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Colorblind Love
by Deb Shirley
Inside
the vehicle, four hazel eyes gaped at me from two plump, brown faces.
They had William Hunter’s eyes, but that was the only thing about him
they possessed. Their black, curly
hair and dark skin obviously came from their mother.
I didn’t mean to stare, but I was stunned.
It
began that morning. I was in the
kitchen making his lunch when “I
want my kids,” he said. His
sudden mention of them surprised me. “Huh?” “I
said I want to see my children.” “Th
… that’s good,” I stammered. “When?” I
applied mayonnaise to the bread in my hand; my mind raced.
Tonight – but we have plans
tonight! “Jen,
are you sure this is okay with you? It’s
going to be a big adjustment for us.” I
froze. Adjustment! What does he
mean by adjustment? I focused on
the white knuckles gripping the mayonnaise-coated knife in my hand.
How will William seeing his boys
affect me? When
I turned my head to confront him, tortured eyes met mine. Even
though he didn’t speak, I could read After
several awkward moments, he leaned against the counter beside me and continued,
“Jen, I don’t think you understand. I
want them to come live with us.” I
opened the overhead cabinet, grabbed a bag of chips, and calmly announced, “I
guess I need to go to the grocery store.”
Absent-mindedly,
I filled a brown paper sack with the sandwich, chips, and an apple and turned to
hand the lunch to William. When I
did, he clutched my hand. “Jen, I
won’t do this if you don’t think we can handle it.” I
stared past him. “No … I mean
yes. Of course.
We have to take them. What
happened to Trish?” “She
was in a bad accident. An
eighteen-wheeler stopped suddenly and her car went under it.
She died instantly.” “Where
are the kids now?” “With
her parents. My mother is picking
them up after school today.” He
released my hand, laid his lunch on the counter, and placed both hands on my
shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Honey, I hate to dump this on you and rush out the door, but if I don’t
leave, I’m going to be late for my meeting with With
a forced smile I whispered, “I know. I
love you, too.” I kissed him
lightly on the lips, walked him to the door, and watched as he drove away.
As I lingered in the open doorway, I wondered if our marriage could
survive this. As
a lawyer, William thoroughly analyzed every decision, so I knew he had given
this a lot of thought. Besides, the
children had occupied his mind for years. Night
after night he drifted away to visit them in his imagination.
When I asked what he was thinking, he always replied, “Nothing.
I’m just tired.” Deep
inside I knew. William
told me about his children on our second date.
He was a senior in high school, only seventeen years old, when it
happened. I
watched as William’s SUV disappeared from sight. Well,
I can’t stand here all day. Lord,
I hope William knows what he’s doing. Closing
the door behind me, I began preparation for the boys’ arrival.
I changed the linens on the double bed in the front guest room and placed
fresh towels in the adjoining bath. After
a quick dusting of the furniture, I threw on a little makeup and headed for
Walmart. As
I pulled my Mercedes into an empty parking space, I noticed two young boys and
their mother approaching the minivan beside me. I
observed as the older boy punched the younger one in the arm. “He
hit me,” the small boy screamed. “ “Mom,
are we stopping for ice cream?” “I
told you I would stop if you behaved.
Did you?” “No.”
“Mom,”
the younger boy whined, “I want ice cream too and I ain’t done nothin’.”
Defeated,
the mother responded, “Fine! I’ll
stop. Just get in the car ...
please!” Is
this my future?
Will I grow to love William’s boys enough to have the freedom to
correct them? How does someone learn
to love children they’ve never seen? More
importantly – how do I make them love me? I
jumped from the car and addressed the exasperated mother.
“Excuse me, may I ask a question?”
She
lifted the back door of her van and began unloading the buggy.
“I guess so.” “I
need to buy gifts for a couple of 9-year old boys.
Can you suggest something?” “Umm
… let me think.” She finished
loading the bags in the vehicle before facing me.
“My boys love the scooters Santa gave them last year.
But, if you buy those, you’ll also need to buy helmets and elbow and
knee pads.” “Thanks.” “No
problem.” She slammed the rear
door and yelled at the boys. “I
said get in the car NOW!” As
I turned to walk away, she stopped me. “You
know, most boys also play sports. My
kids play baseball, basketball, and soccer.
You can’t go wrong with some kind of ball.” No
wonder you are so tired.
“That’s a great idea,” I replied.
“Thanks again.” “Sure.
I hope you find what you need.” “Me
too,” I flashed a smile in her direction.
“You have a nice afternoon.” “Mom
... Come on ...
We’re hot … Let’s go,” the impatient kids grumbled.
The
woman sighed and smiled at me. “I’ll
try.” I
glanced at the boys through the glass. Both
creatures stuck out their tongues and made faces at me through the window.
Is that how boys act? My
mother-in-law would never allow that kind of behavior.
William’s kids had to be different. An
hour later, I exited the store with a basketball goal, a basketball, three
gloves, a baseball bat, a baseball, a soccer ball, and, of course, two scooters
with all the safety equipment. In
all, it cost just under $500, but it was worth every penny.
