The Stay

Chapter One: Jennifer goes to surgery

    It was a gloomy day on the east coast of Florida.  The tide was rolling in dropping large, white wakes on the beach shore.  I am standing on the shoreline, with my hands securely in the pocket of my favorite Levi’s that I had purchased from the Good Will. The seagulls were flocking around my cigarette smoke.  This is my one way to escape the psychic chatter of everyday life on this planet.

      So here I am, writing my first novel.  I am sitting in the hospital room with my new love, trying to soothe her back to health from a knee replacement surgery.  Talk about PAINFUL!  My poor Jennifer has been in excruciating pain from the moment she came out of surgery.  What a damn mess, this whole surgery thing.  You would think that if someone is going to go in for a knee replacement that the doctor and his staff would have their proverbial shit together.  Well, the truth is that they didn’t.

    Jennifer’s first round with the knee surgeon was a disaster.  She was scheduled to go in for pre-op on a Tuesday at 9am.  She went through all the normal bullshit that you have to go through before they knock you out and send you into the operating room.  I, as her spouse, was sent to the surgical waiting room.  Now mind you, I was relatively calm given the situation. I signed in with the lady at the desk, like I was supposed to, and was handed a card with six numbers. The lady behind the desk was a volunteer in her seventies with dyed blonde hair the color of gold, and she wore dark-framed fashionable glasses. She informed me that I could use this number to follow Jennifer’s progress throughout the surgery by looking at the computer monitor in the waiting room.

    I had just sat down after grabbing a cup of complimentary coffee when the lady behind the desk told me that I had a call from the surgery room!  Incredibly, I DIDN’T panic.  In fact, I was unusually calm.  Apparently, the doctor discovered a LAST MINUTE allergy to nickel, a substance that is present in most metal, and wanted to ask me questions about how Jennifer reacted to the substance. Jennifer had never really mentioned anything to me about any metal allergies other than “I can’t wear cheap jewelry.”  And no, Jennifer is not a materialistic girl, for all you naysayers out there, she really IS allergic to some metals.  After interrogating me about her nickel allergy, and getting nothing from me other than an “I really can’t tell you much more than that,” then the nurse at the other end of the phone thanked me and hung up. I thought this a bit strange, if not outright scary considering Jennifer had already been put under anesthesia and was out of it.

    I walked back to my seat which was situated in front of the computer monitor and pulled out the card that I was given initially by the lady behind the desk.  I looked at the six digit number on the card, and checked it against the computer monitor.  I was horrified!  The monitor was showing that Jennifer was having the procedure!  Oh my god, I thought; you have got to be kidding me.  Those fucking idiots are putting in a knee replacement that contains a known allergen to the patient, my wife!  I must say that those were tense moments, but the worst was went I saw Jennifer’s doctor walking toward me.  He sat down casually next to me and told me that he “doubted that Jennifer had a real nickel allergy,” but he was not going to take the chance.  He would reschedule the surgery for Thursday, two days later.  This would allow him to find a knee replacement that did not contain nickel.

    The second attempt was a go, and Jennifer came out of surgery screaming like a banshee.  She had aged ten years in less than two hours.  I saw a side of her that I’d never seen before; she was helpless and vulnerable, crying out for me.  It was at that insane moment that I realized how much she truly loved me.  My heart bled for her, and there was nothing that I would rather do in that moment than to love her for the rest of my life.  I felt her pain, and swore that I would never leave her.  I spent that night in the hospital room, sleeping on a cheap, springy cot that the nurses hijacked for me.  Even through her pain, she told me how beautiful I was, and how I was THE ONE.  What an amazing woman.

    At three o’clock in the morning, I awoke to the sounds of Jennifer crying out in pain and hitting the nurse’s call button screaming for the puke bucket.  I immediately awoke from my drug induced slumber, and ran to get the puke bucket and Jennifer filled it halfway with a substance that looked like water.  She had nothing to eat or drink except ice chips for almost two days.  The nurses were assholes and treated Jennifer like she was poor white trash.  It pissed me off.  If it wasn’t for me being with her, she would have vomited all over herself, and left there covered in her own vomit. Infection be damned!  Her incision would have been infected by her own puke!

    I stayed in the room with her, making sure that she was given her pain medicine and breakfast.  After requesting a bowl of oatmeal, rather than the shit ass nasty grits they had given her, the oatmeal came about an hour later when Jennifer was no longer hungry.  I left the hospital because I had to get back to the home that we share together.  Jennifer has a propensity towards abandoned kitties, and I had to go home and feed six cats, three of which belonged to her (and by default they were also mine).

