Shavonda and I rang in the new year with a party at Brian and Tamika's place, which was my old house before we were married. It was great to see the improvements Brian had made to the place. With his job as a demolition carpenter, salvaging usable items from houses slated to be torn down, he had access to all sorts of interesting items from bannister posts to mantlepieces, along with the intricate carved woodwork that was so common in houses built a hundred years ago. As a result, he was slowly redoing the house with those beautiful old components. The results, even at this stage, were spectacular. I barely recognized the place.
It was at this party that we found out Tamika was pregnant. "How far along?" Shavonda asked.
"About six weeks," Tamika replied. Already, you could see her glow.
"Same as me," Shavonda said excitedly. "Guess we'll have to share a birthing suite."
They had been given due dates within a week of each other by their doctors, both in mid August. I wondered how we were going to pull this off. It would be the start of the Ren Fest season, and so much of our business was a result of those festivals. To miss them would be unthinkable. And yet, the two women who usually attended them would be unable this year.
We sat in the kitchen, smoking weed and drinking, as we pondered who among our employees we trusted enough to fill in for us. All, that is, except Shavonda, who sat with us but had opted to stay straight for the baby's sake. I loved her for that.
Kenny was the obvious choice, with Edie helping. It would make a nice getaway for them. For the other person, it was a toss-up between Nykole, who'd been our first employee who wasn't family, and Ebony. Ebony had shown a lot of initiative lately, working under Velma at the original store. She showed great promise, and we felt that if we ever opened a fourth store, she'd be the one we'd promote to manage it. For her, working the booth at the Ren Fests would be a good way to test her skills unsupervised.
I'd taken my last Vicodin earlier in the week. Though my arm still went into spasms in the cast, the weed was enough to manage my pain. The doctor had given me a prescription for oxycodones, but both Shavonda and Althea were adamant that I not touch them. So the prescription went unfilled. I did, however, have a prescription for Flexeril, a powerful muscle relaxer. I rarely used them, because all they did was put me to sleep for a day.
Shavonda, busy as she was, somehow found the time to baby me. I felt bad about being a burden to her, and about not bringing any money in. My worker's comp check hadn't shown up yet, and I know she felt the loss of income.
"Don't you worry about that," she told me. "You aren't a burden to me. You're my pillar. We don't need the money. I've told you that many times but you won't listen. And as for the rest of it, I just want you to get better."
When I told Althea about that conversation, she just laughed. "Don't you realize by now that girl loves you to pieces? She'd spoon feed you and change your Depends every day for the rest of your life if she had to. And she'd be happy to do it, because you need her. Don't worry about the money. Your check will show up one of these days. In the meantime, just sit back and relax. Enjoy your family. We got your back."
About a week into the new year, I got the cast and stitches in my arm removed. I'd taken a Flexeril before the doctor's appointment, so I was kind of in a fog. Althea drove me to the appointment, then dropped me off at the mall. Shavonda had promised to meet me there for lunch.
I waited for her in the food court, people watching in my groggy state. Nobody paid me any attention. I was just another person strung out on something or other, in a place where that was not uncommon. As long as I didn't cause a scene, nobody cared.
I pondered the changes in my life as I watched the people. Even though I was madly in love with my wife, it didn't stop me from admiring the women as they walked by. I could look, but I knew I'd never pursue any of them. I had what I wanted already. Funny thing was, I found myself no longer attracted to the white girls. Shavonda had permanently changed my taste in women, and I admired the ebony cuties now. Miley Cyrus could walk up to me and offer me head, and I'd be uninterested. But Serena Williams, I'd have to fight temptation all the way.
Eventually, my attention focused on one particular female, a shapely dark skinned honey in a leopard print dress. What really made her stand out was her shoulder length blonde hair, which contrasted nicely with her dark skin. I watched her from behind, transfixed in my fog, as she made a purchase at one of the food stands. I was struck by how much her figure resembled my wife's. It made her stunningly beautiful. I had yet to see her face, and I wondered if she looked as good from the front as she did from the back.
Finishing her purchase, she turned, drink in hand, scanning the food court. She WAS beautiful. Her eyes shone, and she cracked a beautiful smile when she caught me looking. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked over to my table. Oh, please don't let her talk to me. I'm not here to pick up chicks. I'm here to have lunch with my wife...
