Real American Woman, ch. 7

September 20, 2013

So, it’s been three years. Wow.

Three years ago, on a Monday night, I realized I was in love.

I was a freshman in college, and I had acknowledged Jeff’s interest in me, and I showed interest in him. We had been talking about it for about two weeks by that point, our walks getting longer, further, and a little more intimate. We had begun to hug and kiss each other on the cheeks – chastely – and our conversations turned more personal without worry or embarrassment. And then, I got sick.

The truth is, it was Jeff’s fault. We were on another walk, and we ended up at the Lagoon. There, we were doing the usual – we were talking, picking on each other, getting into tickle fights, and just enjoying the cool evening. Jeff didn’t see me grab my water bottle and go for a chug, and he grabbed me. In the surprise attack, I squealed, inhaling water and choking violently. I remember that I ended up on my knees, on the ground, throwing up from the force of the choke. When I turned around, Jeff’s face was white, eyes wide in shock, and he looked away from me, covering his face with his hands. He looked so pitiful about his own guilt that I couldn’t help but embrace him and reassure him afterwards.

The next day, I started feeling weird. It was like my asthma was acting up, but my chest wasn’t tight. A day after that, I started coughing, feeling short of breath – and what breaths I could take were heavy and strained – and I started running a low fever. Within three days, I was completely wrecked. I went to the school nurses, where they diagnosed with a “febrile illness.” What good that did… Saturday came, and that was the worst. It was game day.

I woke up at 5:30 in the morning, sweating profusely and barely able to breathe. I stumbled into the bathroom, where I took my temperature. My fever was at 102.6. I grabbed my phone and called Jeff, only to hear him answer it right outside my door. He had been sitting outside, listening to me sleep, for two hours, unable to sleep himself because of the worry. At least, that’s what I assume. But the point was, he was there, ready to help me.

We ended up waking up my roommate, Tania, but Jeff did care for me and help me cool off enough to be able to go back to sleep. I don’t remember if he sat up with me or if he stepped back out after I fell asleep, but I managed to get two more hours of sleep before having to be up and on the field for the morning marching band practice. Jeff kept close to me as long as he could, and I stayed in the formation as long as I could. But it was brutal. By nine o’clock, the temperature had risen to eighty-five degrees and my fever spiked again. I barely remember it; one moment, I was standing in my position on the field, about halfway to the front line, and the next moment I was hitting all fours on the sideline, barely able to breathe. It felt like I had an elephant on my back, and the thermometer that I’d smuggled into my pocket read 101. My fever was climbing again. Jeff rushed to my side, only to be shooed off by the graduate assistant, who came to my rescue instead. I spent the rest of practice sitting under the shade of the Rest building – it contained water fountains and bathrooms specifically for athletes using the band field – and contemplating on what to do. Dr. Walker had given me an ultimatum for the day: either go to the hospital, or go to the game in Birmingham with the band. Being devoted to my music, I went with the band. It was a stupid mistake.

I slept, curled up on Jeff’s chest, the whole way to the game. When we got there, I was feeling a little better, but I was weak. I hadn’t eaten much, and I’m sure I was dehydrated. During the pep rally outside the stadium, my fever was considerably low, but it didn’t last. The heat got to me fast. By the time we got in the stadium and were set up for the first kick off, I dropped again. That one I remember; I felt hot, I got dizzy, and my section leader caught me as I went down. She passed me to one of the band “parents” who took me below the stadium to the first aid station. My fever was back up to 101 again; I was put on the bus for the entire game.

The rest of that day is a blur. I remember Jeff waking me, sweaty and extremely irritated about the game (which I vaguely remember that it had gone very badly, with multiple bad calls by the referees), and then I fell asleep again. I woke up about half way there, at least I think it was half way, and saw that Jeff was sound asleep. Then we were in Troy, and I go blank. I don’t remember a line, a time, a place, or a series… I remember images, fragments here and there, pieced together by spaces of blank void.

Jeff told me what happened. I was awake, but I was out of it, only subconscious. I collapsed when we got to the dorm, only across the street from where the buses had parked. I remember looking up at the ceiling, and Jeff was by me, still in his band bibs; there was an icy rag on my face, my neck, and my chest, where he had lifted the collar of my shirt and placed it down my chest. “This is Jeff…” he was saying, “I’m friends with your daughter… she’s like a zombie… fever…”

The next thing I knew, I was in the back of a car, leaning on Jeff while someone drove. Then the lights were bright, yellow and white all around me. I was looking up at another ceiling, and there was a faint drone of noise, low chattering, systematic beeping, and doors opening and closing softly. I had woken up in the hospital, and Jeff was still by my side. My fever was down to 99, and it was four in the morning. We had been there for four hours. I had been technically unconscious for five hours. And my fever was finally broken, after what the hospital had done for me.

Turns out, I had had pneumonia for nearly a week, and whatever they gave me while I was out, it killed it. I was released to go back to the dorms at five. I began to drift off to sleep again, and I woke up in my room around three that afternoon, with Tania, my current boyfriend Alfredo (my Spanish friend, we had been friends from my home area for a while and tried dating over long distance; it didn’t work for us, obviously), and Jeff all taking turns taking care of me. It was now Sunday, the nineteenth of September.

