The First Ninety Days Ch. 11

Day 45

Jon's alarm jolted him out of slumber with its hateful buzz. Blinking his eyes into focus, he rolled away from his wife to slap the darn thing off. Whether he really wanted to be, he was awake right now; the adrenaline coursing through his system guaranteed that. It was the same alarm clock he'd had back home, and all through college and most of high school: a good ten years now of following him around and waking him up. By now the sound was hard-wired into his brain—and, evidently, into the noradrenergic pathway, judging by the boost of adrenaline that always seemed to strike whenever it went off.Why did that happen? How did that happen? Clearly, Pavlov was right, we are trainable—but of all the things...?

For a moment he merely lay there, staring up at the ceiling. His left arm was still trapped under Caitlyn's body; in fact, she was cuddling it, the hand up near her face as though she meant to kiss it. They had slept this way, with only occasional variation, every night since their wedding.

It's Wednesday. Yesterday was our last day at Pastor Larson's college group, today it's my last Wednesday with Dr. Polkiss and Dr. Leyton, and on Monday I start the training program with Dr. Chandakar—a training program which requires me to be on-station at the luxurious time of 9:30 AM. Caitlyn and I will get to go to bed together. Caitlyn and I will get to wake up together. There won't be long periods of time when only one of us is in this bed. Jon, like Caitlyn, was a night owl; if left to their own devices they'd be awake until 2 AM and abed until 10—maybe later if anything frisky happened, which Jon was looking forward to. Right before bed or right on waking up were his favorite times to savor her body. Obviously, neither was an option when he was sleeping from 10 PM to 6 AM, she from 2 to 10. He had tried awakening her just to have his way with her, and she was always receptive (in a sleepy sort of way), but he always felt bad afterwards, like he was using her, and stopped doing it altogether.We wouldn't be here, in our own apartment, if not for my job, but it really is the worst thing that could possibly have happened to our sex life.

Carefully he began to work his hand free of her grasp. Caitlyn didn't waken.

When he had dressed he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at her. She was still curled up on her side, fringes of hair around her face, her mouth slightly open. She never snored. To Jon's knowledge, neither did he, but how could he know what he did while asleep? She looked peaceful. She was so beautiful to him.

He caressed her cheek with one hand. Caitlyn didn't waken.

The only thing that made it possible to leave was knowing that she needed him to—that their precarious existence here was made possible by his efforts. That, if he didn't, she would not be here to return to. And suddenly, it was okay to leave.

The day seemed to pass with the slowness of molasses. People came in, had their teeth fiddled with, left again; and he would check the clock and see, to his despair, that only five minutes had passed. He had enjoyed his time here, working with these people, doing this job, but now he was excited and ready to go. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to be doing something different. He wanted to have more and better chances to spend time with his wife.

The only highlight was a call from Caitlyn. "I can't talk long, I'm between classes."

"Classes?"

"Silly, it's the first day of school. I'm at Shellview. Remember?"

"Jeez, I feel stupid. You told me that yesterday when we said good-bye to the college group. From now on you have orchestra rehearsals while they're meeting."

Her laughter, like a loving caress. "Yep. I'm on campus and I'm taking classes, because the school year started up again."

"How's it going so far?"

"It's fine. I'm in Jazz Theory, which is going to be cool, and I'm taking my Composition seminar. You know, the one I've been excited about taking ever since I started my Master's program?" He heard the teasing smile in her voice.

"I remember," he said. "I'm not forgetful, Caitlyn, just stupid."

A full-blown smile now. "Oh, isthat what it is? Well, I'd better go then. I don'tlike talking to stupid people."

"Why'd you spend so much time with Harold then?" said Jon.

The instant the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. The previous night, Caitlyn had invited Harold to join them for a late snack at a coffee shop—with Jon's consent and presence, of course. He could tell Caitlyn had regretted the idea within five minutes of sitting down with him... But she had her pride, and she would not give up on what she felt God was calling her to do. It was a sore spot with her now, and unless he was stupid he wouldn't bring it up.