"Oh, there you are," she said, transfixing me with her radiant smile. "How did your appointment go?"
"Shavonda?" I blinked, as the fog cleared. "But your hair..."
She laughed. "Oh that's just a wig. Do you like it?" It was then I realized I'd fallen in love with my wife all over again. In a mall full of women of all shapes and sizes, it was her who'd attracted my attention. And even though in my fog I didn't recognize her at first, she'd attracted me like no other. I decided not to tell her that I hadn't recognized her. It was embarrassing.
Shavonda was the kind of woman for whom sensuality came naturally. It seeped from her pores, saturating everything she did. She couldn't help it. Everything she did turned me on. And that leopard print dress... She KNEW leopard print turned me on. Even the muscle relaxer I was on couldn't tame my raging boner.
"I thought you'd like my new dress," she said. "Won't be able to wear it much longer. I'm going to get big as a house."
"I don't mind," I said. "You'll still be beautiful. And the dress, it's perfect. Wait til I get you home. I'd bend you over this table if we wouldn't be arrested."
Shavonda laughed. "Down boy," she said. "Nice to know I still got it."
Changing the subject she asked, "how did it go? Did it hurt?"
"Not really," I said, showing her my arm, bare for the first time in a month. "It felt weird. He took it out of the cast and snipped the sutures. It felt a little uncomfortable when he pulled them out. There were so many."
Shavonda took my arm, looking it over. "Can you move it at all?" she asked with concern.
"Just a little," I explained. "Doctor said the inactivity weakened my muscles. Can't move my fingers either." I tried to wiggle my fingers to show her, but they just barely twitched. "It's gonna be a long hard road back, if I ever get there. I start therapy next week."
Shavonda grabbed my hand, and curled and straightened my fingers. Rotating my wrist, she asked, "Does that hurt?"
"No. I can barely feel it. I mean, I feel your touch, but the movement of my fingers and wrist i can't feel."
Shavonda looked at me with determination. "Jason, you realize you're probably not going back to work driving a truck. I want you to apply to college to finish your education. Don't you see? This is the perfect opportunity to finish your degree and do what you love for a living. I've seen the way you are when we are in the mountains looking at rocks. I am NOT Rose. We are making enough from the business that we can afford to put you through school."
"How am I going to complete the applications, if I can't write?" During the previous month, with my right arm in a cast, I'd leasrned with great sffort to make a barely legible scrawl with my left hand. Now I was going to have to relearn how to use my right hand. It would take months, and already it was late to be filling out college applications. I think I was afraid of going back to school at this point, and looking for any excuse not to try. But Shavonda refused to let it go.
"I will fill them out for you. Just tell me what to write." I could see the determination on her face. "I want you to apply to 4 or 5 different schools, for both the geology and engineering degrees. If we need to, you'll go to school for each one separately. But you WILL be getting your degrees." And with that, the subject was closed.
We ended up not eating at the food court. Shavonda instead took me out for pizza. She knew I was feeling depressed about the hopefully temporary loss of my right hand, and wanted to get something I could easily eat with my good hand. We took the pizza back to the African marketplace, which was only a couple of miles away. She quickly ushered me into the back room, and set me down at a desk with a rolling chair. But the best was yet to come.
The pizza shop didn't have drinks in cups, so we'd gotten bottles of Dr Pepper. Obviously, I couldn't open mine by myself, so Shavonda took it from me. "This is going to be cold," she said, placing the bottle in her cleavage. Wrapping her left arm under her breasts, she squeezed them against the bottle while twisting the cap off with her right hand. Seeing the stunned look on my face, she laughed.
"Did you like that? I can do amazing things with a bottle." She handed me the drink with a smirk. "Don't ever underestimate your woman."
I spent the rest of the afternoon with her at the store, sleeping in the chair. The Flexerils were taking their toll on me. Once home, Shavonda herded me off to bed as Miracle howled in protest. She wanted her Daddy, but I was in no condition to play.
Having the cast off helped immensely with my rest. With the dead weight of the cast gone, I could once again snuggle against Shavonda as she slept, hooking my arm over her body. It felt good to have her soft skin against mine once more, and I pondered how lucky I was to have found her.
