an exit at a time. Just drive you stubborn sob, just drive. This I could handle, no emotion required just a test of will. Nothing compared to what we'd gone through down there.

I think I made the rest of the drive on autopilot. I recalled seeing a sign saying Providence exit fifty miles and thinking, jeez in this mess that's another hour at least. Next thing I knew I was cruising up our driveway. Not sure how I got there, but was grateful I'd arrived.

Being spiritual my wife loves the Carrie Underwood song Jesus Take the Wheel. My sarcastic reply was always if he's driving, I'm bailing out of the car, because that blind faith stuff is not for me. But something got me home, the divine, the not so divine, or subconscious willpower, we were home.

It was still pouring and I didn't feel like playing with the wheelchair and my wife was too tired and out of it for the walker, so I had her hold the umbrella and carried her into the house. I made a lame joke about carrying her across the threshold for our honeymoon and she responded, "This is a new start, a whole new beginning."

When we entered the dogs-that my neighbor was walking and feeding-came running. They're German Shepherds, both in the hundred pound range and had either one jumped on us I was going down.

But dogs sense things and both stopped in front of us and simply nuzzled my wife as I sat her in her recliner. I said she should sleep downstairs because she was too tired to make it up the long flight of stairs. She looked up at me and said no, she wanted to be in our bed. This would all be over when we were in bed together.

I looked at the long flight of stairs and took a deep breath. I could do this. I picked her up and when we went up the first step I felt my knees shaking. I'm in good shape, not the muscle bound type, but everything I have is where it should be and I have a lot of stamina. But this was after three weeks of barely sleeping, eating like crap and after a fifteen hour drive.

Think safe I thought, put her down in the chair, let her bitch, we were home. As I stood there leaning against the wall debating, one of our dogs ran past me and went to the top step where he turned around and barked. The other took the first step and stayed behind me as if he was going to watch my back.

Dogs. I tell people all the time how much better they are than humans. A dog could occasionally shit on your floor, but never on you. I stared at Max who was barking again, thinking, I'm being egged on by a damn dog. But behind him I swore I saw a shadow and knew who it was; my friend, the Skeletor pitcher.

Time to rush the mound.

I dug in and one step at a time made it up the stairs. The entire time Max barked his encouragement and behind me, Rocky only moved one step at a time, never trying to pass, but occasionally bumping my leg with his head as if saying, "Let's go."

My wife always said the best thing about dogs is not only their loyalty, but they are pure love. There is an expression that says a dog loves their owner more than themselves. As strange as it sounds I did feel that, I felt these two furry members of my family knew the game being played and were trying to help.

Each step my knees protested and my shoulders hurt, but it was one step closer. Just one more step. When I reached the top and turned into the bedroom I imagined looking that prick pitcher in the eye and whispered, "Fuck you, we're home."

I lay my wife down on the bed and watched the dogs. They are never allowed to sleep in our bedroom. I'm the only animal allowed there, but when I said, 'go downstairs' they looked at me, looked at my wife and each lay down on the floor beside her. The message was clear, I wasn't the only 'loyal doggie' and it was their turn to stand watch.

I crawled into the bed and lay next to my wife. The first time we had slept in the same bed in close to a month. We held hands and she was sleeping within seconds. I thought I would be as well, but I lay there thinking something was missing. I then realized what it was.

The fear was gone.

For the first time since May there was no clawing feeling in my stomach. There were no more surgeries looming, no more maybes. My wife was home, she was safe and she was cancer free. I closed my eyes and my last thought was a simple one, one that my wife used on a daily basis, but unfortunately few of us do.

Gratitude.

Two days later it was Christmas and we kept it small, just a few people coming over and all bringing some food. One of those visitors I daresay was my favorite. Earlier that year, my oldest daughter had given us a beautiful grandson.

When my daughter arrived at our house she didn't even stop to take her coat off, but immediately walked over to where my wife was sitting in her recliner and placed that baby in her arms. The entire time of this ordeal going back to May and even the time in Maryland I had never shed a tear, came close once or twice, but hey, us bad ass types do not cry.