Thankfully, Caitlyn misinterpreted it. "Oh, is that's was bugging you? Jon, if you don't want me to do something, you can always just say that."

Yeah, but will you listen to me? He knew what she was like once she got an idea into her head. "I know."

"I said it before, Jon: you're my husband. There's no one more important than you. There's nothing more important to me than what you want."

After a moment's debate, he said it: "Except God."

"Well... Yes. But, God wants me to be a respectful wife and honor you."

And if I want you to do something ungodly? This time he didn't say it.

"—Oh, I just remembered: Jon, someone asked me to play something next weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. One of my friends here is having her wedding and they wanted...”

She’d been turning gigs down because of their inability to move her harp in any safe manner. “So we’ll need...”

“I think we need a truck. I know you like your car, Jon, but... I think we need to trade it in.”

Funny how she springs this on me now—right after she said that, if I asked her, she would do it. But the thought had no real heat. Jon had known this moment was coming ever since they'd wed; they would need to be able to transport her harp somehow. And it would definitely be nice to have another source of income. "Then how about we go after I get home? You figure out what kind of truck we need, and once I get home we'll go after it."

"All right."

"We'll have to be quick, though—I have Octapella practice at 7:30."

"Ooo, an adventure," she said, the grin audible in her voice.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

And so they went. Jon got home, kissed his wife, and they went down to the car for the last time. Caitlyn was smart enough to suggest that they empty the car of personal possessions first, and they wound up carrying a surprising amount of stuff back into the apartment. A fair bit of it went in the trash—old receipts, loose Xeroxes, bits of fast-food detritus—but among other things, they found an entire compliment of maps which Jon's mother must have stashed in the car. Neither Jon nor Caitlyn used maps, but the things must've cost money and they weren't going to throw them away. And then Caitlyn thought that they might need proof of registration and other legal documents, and they spent another fifteen minutes ransacking the apartment to find where they'd put them. Finally, at 5:35, they were on their way, praying that the Toyota dealership would still be open.

They needed a pickup; Caitlyn had been there when her parents did the math, and remembered it well. Gabriel, her full-size harp, was 65 inches tall and 40 inches wide; they needed at least that much space in the bed. Fortunately, even short-bed trucks were that large, so they'd have some wiggle room. While Caitlyn's family bought Ford, Jon's family and friends had had good experiences with Toyota, and the Tacoma was certainly retailing for cheaper. The only thing left to discuss was whether to get a standard cab or a full-size; eventually, when children came along, they would need back seats, but Jon couldn't evenpicture any children he might have with her at this point; the idea seemed wholly abstract to him. What was certain was that it would be years yet before any offspring came along. So why spend money on seats they didn't need now, and maybe neverwould need if the truck was obsoleted before then. They decided to make the final decision once they got on-site and had seen what there was to see.

Two hours later, they had their truck.

The salesperson was friendly—too friendly; after a whirlwind tour of the lot, Jon was glad he'd brought a notepad, because he knew next to nothing about cars. If it went forward when he hit the gas and slowed down when he braked and turned when he steered, it was fine with him, but here was the salesman throwing a blizzard of options and suggestions at him: skid plates, wheel locks, chrome grille bumpers, "overfenders" (whatever the heckthose were). Jon dutifully noted them all down and then took five minutes off to call his dad, the one person he knew who was knowledgeable about cars. His father's tastes ran more towards tiny, high-performance coupes (he was still ranting and raving about a Mazda Miata he'd owned until an oblivious driver had backed onto it in a parking lot), but nonetheless he was able to walk Jon down the checklist and, as Jon had expected, tell him that most of the offered items were completely useless, whether in general or to the Stanfords' particular needs. Jon came back to the salesman with a firm grasp of what he wanted and some good ideas on how to get it. ("Besides," Caitlyn whispered to him, "the one thing wereally want is a truck cap to protect the harp, and they don't sell those here; you have to get them after-market.")

