Chapter 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
. . . for
better or for worse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning sun stabbed its way
into the bedroom while I lay quietly in bed, unmoving, concentrating on
producing the illusion of sleep. I
heard Lee stirring beside me and felt his arm gently drape over me. I kept my breathing even, my eyes closed. I heard his sigh and felt the shift of his
weight as he got out of bed. Then,
hearing the start of the shower, I relaxed.
He showered, shaved, and dressed
while I lay there, feigning sleep. He
walked over to the bed and whispered, "Amanda?" When I didn't answer, he gently kissed my cheek and quietly left
the room.
I rolled over, facing away from
the window as I mulled over the recurring dream I'd been having. I was on a beach, watching the waves crash
against the shore. I knew I had to get
to the water, but each time I got closer, the water receded. I'd then start running toward the water, but
the faster I ran the further I was from my goal. Then I'd wake up, my pulse racing from my nocturnal exertions.
I'd been home for two weeks, two
weeks since my body had become foreign to me. My body had changed before -- puberty, pregnancy, even the beginnings of
aging. But those had seemed normal,
gradual, and right, while this . . . this seemed abnormal and horrific. I could barely stand to look at myself, much
less have Lee look at me.
From downstairs I heard the sounds
of Lee's departure. He'd tried to stay
home with me, but after five days, I'd told him to go back to work. I could take care of myself, after all, and
I'd promised to call Mother if I needed anything. Truth was, I just wanted to be alone.
Sure that Lee was safely on his way
to work, I flopped my feet out of bed and stood slowly. I was still sore, and moving gingerly
because of it. I made my way into the
bathroom and locked the door behind me.
Taking off my pajama top, I stared
hard at my reflection. The decade-old
scar below my shoulder looked innocuous, its import diminished by the larger
imperfection hidden under the bandage below it. That a bullet wound had once been a danger to my life now seemed
ridiculous in comparison to the more recent threat, a threat originating from
inside, a threat that left me looking like . . .
I carefully removed the bandage
from my right side. The grotesque flap
of skin that was all that remained of my right breast seemed to stare back at
me; it's horror almost giving it a life of its own. I tried to picture what it would look like after reconstructive
surgery, but all I could see was a mockery of my former self. I quickly re-bandaged myself and left the bathroom,
and my reflection, behind.
After dressing in the usual sweat
pants and loose sweatshirt, I made my way downstairs. I poured myself some coffee from the pot Lee had started earlier
and walked into the den. Sitting down
on the couch, I pulled a blanket across my lap and picked up the remote.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Amanda," Mother's voice pleaded
over the phone line. "Please let me
come over. Your surgery was just three
weeks ago; I'm sure you could use some help, or at least some company."
"Mother, really, I'm fine; my arm
is hardly stiff at all. Besides, Lee
checks up on me all day long. Maybe
next week, okay?"
"But, darling, what about your
laundry, or --"
"Have you been talking to Lee,
Mother?" I asked angrily. "I told him
to leave the laundry for me; I'll get to it, I'm not an invalid." I started to twist my wedding ring around my
finger, then realized I wasn't wearing it, hadn't worn it, in fact, since
coming home from the hospital.
"Of course you're not, dear. Lee's just
worried about you; he loves you, you know."
"Mother, I'm fine. I need to go now. Good bye." I hung up
before she could start in on me again. Why did everyone think I needed help? It's not like I had a broken limb, or something. Deciding to let the machine answer next
time, I went into the den and turned the television back on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Lee, I told you I'd get the
dishes," I said as I stalked after him into the kitchen.
"Amanda, why won't you let me
help?" he asked as he wearily put down the dishtowel. "You've barely been home a month --"
"I've done the dishes for ten years,
why should that change now?" I asked as I pushed my way to the front of the
sink. I hated the sarcasm in my voice,
but couldn't seem to stop myself.
"That's not fair. Why are you doing this, Amanda? You won't talk to me, won't let me help,
won't even let me near you. Why are you
shutting me out?" The pleading look on
his face almost caused me to waver, but I couldn't afford to weaken.
"It's not your problem, Lee. You have no idea what I'm going through; no
one mutilated your body. How could you possibly
help?" I turned the water on hot, as
hot as I could stand.
He sounded as if I'd slapped
him. "You do need help, Amanda. You're just too stubborn to admit it. You want to do the dishes, fine, do the
dishes. I'll see you later." Thrusting my hands into the hot water, I
heard the jangle of keys quickly followed by the closing of the front
door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had to get dressed. It'd been nearly two months since my surgery
and my appointment with the plastic surgeon to discuss my reconstructive
surgery was this afternoon. 'What will
the doctor think if I show up dressed like this?' I wondered, looking down at
my worn-looking sweats.
Determined, I made my way to my
dresser. I'd barely opened my lingerie
drawer since coming home, opting instead to keep my underwear on top of my
dresser. Now, opening the drawer, I
rifled through to find a comfortable cotton bra. Taking off my sweatshirt, I put the bra on, fumbling slightly
with the fastening. I then walked over
to look in the mirror.