It was my way of showing The
phone was ringing when I opened the kitchen door.
I grabbed the cordless handset and stared at the name. Kathryn
Hunter. “She
was furious,” he explained. “I
finally ordered her to have them dressed and ready for me by Ted
specialized in family law, so I was certain his advice to William was accurate. I
interrupted his mood to tell him about my shopping trip.
He sensed the enthusiasm in my voice as I described all the gifts I had
bought for the kids to play with. Immediately
his tone softened, “Thank you Jen. You
don’t know how much that means to me. I’ll
be home about six-fifteen – with the boys.” “Great!
I’m looking forward to meeting your kids.”
I meant it. Most
of my day had been spent adjusting to the idea of the twins living with us.
In my mind, I envisioned a wonderful Saturday playing with all of their
new things. On Sunday, we would
attend church. I imagined the buzz
as we walked into the sanctuary holding the hands of two fair-haired, green-eyed
little boys, but my dream was shattered the moment I saw them.
At
six-fifteen sharp, I approached the car and, for several breathless moments,
stared at William’s kids through the window.
When I made no movement to open the door, the boys unbuckled their
seatbelts and crawled from the vehicle. William
rushed to their side to make introductions, “Jen, this is John,” he placed
his right arm around the child’s shoulder and shielded the other boy under his
left arm, “and this one here, this is James.” “Nice
to meet you,” I mumbled, extending my hand for each boy to shake.
“Well,
what are we standing out here for? Come
on in,” William invited as he grabbed their duffle bags from the back seat and
the threesome made their way into the house.
I
followed behind in a daze. “I
thought we’d order pizza for dinner,” I commented.
“Do you eat pizza?” Their
heads bobbed up and down. “Drinks
are in the fridge. I’ll be right
back.” I
fled to the master bathroom, locked the door behind me, and splashed cold water
on my face. There is not a prejudiced bone in your body, Jennifer Hunter, so why are
you acting this way? It’s not
their fault. They are just two
scared little boys. “Jen?”
The hesitant voice behind the closed door interrupted my thoughts.
The door handle jiggled. “Can
I come in?” “I’ll
be out in a minute!” I snapped. “Please,
let me in. I’m sorry.
I should have told you, I just didn’t think it would matter.” I
flung the door open and glared at the stranger before me.
“Not matter! William, we
live in an all-white neighborhood. All
of our friends are white.” With
each word, the volume of my voice increased.
I was unable to control myself. “For
goodness sake, we even go to an all-white church.
How could you think it wouldn’t matter?”
“Keep
your voice down!” William
commanded as he took my arm, led me into the room, and closed the door behind
us. “Do you want them to hear you?” “No,
I don’t want them to hear me,” I responded through clinched teeth, “but, I
can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” “I
don’t know why I didn’t tell you! I’m
sorry, but they are still my children.” “I
know that. They have your eyes.
I just didn’t expect … I just didn’t … “
Tears
flooded my eyes, softening William’s response.
He took my face in his hands and gently wiped my tears as he spoke.
“Jen, I know it’s a shock. I
should have told you. I really am
sorry. Can’t you just give them a
chance?” Wham!
Somewhere in the house, a door slammed.
“You’d
better go see about them, William. I’ll
be out in a minute.” The
man I once knew, the man who feared nothing, left the room with head hung and
shoulders drooped in defeat. Oh
God, how can I be so cruel? I
peeped through the curtain to discover James and John sitting in the swing under
the huge oak tree in the backyard. They
should have been upset, but they were chatting and laughing as if nothing had
happened. I tried to convince myself
that they didn’t hear us, but I knew in my heart that the innocent children
had heard every word. I watched as
William sat between them and put his arm around their shoulders.
What
is wrong with you Jen? I
scolded myself. These
boys just lost their mother. I
wanted to reach out to them, but I didn’t know how.
Outside, in the cedar swing, a white father sat between his two dark
children as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
There was only one problem. It
wasn’t natural. I knew our
neighbors. There was nothing natural
about this situation. If they
stayed, our lives would never be the same again. I
located a pad of paper and scribbled a note.
William, I have a headache.
Gone to bed. Tell the boys I’ll see them tomorrow.
Jen. I attached the note
to the refrigerator before swallowing two Advil’s and crawling into bed. On
Saturday, we awoke at seven a.m. to the noise of clanging dishes in the kitchen.
William got up to check on the boys and returned a short time later.
“They made us breakfast,” he said as he sat beside me on the bed.
“Are you getting up?” I
rolled away from him and lied. “I
still have a headache. I’m going
to try to go back to sleep.” About
ten minutes later, I heard the back door slam.
I dressed and ventured from my room.
While loading the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, I studied them
through the bay window. They had
more of their father in them than I cared to admit.
Even at age nine, they were shaped like him with broad shoulders and a
stocky build. They ran like him,
jumped like him, and even laughed like him.