Caitlyn did most of the bargaining; she had much more practical knowledge of trucks—not to mention loans and APR financing and things like that. As it turned out, there was little point in trading in Jon's 13-year-old Celica, as it was barely worth anything. This, as Caitlyn pointed out, would give them greater automotive flexibility, though Jon thought the greater insurance payments might cause problems later, not to mention the issue of finding it a parking space. Nonetheless Caitlyn insisted on putting as much down as possible on the truck, which she checked with him on because (as she put it) "that thins out our bank account just a little." Then she used a calculator; for what purpose, he had no idea. The poor salesman looked flummoxed, and who could blame him: here was this girl, 5 foot 3 on a good day, who seemed to know his job better than he himself did.

In the end, the check written and the papers signed, all that was left was for Jon to drive the thing off the lot. And that in itself was an adventure.

"Uh, Caitlyn... I've never driven a truck before."

"It's not that hard. It's just a big car."

"It's alot bigger than anything I've ever driven before," he said. He liked his Celica. It was small and unassuming. It wasn't large and overbearing and didn't reek of testosterone. A pickup truck involved more masculinity than he really cared for; after all, men did some pretty stupid things sometimes. Like drive trucks.

"You'll be fine," Caitlyn said, giving him a proud smile. "You can handle it."

"Yeah, assuming nobody sees me in the cab and snickers."

"Oh, come on," Caitlyn said, grinning. "Don't you want to be seen driving a big, strong, manly truck?"

"Not particularly. Why'd you have to decide on playing such a big, strong, manly instrument?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Ultimately, it wasn't too much harder than he'd expected. The V6 gave a lot more power than Buffy's four-banger, but the greater weight of the truck helped even things out. Nonetheless, the gas pedal was rather more sensitive than he was used to, and he knew the truck would be jumping a little bit until he got the hang of it. The most disconcerting part was the larger size of the vehicle, but he'd driven his parents' van enough times to have some capability with a larger car. It would take some time before he got the truck's various corners perfectly aligned in his mind, but he was confident he could do it.

Still, it wasn'tCaitlyn driving their very-brand-new car off the lot and worrying about whether she was going to accidentally hit something with it.

They stopped at a McDonald's for dinner. Jon parked very carefully and then joined his wife inside. As they sat down, he realized it was basically the first time all day they'd had time off together. "So," he said. "How was your day?"

"Well," said Caitlyn between a handful of fries, "we just bought a truck, so I'd say it's been pretty eventful so far." She grinned.

"Any specific details on this wedding you're playing at?"

"Not really. They gave me the music they want played, and half of it I've done before and the other half doesn't look hard. It's at a church in Westhaven and they want me there at 2 PM, so we'll probably want to leave here at about 1 just to be safe. And we can do it! We have a truck!"

"How much are they paying you?"

"About standard rate. $300."

"Not bad. That's another, you know, fifteen or twenty dinners at McDonald's."

He hadn't meant anything by this, but to Caitlyn it had a sobering effect. "Yeah. Accountant or not, they never told us just howfast it goes. Three hundred dollars seems like a lot of money, but when you get down to it..."

"Especially in light of the, you know, $10,000 we just put down."

"At least the monthly payments are lower that way."

"Yep. We should probably focus on paying that off. ...You know, if we have any spare money after rent and utilities and living expenses and whathaveyou."

"What, you mean, send in extra money?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, you're probably right..."

There was a short, comfortable silence. Jon put his arm around her, drew her close; she rested her head on his shoulder, he on the top of her head. How many times had they sat like this over the year-and-a-half of their love?

"We never do this anymore," she said. "We never just... Sit together. We're always busy. Or, you know. Doing it."

"Yeah. Not that there's anything wrong with doing it."

"No, of course not." He heard her smile. "But it's nice to do other things too."

They stayed like that for a little while, but it was hard to eat and they separated again.

"How was school?"

"Oh... You know. School."

"Still excited about your classes now that you've had them?"

"Well... I know how much work they're going to be. But it should still be fun. I mean, I was excited to take them because Iwant to learn what they teach."

"Any cool new people?"

"Mmm, not really. Just the same old. It's notthat big a Music department. Besides, they're... Well. I mean, it's kind of like being at the college group, you know? They're soyoung sometimes."

"Yeah."

