The First Ninety DaysPart 14 free porn video

Day 75

At the sound of the doorbell, Jon jolted from his chair. Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep? Or had he simply zoned out somehow? That last was getting more and more common; he would awaken at work with no recollection of what he had been doing. Just today he had found himself in his car, the motor idling, in front of his parents' house, fumbling for a garage-door opener that was no longer there, while his confused parents knocked on his windshield in the twilight. He hoped he wasn't going insane. He had enough problems as it was.

"Good evening," said Meredith Chambers. "I hope we're— Goodness, Jon, you look terrible. Have you been sleeping?"

"Uhh," said Jon, trying to make his voice less gravelly and not particularly succeeding. "Come on in."

She and Brandon did, with Christa and Zach bringing up the rear. There was no sign of Laurelyn; perhaps she'd been left with the friend Sarah Prescott, or maybe even with her grandparents. "So!" said Zach. "Two weeks until the big day, huh?"

"Uhh," said Jon. His brain felt like tar. "What?"

"Your wedding reception," Meredith said patiently. "It's two weeks from tomorrow. Caitlyn asked us to come up because we offered to help with the planning and organization. Where is she, anyway?"

Jon looked at her guileless face; at the equally bland expression on Brandon's. Then he looked at the Cranes. "Who told you."

"Who told us what?" Christa said.

"Hey, man, we're not blind," Zach said. "We've been in practice with you. You're like a walking zombie. But you didn't seem to want to talk about it. So we didn't ask."

"Instead you just showed up?" said Jon.

"Well, we were invited," said Zach.

"By Caitlyn," Meredith said. "Where is she, anyway? Caitlyn!" She descended into the rest of the apartment. "Caitl— Is she not here?"

"I see her backpack," Christa said. "We saw both of your cars when we came in. Jon, what's going on?"

"Have you been sleeping on the couch?" Zach exclaimed. "What is going on?"

Jon decided to tell them. It was four simple words: Caitlyn has left me. They weren't all that hard to say; in fact, he had said them—each of them individually, of course—many times in his life. He was capable of saying these words. He had never strung them together in quite that order before, of course, but he was sure he was up to the challenge. It was just four words.

He opened his mouth. What came out of it was, "... Oh God."

Then there was no more speech for a while, because he was crying, as the enormity of it all settled over him. Caitlyn has left me. His wife, his light; all his hopes and dreams of the future had walked out the door and never returned. He wasn't even sure she missed him.

When he could look up again, Christa and Brandon were sitting on the couch to either side of him. Meredith had pulled over a chair from the kitchen table, and Zach was on the futon.

"Okay," said Christa. "Let's start from the beginning. What happened?"

"I ... We ... We had a difference of opinion."

"And that's why she's not here anymore?"

" ... It was a big difference."

Christa gave a cracked smile. "I hadn't noticed."

Slowly, with many fits and starts, they walked him through it. He found himself repeating himself, mis-remembering, having to go back and change his mind. The truth was that he'd been in denial this whole time—he'd even taken to sleeping on the couch, because it was easier than going back to that empty bed. Sometimes, passing through to go to the bathroom, he thought he could still smell her—sometimes the smell of her sex, sometimes her shampoo, sometimes even the faint reddish scent of her skin.

It was easier to avoid the bed.

People knew something was wrong, of course; there was no way to avoid that, what with his zoning out every few minutes in the middle of God-knew-what. His coworkers had asked him about it, and while he'd only said that there were some issues at home, they knew enough to read between the lines. After all, this was the guy who'd had the opera singer sent by his wife; he was regionally famous now, enough for them to have some context. Many of them had stopped to offer their sympathy and support—his fellow trainees, some of the actual medical technicians, even a couple doctors.

One of the other technicians had the unfortunate name of Gretchen Webster, but she brought a lot of spunk to the role; she was slender, with wavy blonde hair and a frequent smile. She had been very solicitous of Jon ever since he'd come in on Wednesday like a zombie, and didn't seem to mind going out of her way to be helpful to him. When Caitlyn had told him about her little adventures with flirting at school, and asked him if there was anyone who caught his eye at work, it had been Gretchen who came to mind: upbeat, charming, never outside the bounds of propriety but always with that twinkle of mischief in her eye. She was Jon's kind of woman, and while she had been completely proper up until now, Jon could read between the lines. She was going to make some man very happy someday, and Jon found himself realizing that, under different circumstances, he might have been that man. Maybe this is who I would've married if it weren't for Caitlyn. Maybe this is what my future was going to look like.

But she was so ... Unworldly. He would look at her perfect face and her perfect white teeth and wonder if she had ever worked a day in her life. There was a certain maturity necessary to make relationships work—both a willingness to bend and a willingness to stand up for oneself. He wasn't sure she had either of them; how could she, when it seemed like she'd never so much as stubbed her toe over the course of her life? She had perfect clothes, perfect parents, a perfect job, a perfect car ... She wasn't real; there was nothing behind that facade that didn't seem like it would crack at the first blow of the hammer. She didn't have the steel that came from long years of gritting through pain. She wasn't...