    As soon as I had finished doing what I had to do around the house, I finished reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by the now deceased, Hunter Thompson.  I thought, if a guy like this can write a story about a druggie journalist’s exploits on an assignment in Las Vegas, why the hell can’t I write about my life experiences? As I listen to the plane roar over my head from the safety of my living room, I think about how empty the house is without Jennifer.  I feel her with me here.  I left the hospital this morning upset and angry at the world, mainly the incompetent assholes that are tending to my wife. I was ranting as a gathered up my bags, and decided that it was best that I go back home to recharge my batteries.

    That’s when it struck me….how deeply I am in love with this new woman in my life.  I grabbed the smoothie that I made from bananas, strawberries, yogurt, whole milk, and flax seed in the bullet, sat down and began writing her a poem:







Jenny,

You are the beautiful sunrise; You are the blue in the deep blue ocean; You are the oxygen in the air that I breathe; You are the spark that ignites the passion in me; You are the peace that passes all understanding; You are the light that shines through to illuminate the depths of my soul.



You dance with me in my dreams and we make love on the astral plain; You send me to places that I have never dreamed of before; You are my rock and my salvation; You are the love of my life.  I cry blissful tears when I think about the unconditional love that you offer so generously to me.  You are the light that always shines ahead of me and leads me out of the darkness.  You are the light that I seek.  In my time of despair, You give me hope for another day.



Jenny, you are the embodiment of pure, unconditional love; Your attributes are Divine, and You are my beautiful Goddess.  I will love and cherish you for the rest of my life, and then we will dance together eternally in Paradise.



I love you.







    I was feeling the brunt of two nights stay on a hospital cot, along with the stress of the entire situation, and texted Jennifer to let her know that I would be back at the hospital at four o’clock that evening.  This gave me a few hours of downtime, and I decided to hit the sack.  I awoke from my nap feeling somewhat refreshed, but the thought of Jennifer in that hospital room by herself haunted me.  I gave myself another hour to write, then I jumped in the shower to get ready to go see Jennifer in the hospital.  I wanted to give her some time to rest because I knew that she would be exhausted from the physical therapy (rather...torture) that she had to endure today.

    As I sit here writing, I am looking around the home that we share.  It is humble, yet uniquely ours.  I had recently moved in with Jennifer, and all my belongings were here.  I say ALL because I didn’t have many, but what I have is nice.  My contribution to the décor of the home is a three-hundred dollar futon that I purchased when I first moved to Cocoa Beach for my new efficiency apartment.  The futon doubled as a bed and a couch, the bed part was tolerable, the couch part was not.  I didn’t realize how uncomfortable the futon was until we moved it into Jennifer’s place.  How the hell I slept on it for over a year is beyond me.  By the way, does anyone want to buy a futon?  It has a wooden frame, and is the top of the line.  It is perfect for those of you with vacation homes.

    Fuck futons!  I decided after pushing fifty, I would finally have a decent bed.  Lucky for me and Jennifer, my mom offered us her queen sized bed which she was replacing with a new, improved one.  Mom is always buying new furniture and giving it away, it drives my dad insane.  I am not sure when this bed transaction will occur, but I would like to strike while the iron is hot so-to-speak because mom is so wishy-washy, and changes her mind about giving things away.  Jenny and I could really use a nice bed, hers is about fifteen years old, and I have a bad back.  It’s time for us to start living like white folk.











































Chapter Two:  Jenny and I meet

    Did I tell you how Jenny and I met?  Let me scroll up, no I haven’t.  Here goes…I was out of a shitty relationship for a couple months and my best friend, Shirley encouraged me to sign up on one of those online dating sites.  I hemmed and hawed, but I finally took the plunge, and created a profile.  After initially creating my profile, the site prompted me to search for singles in my area.  I had the option of choosing how many miles my potential date should live, hair color, body build, level of income, with or without kids, what god she worshipped, etc.  I had to write a blurb about myself, and I mentioned that I was a writer.

    My first search turned up an attractive, older woman who was into metaphysics and “feeling good.”  Immediately my mind went to my interest in metaphysics.  I had earned a bachelor in metaphysics from the oldest metaphysical university on the planet not too long ago.  By earning that degree, I was also an ordained metaphysical minister, and a metaphysical practitioner.  The two are the same, but calling yourself a “practitioner” rather than a “minister,” draw in more people who are not religiously inclined.  The last thing that seekers want to do is listen to another damn sermon from a “minister.”  Damn those Christians to hell!  They ruined it for all of us. 

    Okay, back to how I met Jenny.  I read her profile, and found her interesting so I sent her a message.  No big deal.  It’s not like I was looking for anybody in the first place, it was Shirley’s silly idea to get me out into the dating scene again  I can’t remember when I checked the dating sight for my messages, but I got a response from the seductress that I was interested in.  I can’t seem to recall how she responded, but it was definitely encouraging.  She was very nice, without being presumptuous.  In other words, she didn’t come right out and say that she wanted to fuck me.  Up to that point, most of the replies I had received were going that way, either subtly or not so subtly.  It was so refreshing to communicate with a normal person.