"They're all like, you know, 'I got so wasted last night' or 'Dude, this girl's totally coming on to me' or 'How do I get my boyfriend to stop staring at other girls'... And I'm sitting here thinking about how to optimize the car payments. It's a different world."

"That doesn'thave to be an obstacle. You can join their world."

"Yeah..."

"Isn't that how you felt when you were friends with the Cranes and the Chamberses?—that they were in a different place from you?"

"Yeah, but... Well, number one, they'renot anymore.We've joinedthem. And, number two, I don't really want to go back. What the kids talk about seems so... Shallow."

He smiled. " 'Kids.' You do realize they're probably older than you. I mean, you skipped how-many grades?"

"Yeah... And, I mean, there are some older people there too, but... I don't feel like I fit in with them either. They have kids and stuff." She sighed. "I guess I'm just an outsider."

He put his arm around her shoulders again. "We all are. You and me and Brandon and Meredith and everyone. That's why we're such good friends. That's why we love each other."

She turned to look at him. "You? You're not an outsider."

"Maybe not anymore," he said. "But that isn't because I met people who just magically let me in. I learned. I learned how to be... How to get along with people. How to, you know, present myself. So that people didn't want to kick me out. And I learned how to be comfortable and not kick myself out."

"Really?" she said. "How do you do that?"

"Well..." He shrugged uncomfortably. "First, you have to stop judging people. I mean, yeah, these kids in your class sound kind of immature, but you have to be willing to give them a chance anyway. Second... Well, you just gotta open your mouth. Let things come out."

She grimaced. "Whenever I do that, I sound like an idiot."

"I know. That's part of the learning. Everyone starts that way. But either you keep going and learn how to stop sounding stupid, or... You stop talking."

"Guess which oneI picked." She grimaced again. "I think changing myself would be a lot easier if it didn't involve, you know, changing myself."

"Yeah. But even if it's hard, it's worth doing."

"I always... I mean, I'm there, and, I always have chances to meet people and make new friends and..."

"Well... If at first you don't succeed, right?" Inspiration struck: "—Or, think of it as turning the other cheek."

"To the people? I mean, I've barely talked to them."

"To yourself."

She was silent.

"If it's important to give other people a second chance, how much more important is it to giveyourself one? If it's important to love other people, how much more important is it to love yourself?"

Caitlyn gave a sad shake of her head. "Loving yourself isn't easy."

"I know. You'd think they'd've taught us these things."

"But at least I have you to love me," she said. "That helps."

"Well," he said, smiling, "I'm glad to be useful."

When they got home, they draped themselves over the couch by silent agreement; Jon knew she must be trying to preserve the mood, and was content to do the same. For a short time they merely sat together, his arm around her waist and her head on his far shoulder; when they kissed it was gentle, without urgency. He was reminded of the early days of their love, when everything about her was new and every day dawned with the promise of discovery, when at any point he might learn more about her or find out something new. There had been an innocence to those times that he found he missed. Today...

"I wish we'd had more time," he said. "I wish we'd been able to... Explore more. Before we got married."

Caitlyn looked up at him. "Jon, I wasn't going to have sex with you before we got married."

"I know," he said. "I just meant... I mean, there's other stuff that, kind of... Leads up to it."

"That counts as 'sex' in my book," she said. "Foreplay counts."

"I know. I remember." A wry smile. "But, seriously, Caitlyn, what happens if I do this?" He moved his hand from her stomach to her breast.

She shrugged. "You can do that."

"But is it a big deal? Is it something that... I mean, remember how big a deal it was for me to, to rub your back, or to touch your bare stomach?"

"I think I see what you mean," she said.

"I just wish we could've... Spread it all out a bit more."

She smiled. "We could've waited to have sex."

"Pfft. Yeah right."

She kissed his cheek. "Yeah. And I think I understand your viewpoint a little more. Back before we got married, I never understood why... I mean, yeah, I enjoyed what we did together—what you did to my body, the way you made me feel—but it wasn't really anything special. I didn't know it couldbe special. And now I see that you were trying to teach me that. And... I kinda wish I would've let you."