Seeing her hold our grandson, a look of naked love on her face as he cooed away at her while she made silly faces, hit me hard. I slipped out onto the deck away from everyone and sitting down on the cold wood, let it go. Not just tears, but sobbing. Delayed reaction, I guess.

A few minutes later my sister came out on the deck. Aside from my wife no one knows me better than her and she simply sat next to me, put her arm around my shoulders and said, "You did good little brother."

After a few minutes of her sitting in silence as I got a grip on myself she smiled and said, "Tell you what, down the line when we talk about this and your wife is talking about how God got her through, I'm going to tell her that God might have helped you, but give the devil his due, because he got you home."

The next few weeks were on the tougher side as her leg was not working well. She had a lot of home nurses and therapy and I had to do everything for her. Dress her, put her shoes on, shower her. I had no complaints. I was glad to have her here to do it for.

One day she asked about her favorite nightshirt and I went and got it. I looked at that grinning bear and my first thought was "Goddamn stupid fucking shirt" as if it were the bear's fault. But as I stared at it, I began to see it another way.

That shirt represented a trying time, but it was one we pulled through and at one point the silly shirt was what helped her do that. I decided to see the shirt as a sign of hope and love not despair and pain.

So I helped her into it and watched her smile like the big kid she was, "Have a Beary merry Christmas, get it?" She asked me, like she always did, an inside joke because she knows I roll my eyes at it all the time.

But this time I got it, yes I did.

Several weeks later, about two months after her surgery I went up to bed to find her still awake, with some candles lit and waiting for me. She asked if I were ready to get 'reacquainted' with her. Hard to believe I hadn't thought about sex at all for all that time, but seeing she was offering I had no issues responding, after all I was there to serve, right?

Normally my wife and I indulge in shall we say literotica style sex. We are affectionate and loving in other ways, but sex is usually down and dirty. But she was physically limited and more importantly this felt like a first time of sorts. As she had said when I carried her into the house, a new beginning.

We made love, something I couldn't recall that we have ever done. But we were slow and sensual and the entire time I felt as if this was more than sex, but a celebration, a rekindling of life, the final sign of normalcy. We both climaxed and as I stay there, looking into her eyes as I softened inside her, we told each other I love you and she said, "Its officially over" meaning she was thinking as I was.

I said earlier that I never took my wife for granted. But we are busy people. We have jobs, hers more of a career than mine. We also have other endeavors, my writing and e-bay store and her writing and life coaching which she does from her home office or on the phone.

Most nights we would come home from work, eat then vanish into our respective offices. Then we would meet in the bedroom for a conjugal visit.

Not anymore. Now the rule is eight thirty we meet in the living room. We either watch TV, a movie or sometimes just sit and talk about what we're up to. Sometimes we watch some other things and get frisky, but regardless of what we do, we do it together and every night. Life is too short to bitch about editing and writing and clients and work.

That time comes and everything stops except us, we sit and enjoy each other's company, we hold hands and just experience us and how we feel about each other and we both love every second of it and us.

Naked Bliss.

That took place several months ago and my wife still has some issues with her leg, but is back to work and things are great. I realize there are far worse stories than ours. Many stories where people did not pull through. Not a day goes by I don't look at my wife and think about that and not a night goes by when we lay in bed together and I listen to her now normal peaceful breathing I think...

We are blessed.

Just don't tell my wife I used that word, okay?

Author's note: This story has been burning in me for a long time. Despite the great outcome I was still haunted by some of the memories and how things could have easily gone the other way. The theme of this contest inspired me to finally write it, to purge myself of some of those feelings and I want to thank you for allowing me to share it with you. I want to thank all the 'angels' as my wife calls them at the NIH and my family and friends for knowing I had to do this my way and letting me. Most of all I have to thank my wife, the person I was before I met her would have never gotten through that situation; I would have had no reason to. I hope this story inspires you to do as the wise Crosby Stills and Young implored us to do; "Love the one your with." Love them completely, love them without limits, show them that naked love I spoke of. Again thank you for reading. Lovecraft68