My fever vanished by Monday. Alfredo returned back to Greenville, and I took the day off to fully recover. My lungs ached, and I had a hard, almost cruel realization. When I woke up to see Alfredo instead of Jeff, I was heartbroken. It wasn’t Jeff. It was Alfredo, who was my boyfriend, but I didn’t love him that way. I had always been fond of Alfredo, but it was more familial than lascivious. When my heart wrenched, I knew I was wrong. I was in the wrong place, with the wrong person, and it hurt. It hurt me that I was going to have to hurt Alfredo, after three months of trying to make something that didn’t exist work. As wrong as it was, I wanted Jeff over Alfredo. I knew I had to make a choice.

That night, on September 20, my mind was made up for me. It was after band, and I had gone up to Jeff’s room to get some peace and quiet while my roommates cooked, chattered, and bustled around at their leisure. He had fixed a simple dinner for us, and we were lying on the bed, kind of awkwardly considering it was only a twin, watching the TV. Although it was a little awkward, it was the perfect position for a tender cuddle. He was propped on his pillow, next to the wall, and I had my head on his shoulder, a hand tangled into his shirt. We were watching TruTV, I remember that much, but the show evades me now. All I knew then was what I wanted, and what that meant for my relationship with Alfredo. Looking up at Jeff, it was irresistible. After feeling him lean toward me as if to kiss me only to shy away, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and kissed him, and that was it. We kissed chastely, just a gentle press of the lips, twice, and then we caved. It was timid and precious, but we shared our first real, passionate kiss. We decided, then, that if was meant to happen. We were meant to date, to give a relationship a try.

I admit, it was wrong to do that to Alfredo. I do feel bad about it, still, because it took him over two years to forgive me; I would still message him every now and then, for his birthday, for Christmas, for Spanish holidays…and he would always answer with just one word: Gracias. Now, we’re talking again, so things have been somewhat amended. But we understand that what was between us, at least on my part, was family only. Nothing more, nothing less.

So we started dating. Two years went by, and it became September 20again, 2012. A year ago. That was another special night, one that I will never forget, even into my older years. (I keep telling myself that I still need to draw it or something, as if from a stranger’s perspective, and frame it, just for us, like I did with the picture of where the metal swing used to be on campus – the swing where we first professed our interest in each other.) It was beautiful; it was like a dream.

It was our second anniversary. Jeff had had to work all day, and I was at school until six with labs. We met on campus right before nine. It was dark, it was quiet. There were a few people out on the Quad, playing Frisbee and having their own private encounters under the lanterns, magnolias, maples, and stars. Jeff and I down-dressed a little, getting a bit more comfortable for the walk we were going to take, and we left.

It was short and sweet, but romantic. We crossed the university, walking by our old dorm building and gazing up at the window that used to be his, resting under one of the many magnolias that circle the courtyard and talking about that first night, those first impressions and encounters we had with other two years before. After a little while, we started walking again, down past the natatorium, in front of the Trojan Center, and down the sidewalk along the parking lot, heading toward the golf course. We hung a left, crossed the road, and there was the Lagoon. A murky place, and definitely not the most romantic spot on campus, but it’s one of the most secluded. On the far bank are some oak trees, a row of shrubbery, and a small gazebo that’s nearly overtaken with hummingbird vines. We made our way around the bank to that far side, and we stood under the tree, next to the gazebo, looking out over the still water. The campus could barely be seen over the little hill, and the moon and stars were reflecting off the water, as still as a mirror.

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Jeff had asked me.

“Not sure. What do you want to talk about?”

He thought for a moment. He seemed really nervous for some reason. “Hm… Can you, uh, can you refresh my memory? Why did you start playing Poke’mon?”

I laughed. “I really don’t remember. I think it was when my mom got me a Gameboy and a Silver version, one Christmas when I was about seven. That’s really as far back as I remember.”

“Okay. Well, what are you favorite Poke’mon?”

I started naming off a few. I’m a dork, I like legendaries: Suicune was always my top pick, then Raikou, and I also liked Feraligatr, Charizard, Dragonite, Umbreon, Espeon… Anything that resembled a dragon or a dog, I was all over it. He answered, giving off his as well. He stopped on one, though, in particular, and that’s when I sensed a change in the conversation. It’s a little blurred, because my focus kept getting interrupted by a couple stupid frat boys standing on a patio in the apartments above us, watching us. Their cat calls interrupted a lot of our conversation.

“My favorite is Nidoking. He’s strong, he’s…the pinnacle of manliness, I guess. Big, strong, an ultimate tank, and poison barb is always a good plus in battle…” And it slowly shifted to how he saw himself as Nidoking. Strong, he was always there for his partners, he was reliable, infallible… And he concluded, “But, in the game, Nidoking has a counterpart. A…female counterpart.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, slipping something small out of it. He replaced his wallet and went down on one knee. The frat boys swore and went quiet, startled by what they were seeing. Jeff asked me, “Will you be my Nidoqueen?”

I’m pretty sure my face was priceless. I remember gasping, asking him if he was serious, and when he smiled his sweet, innocent, pleading, almost childish smile, I broke. I sobbed and tackled him, crying into his shoulder. I managed to get out the word “Yes.” And Jeff placed a beautiful, dainty diamond ring on my left hand.

It’s so hard to believe it… That was just a year ago. And in six weeks, I can call him “husband.”