She wasn't Caitlyn.

"So, to summarize," Christa was saying. "You said that Caitlyn needs to be more defensive, and less prone to just letting people take advantage of her. And Caitlyn said that you need to be a better Christian—specifically, more open to the presence of God in your life, and to how He manifests through other people."

"That sounds about right," Jon said.

"And you ... Didn't want to?"

" ... Well, when you put it that way it sounds really lame."

"Well, maybe it is really lame," Christa said, giving him a look. "Jon, are you really saying that it's a good idea to be closed to new experiences?"

"Well ... Not all experiences are good," Jon protested.

"Nonsense," Brandon said. "Experiences are what you make of them. Every cloud has a silver lining."

"Yeah, but every silver lining has a cloud," Jon said.

"And there you have it," Brandon said. "Jonathan Stanford, you are officially fucked. No matter what you do, there is a cloud associated with it. And since your objective is to avoid the clouds, that means you better not leave this apartment ever again. —Oh, wait: if you stay here, you'll run out of food. But then, if you eat food, you might get cancer, so you might as well not eat. And maybe you shouldn't sleep either, since you could roll out of bed and break your neck."

"What my husband is trying to say," Meredith said, "is that you can't avoid the clouds. Jonathan, bad things happen. The question isn't whether they do; the question is what you can get out of them."

"Yeah, but ... It's hard to do that," Jonathan said. "It's hard to be ... I dunno, to be so open-minded that you can see past the cloud to the silver lining. It's not just something I can pick up and suddenly start doing."

"So you're not even going to try?" Christa said.

"Is..." It ended up sounding more plaintive than he'd intended. "Is it worth it?"

"Jon, only you can answer that," Christa said. "But what do you think? Don't you think life might be easier if you can look at it from a positive standpoint? Don't you think things might be better if, when someone comes to you with something, you aren't asking yourself whether you need to protect yourself from them? And what you might be able to gain from it?"

"Well, by Caitlyn's example, I might be able to get myself worked to death," Jon said. "I know you guys never see it, and it's a lot better now that she's out of her parents' house, but ... It's like she doesn't know how to say No."

"Why not?" Christa said.

"I don't know. I ... I think it's just too much in her personality. This need to ... To live up to other people's expectations."

"And you find that dangerous?" Meredith said.

"Isn't it?" said Brandon. "How soon before someone comes up and asks you for something you'd rather not give, but you're not used to saying no so you give it?"

"She never had any problems with saying no to Jon when they were dating," Meredith protested. "Remember? They didn't do it until they got married."

"So," Brandon said, turning to Jon. "Something that caused you 18 months of celibacy, and you want to reinforce it?"

Jon grimaced. "What is this, Tell Jon He's Stupid Day?"

"Yes," Brandon said.

Jon turned away, helpless. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"And while we're at it, what's wrong with Christianity," Christa said. "It's about calling people to a higher standard of behavior. I'd think you of all people would support that."

"Yes, but ... I'm not sure I like this standard," Jon said.

"What's wrong with it," Christa said, but Meredith asked, "Why not?"

Jon looked at her. "Well, just ... There's so much stuff piled on. I mean, I'm okay with Christ..."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Brandon said. "You don't get into Christianity because you're a fan of the Pope or something. You do it because you generally believe in God and specifically believe in Jesus. You think he had the right idea."

Jon felt a chill at hearing his own words given back to him.

"If you think Jesus had the right idea, then what's holding you back," Brandon asked him.

"Well ... Because of the other stuff piled on. Okay, so I admire Jesus, so I think his is the right way to live. That doesn't make me Christian enough for the other Christians."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with your faith?" Zach said. "Your faith isn't something you wear on your sleeve so others can judge you for it. Your faith is between you and God."

"And, while there are people who think you should wear your faith on your sleeve, so they can judge you for it," Meredith said, "you can safely tell them to jump off a cliff. In a respectful and Christ-like manner, of course."

"You know, we never did work out how that phrase applies," Zach remarked.

"It's like a relationship," Christa said. "Only three people ever know the truth about what goes on in a relationship: the two people in it, and God. And sometimes one of the people in it is behind the times. Well, faith is your relationship with God. And this time there's only two people in it."

"And sometimes one of them is still behind the times," Zach said.

"So, yes, there are people who will judge you," Christa said. "But weren't you just talking about how important it is to say No to people? If they do judge you, you can say No to them."

"No what?" Jon said.

"No, you can't judge me. No, you don't know the whole story. And no, it isn't your business anyway."