My left side looked normal, my
dark nipple barely visible through the thin material, my round breast softly
filling out the fabric. But the right
side . . . It was like looking at two halves of the same person -- one half an
eager, prepubescent girl putting on her mother's bra as she watched for the
first signs of womanhood, the other half a fully mature woman, wife, and
mother.
The door to the bedroom opened,
causing me to jump and turn my back to the door. Looking over my shoulder, I saw my husband standing in the
doorway. "Lee!" I yelled. "Can't you knock?" I stood holding my shirt in front of me, facing the midday sun,
which was barely visible through the shaded window.
"Amanda, this is my room,
too. You've never asked me to knock
before." I could hear him approaching
behind me.
"What are you doing home, anyway?"
I asked as I quickly entered the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind
me.
Through the closed door, I could
hear him sigh heavily. "I thought you
might like some company for lunch."
"Well, you thought wrong. I've got an appointment and don't have time
for lunch," I informed him as I stared at my reflection, the shirt still
clutched to my chest.
His voice barely audible, he said,
"Amanda . . . I could go with you, that is, if --"
"No, Lee. I don't need you to come with me. Thanks, anyway." I sat down on the toilet and waited, listening. After several minutes I heard the telltale
sound of his car starting up, the tires giving a slight squeal as he pulled
away from the curb.
Grimacing, I walked back into the
bedroom and quickly pulled on a loose, button-down shirt and a pair of
slacks. As I left the room, I absently
grabbed a cardigan sweater; it's bulk offering to further screen my deformity
from the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lay stiffly, keeping my body
rigidly on my side of the bed. I kept
my eyes closed as I heard the sounds of Lee getting ready for bed, and
pretended to sleep as I felt his weight depress his side of the mattress.
"Amanda?" he whispered. "C'mon, I know you're still awake. Talk to me, please."
Wearily, I said, "What did you
want to talk about?"
"How did your appointment go? What did the doctor say?" His hand reached out to grasp mine, but I
pulled it away, ostensibly to adjust the covers.
"I really don't want to talk about
it, Lee," I said, folding and refolding the top of the sheet. As I felt his hand touch my shoulder I was
unable to stop myself from flinching away. The hurt look on his face gave me pause, but only briefly. I was disgusted, disgusted at my temporary
weakness and, on a deeper level, my willingness to hurt him so easily.
"Amanda. This is ridiculous. You're my wife; don't I have a right to know these things?" The exasperation in his voice fueled the
anger already welling up inside of me.
"I'm *your* wife, huh? So, that gives you some husbandly rights to
*my* life? This didn't happen to you,
Lee; it happened to me." I felt like I
was somewhere else, hearing myself say these hateful things, but unable to
stop. I sat up in bed and looked down
at him. "What is it you have a right to
know? Do you want to hear that the
doctor can fix me, that he can make me look normal again? Is that what you want to hear?"
"That's not fair! Amanda, I love you. That hasn't changed." He again reached for my hand, but it was now
busy smoothing my pajama top. At my
continued inflexibility, he got out of bed and said sadly, "You don't want my
help? You want to do this all by
yourself? Fine. I'll be down the hall if you change your
mind."
As he left the room, I lay back
down and thought, 'Lee, don't you understand? You can't protect me this time. This enemy is too strong, even for you.' I burrowed into the covers and drifted into a fitful sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard Lee getting ready for
work, but kept myself buried in the cocoon of my own making. He left without saying goodbye, the sound of
his car engine almost startling in the early morning quiet. 'Maybe I'll just stay in bed,' I thought as
I rolled over, unwilling to face the day.
I opened my eyes, a sound from
downstairs having woken me. Blinking at
my alarm clock, I saw that it was nearly noon. 'Surely Lee hasn't come home for lunch again,' I thought as I braced
myself for another confrontation.
But the footsteps on the stairs
didn't sound heavy enough to be Lee's. Concerned, I got out of bed just as the door to my room opened. "Mother, what are you doing here and how'd
you get in?" I asked as the sight of my mother's blond head poked around the
door.
"Lee gave me his key; he figured
you might not let me in," Mother said in her no-nonsense tone as she made her
way down the hall.
I followed indignantly after
her. "Oh, he did, did he? And why --?"
Mother cut me off. She turned around, put her hands on her hips,
and said, "Amanda, look at this house -- unopened mail all over the table, a
week's worth of dishes on the counter, laundry piled on the floor. For two months I've been trying to come help
you. Well, you're gonna get my help
whether you like it or not."
"I suppose this was all Lee's
idea. I told him I can handle it,
Mother. You --" Mother interrupted my
indignant ramble by holding one hand up, palm facing me.
"Now you stop right there, young
lady," Mother stated, her tone making me feel about ten years old. "If you could handle it, you would be
handling it. Well, you're not. Poor Lee doesn't know what to do. Well, I'm your mother and I'm not going to
take any of your lip. So, either get
dressed and help me, or get out of my way because I am cleaning this house."
I stood, speechless, while Mother
walked down the stairs, head high, determination in her step. She stopped suddenly and said over her
shoulder, "I have never seen you give up on anything that was important. I don't believe you're gonna give up
now. Amanda, your family loves you,
even if you're having trouble loving yourself."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