    I contacted her through the dating sight’s email, and she responded back.  We did this dance for a few weeks until we finally decided to meet in person.  Jennifer was very clear that she preferred to talk on the phone rather than texting or using the dating service’s messaging system.  So I called her, and she was the most gracious, funny, easy to talk to woman that I had spoken with in ages!  I was completely at ease talking with her, it was like we had known each other forever.  I asked her out, and she agreed to meet me at a local coffee house. 

    On the night of our date, I was a nervous wreck.  I must have changed my clothes seven times.  At the time, I was living in my efficiency apartment in Cocoa Beach, and I had thrown all the clothes that I didn’t find suitable all over the futon, and my leather chair.  In a way, this was a subconscious decision to wreck my apartment in case I had the urge to bring this beautiful lady back home with me after our date.  Shame on me, but you have to admit that it was a brilliant idea. 

          When I finally got to the coffeehouse, seven minutes late, I popped an Ativan, checked my look in the mirror, and stepped out of my truck.  As I approached Starbucks, I was thinking about the type of reception that I would receive (considering I was late).  And there she was casually reading the local metaphysical newsletter.  I approached her from the rear (no pun intended) and did a casual 180 in order to meet her with my eyes.  I tipped my head to the side, and said, “Jennifer?”  She looked up with deer like eyes; there was no doubt about it.  I had found the right person.  She already had a cup of coffee, so I went in to order mine.  When I got to the counter, I told the attendant that I was on my first date, and that I was a nervous wreck.  I said, “Make it a double espresso!  Oh, by the way, you wouldn’t happen to have any vodka to put in that would you?”  I was just kidding, of course…or maybe I wasn’t.  I probably could have used a shot to calm me down at that time.  Anyways, after a few jibes from the girls behind the counter, who wished me “good luck,” I went back outside to join Jennifer on the veranda.

          I am not sure who started the conversation, but I do remember how effortless it was.  There was no tension, or pretentiousness, or any first date jitters on her part.  I though, was still a bundle full of nerves on the inside.  We talked about our common interests, mainly our interest in metaphysics.  In particular we talked about the different spiritual authors who have inspired us along our way to self-discovery.  Esther Hicks was our favorite. 

          As the conversation was winding down, we both decided that we wanted to get up and go somewhere.  I couldn’t really think of anything right off the bat, but then I remembered that my best friend, Shirley and her new girlfriend, Marilyn were going to be at the local gay bar for karaoke.  I really despise karaoke, and have never stepped up to the mic before.  But when we arrived at the bar, Shirley was pleasantly surprised to see us.  She invited us over to sit with her and her date.  How weird that was…Shirley and I…at the bar…with dates!  The reason it was so ironic was because Shirley and I were singles that had hit the bar scene pretty heavy.  Shirley even went with me to the club when I was dating this other girl, Jacky.  Shirley and I could always count on Jacky getting us home safely because she didn’t drink.  So for four months, my dating Jacky was really not having to pay for a taxi.

          I ordered a round of drinks for all of us as we settled in to watch the show.  Yippee!  I just love karaoke nights…NOT!  Shirley got up to do her number, a country tune.  I couldn’t but admire ole Shirley up there in front of the entire bar (I say entire which is a joke because the bar was pretty empty on a Monday night) and belted it out.  Shirley had recently gone back on the wagon after months of partying with me.  I had really hit the party scene, and the alcohol hard… up until about a month prior to karaoke night.  I was dealing with family issues, my brother was going in for a stem cell transplant, and I was grieving a loser relationship…so I turned to alcohol and drugs to help me deal with things.  Shirley was by my side the entire time, helping me, encouraging me, and drinking with me.  The two of us are deadly together, but we have a helluva lot of fun.  I often miss her because she ended up becoming seriously involved with Marilyn at the same time Jenny and I got together.  We haven’t seen or heard much of each other since.

          Next was my turn.  Yes folks, I was really going to sing karaoke in front of the entire bar, and on a date…talk about a recipe for disaster! I got up and sang my version of a Ricky Martin song…Tonight I’m Loving You…I couldn’t keep up with the words on the screen, but I did do some pretty awesome bumping and grinding.  I went back to sit down next to my date, and she apparently liked my Ricky Martin impression…Right on! After everyone was finished singing karaoke, the DJ turned up the music, and we hit the dance floor.  Jenny came up to me and started dancing with me…I knew at that moment that I had to have her.  The way the curves of her body felt, the way she gently moved to the beat of the music as she followed my body rhythms, the way she looked at me with those innocent but seductive eyes, all of this lead up to us going back to her place that night.  And what a passionate night it turned out to be, I woke up the next morning at her house, and felt this strange, surreal feeling that I belonged there.  I don’t know quite how to describe the feeling other than it must have been a glimpse into our future life together.



[To be continued]...