When they smiled, large dimples appeared in their cheeks – just like
their father. But there was one
thing about these kids that was nothing like William. The
dark children were identical twins. I
made a mental note to ask them to wear different colors so I could tell them
apart. They took to William
immediately. They were laughing and
playing as if they had always been together.
Without warning, they darted toward the back door; I rushed to the
laundry room. William would not
allow me to hide out all day, but I wasn’t ready to face them.
Not yet. A
short time later, William appeared in the doorway.
“We’re going to McDonalds for lunch.
You want to ride with us?” With
my back to the door, I continued to fold laundry.
“No thanks. I still have a
headache.” It was no longer a lie.
I had talked myself into a full-blown migraine. William
paused as if he wanted to say more, but changed his mind.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so then.” When
I didn’t respond, he left. I knew
my reaction was tearing him apart, but I couldn’t help it. I
was weary of beating myself up. Soon
after they left, I took two migraine tablets and lay across the bed.
Within moments, the pain reliever kicked in and I drifted off to sleep.
Hours
later, my slumber was interrupted by William screaming in my ear, “Jen, wake
up!” Even
though I sensed panic in his voice, I was slow to respond. “Get
up!” He shook me.
“ Still
half asleep, I found the first-aid kit and approached the screaming kid.
He was sitting on the sidewalk, hugging his knee, and rocking back and
forth, as the tears rinsed his filthy cheeks.
Blood gushed from the gaping wound and spilled onto the walkway.
I pulled a large gauze bandage from the kit and pressed it to his leg.
Turning
toward James, I yelled, “Hold this!” James
reluctantly placed his hand on the bandage.
“Press
hard!” I shoved his small hand
against the gauze. I
glanced at my husband. All the blood
had drained from his face and he looked like he might faint at any moment.
“ When
he disappeared, I scolded the injured boy. “ The
fearful eyes gaped at me, but the sobbing child did not respond.
When William reappeared with a towel, I wrapped it tightly around John’s
knee and twisted the ends together.
“Hold this in place while I get the car.” He
knelt beside the child and gripped the homemade bandage while I dashed into the
house, grabbed several towels, and laid them across the back seat before backing
out of the garage and parking the car beside them.
William lifted John gently while James held the towel in place.
“Be
careful,” I ordered as they crawled into the back seat.
“Don’t get blood on the carpet.” I
drove to the hospital while For
several minutes I sat in the parked car and stared into space.
God, help me.
Please help me. How can I be
so uncaring? When
I entered the building, I was met by the desk nurse. “Go
on back honey. Your family is in
Room 105. Just go through those
doors and turn right.” Immediately,
my ears encountered screaming, “I want my Mama! No!
Don’t touch me! I want my
Mama!” I
ran down the hallway toward the terrified voice. “It’s
okay “I
… I … want my Mama!” His voice
trembled. I
wrapped my arms around the small frame. “I’m
here now. I’ll take care of you.” The
nurse attempted to lift the towel and look at the knee.
“No
it hurts,” John cried, gripping the towel as he yelled.
“It really hurts.” I
took his tiny face in my hands. “Look
at me, “You
promise?” His pleading voice
pierced my heart. “I
promise.” I
glanced at “Are
you sure? I can stay back here with At
that moment, wild horses could not have pulled me from that child.
“I’m positive. Go on.
William
took James by the hand and led him from the room as I turned to the other twin.
“John, look at me sweetie.” He
stared into my eyes. The
nurse lifted the towel and blood spurted on the floor.
“He’s
going to need stitches,” she informed me as she grabbed a clean bandage and
placed it on the wound. “I
don’t want no stitches. Please!”
John grabbed the front of my shirt,
pulled me closer to his face, and begged, “Please don’t let ‘em put
stitches in me.” “John.
Sweetie, listen to me.
It’s not going to hurt.” Remembering
the kids from the parking lot, I quickly added, “I’ll tell you what.” His
lip quivered. “Wh … wh … what?” “If
you let them fix your knee, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.
You do like ice cream, don’t you?” He
shook his head. “Okay!
It’s a deal.” “Deal!”
Without
hesitation, I spat into my hand and took his small brown hand in mine.
When
the doctor entered the room, John grabbed both of my hands as tears slipped down
his face. “I’m scared,” he
cried. “I
know baby. I’m scared too, but I’ll
hold your hand the whole time. You
just keep your eyes on me. Okay?” The
doctor rolled his chair in front of John as the child’s grip tightened around
my fingers. I watched the doctor
stick the long needle into the child’s knee and tears filled my eyes. “Don’t
you know? Mommies always cry when
their babies are hurt.” While
the doctor stitched the damaged knee and taped the bandage in place, mother and
child clung tightly to each other. After
several moments, the doctor patted his arm.
“You are a very brave boy.” A
huge smile filled I
stroked the depression with my finger and asked, “Do you know that you look
just like your daddy?” In
the open doorway, I
turned toward |
Last modified: July 06, 2007
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