"Then how come Caitlyn gets to judge me on it," Jon said. It was a little more bitter than he'd intended.

"No one said Caitlyn was doing the right thing," Meredith said. "Ideally, she would be loving and supportive, and accept you as you are. That would certainly be the Christlike thing to do. But an ideal is exactly that—something to strive for, but not necessarily something one ever achieves."

"And while she may be going about it the wrong way, but that doesn't mean she's wrong," Zach said. "Jon, do you think it's worth it to become more in touch with God?—so that you can be a good influence on the world?"

Obviously, there was no way Jon could have said No to that; but even if there was, he wouldn't have said it anyway.

"Then why don't you?" Zach said.

"Especially if it'll bring Caitlyn back," Christa said. "Do you want this split to become permanent, Jon? Would you like to separate from her?"

"How can you even ask me that," Jon retorted. "If Zach left you, how would you feel?"

"Then why don't you?" Christa asked.

"I ... Be ... Because..."

They were silent, listening.

"Because I just don't believe," Jon said quietly.

They said nothing.

"The idea of someone, of ... Of some force, some benevolent character who will always love you, who ... Who is always there for you ... I just don't believe that. I try to be it, but God only knows that I don't succeed, and ... And the one person who, who I thought might be it..." He sniffed to clear his nose. "She's gone. And when I look at ... Well, I mean, look at my life. I never had that kind of love growing up; my parents were like Caitlyn's. Maybe not quite as bad, but ... They still used their love for me to manipulate me, to control me. The idea of unconditional love ... Of someone who loves me without having an agenda ... I'm just not sure I can believe in it."

"I can understand that," said Meredith. "My parents were the same way."

"As were mine," said Brandon.

Zach and Christa looked at each other. "Sheesh," said Zach, "we sure lucked out!"

"I think parents may be one of the most powerful influences in forming a child's faith," Meredith said. "Because, you're right: they do seem to ... I dunno, to almost personify God to a young child. They're who we look to for proof that these values work. And if we don't see it..."

"Though that isn't to say that you're crippled," Brandon said. "Isn't that the whole point of the evangelical experience? People being brought into their faith during their maturity. From which we learn that faith isn't limited to being taught; it can also be learned."

"Assuming you're open to it, of course," Christa said. "'Lead a horse to water' and all that."

"Yeah, but, just ... That's exactly my point," Jon said. "About parents being one of the most powerful representations of God in a person's life. That's important to me. I don't think there's anything more important than, than being a good parent, then raising your kids well. It's what I live for. It's why I married Caitlyn. Whatever else happens, I want to do a good job ... And, I thought she did too."

"So, let me get this straight," Brandon said. "It's important to you to be a good and positive presence-of-God in the lives of your hypothetical children ... And, with that in mind, you refuse to know God, and get better at living out His presence in others' lives. Okay. That will totally help you achieve your stated goal of being a good father."

"It's not God I have a problem with, it's religion," Jon said.

"Then don't catch it," Brandon said.

"You make it sound like a disease," Meredith said, amused.

"It is if you believe Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash," Brandon said.

"Honey, I've caught the religion," Zach quipped.

Christa slapped him on the leg. "Wear a condom next time!"

"What precisely are you scared of?" Brandon said. "What's holding you back? Are you worried about being a Christian ... Or are you worried about not being enough Christian to please Caitlyn?"

"Or are you worried about being too much Christian and turning out like your parents," Meredith said. "Because you don't have to worry about that. Haven't we just been talking about how good you are at saying No?"

"I think that's why you're so insistent that Caitlyn learn to say it," Christa said. "Because she's so willing to say Yes to things, and because she gets so ... Caught up. In just saying Yes, yes, yes all the time."

"Which, I'm sure, is good in the bedroom," Meredith said with a completely straight face.

"Except for when she wants me to tie her up," Jon grumbled.

"You want her to be able to say No," Christa said, "because, to you, that's important to being a good parent: knowing how to judge for yourself. Not just doing things because you're expected to or because someone tells you it's the right thing to do. Knowing how to think for yourself."

"Do you really think she just follows blindly?" Brandon said. "Because I don't mind telling you, Caitlyn has always struck me as a very free-thinking, independent woman. I don't think she has any trouble turning outside ideas down."

"Yes, but what if Christianity is 'outside ideas'?" Jon said. "What if Christian religion is, I mean, since we've evidently agreed that faith in God would be for the best."

"Have we, now," said Christa, smiling.

"Then that's what you're there for," Meredith said. "As long as the two of you are able to discuss it, you know, objectively. I don't know how important her faith is to her—"

"It's very important," Jon said.

"—but as long as you guys can keep the discussion limited to—how do I say this—personal practices and practical applications, as opposed to yelling at each other about disagreements in belief, you should probably be able to work it out. Caitlyn's a reasonable person. You wouldn't've married her otherwise."

"And," said Brandon, "if it's important to you to become a better person, and a better father ... Well, you know what to do."

"Do you ever pray?" Christa asked.

"Not ... Not really," Jon said. He'd been taught to kneel and put his hands together; it seemed so childish now.

"Maybe you should try it," Christa said. "It's like meditation, almost. And it's also like saying No," she added, smiling. "You tell all the other distractions to shove off and just focus on what's important to you. And you bring those things to God and listen to what He says."

"And what if He doesn't say anything?"

"Then listen to your ownself," Christa said. "God created you; He loves you. You have at least a little of His Divine Wisdom, Jon. (Heck, knowing you, you probably have quite a lot.) Sometimes God doesn't answer when you pray to Him ... But sometimes, He doesn't need to."

"Can I trust Him?" Jon said. "Every other person I've ever trusted ... My parents, my friends ... They've all let me down. They've all—"

"Even us?" said Christa, surprised.

Meredith touched her gently on the arm. "It happens. Maybe it's inevitable. You know you've hurt me before, and I you, and we're closer to each other than we are to him. It's nothing personal."

"No, it isn't," Jon agreed, "but ... It's not a good track record. I just ... I just don't know if I can believe," Jon said. "In a God that loves me. Everyone I've ever trusted ... I don't know if I can rely on anyone except myself."

Brandon gave him a calm, direct look. "Have you tried?"

They asked him if there was anything in the apartment Caitlyn might need, and he gave them her backpack and a few other things—toiletries, toothbrush, the like. Then they left. The apartment was empty again. They had given him a great deal to think about, though, so while Jon was alone with his thoughts, those thoughts were more than enough of a crowd.

Almost everything that had been said had been a new idea to him, or at least a new angle on an old idea. He realized he had probably become stuck in his ways; he had lost touch with what other people were thinking, and begun to drift further and further into more radical territory. That was prone to happen, of course, in isolation; it was proven psychology. But Jon had never really thought it might happen to him.

Jesus. I'm getting old. How long until my first gray hair?

So. Christianity, starting over. Without prior misconceptions. Without prior conceptions of any sort.

The first Christians were the disciples. Jesus called them, and they came. They believed in what he was doing. That's still true today—you aren't a Christian unless you believe. And unless you're willing to express that belief.

Is that was Caitlyn was complaining about? Because, sure, it's easy to say that Jesus was a good guy, that you agree with him ... But less hard to act it. Less hard to live it. Have I been living it?

Immediately his brain started to protest. Phrasing it that way made it sound like Jon had been living a bad life, one filled with vice and iniquity. Jon silenced that voice as well as he could. It was true that he had been living as moral and virtuous a life as he could, and trying to do as much good as possible; and there was dignity in that. But it wasn't the same as trying to follow Jesus.

Human life is so selfish. If left to our own devices we just do whatever the heck makes the most sense to us—hurt this person, take this stuff, sleep with this lady. No thought of consequences. No thought of love. We live for ourselves and for no one else. But that's how we know that Jesus was a divine influence: he encourages us to transcend our mere humanity. He wants us to be more than just plain old selfish human. He wants us to care about others more than we care about ourselves. He wants us to ... Love.

Caring about others more than he cared about himself was something Jon was very familiar with. It was what he felt about Caitlyn, to be certain; and there were others in his life—not many, but some—for whom he wouldn't hesitate to drop everything and go to their aid. Four of them had been in this apartment not half an hour ago. And it was how he felt about his children too, hypothetical though they might be: once they were born, there must be no higher priority in his life. This part of the territory, at least, he understood.

But what about people like Harold? It was clear what Jesus would call him to do: to love this person anyway, no matter how unlovable Jon might find him to be. But doing so would only open Jon to further aggravation and annoyance. Where's the virtue in doing something stupid like that? I have no idea whether he's ever gonna change.

And yet wasn't that what everyone had been telling him? That there was hope of change, and that Jon shouldn't give up. That sometimes what you saw wasn't the entire story. That there was hope of change.

I don't know if I believe that people can change.

Well, you better, because if you don't, you're never getting your wife back.

Could he give God a chance? Could he give the world a chance?

Jon got on his knees and clasped his hands together, as he had been taught by his parents from beyond time immemorial. But the pose felt juvenile to him, and he had done it insincerely so often that he couldn't believe in its power anymore. This is not for me. Not anymore.

Casting around for a suitable pose, he found himself sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, his hands clasped in his lap, his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Our Father... No, that was meaningless too. He felt a moment of frustration that Caitlyn wasn't here. Surely she'd have some ideas. God, why isn't she here? Right when I need her the most, too...

What had Christa said? Focus on what was important to him, and bring that to God. All right. What was important to him? How was he supposed to approach God?

The answer to the first question was easy. Caitlyn. She was everything he wanted his life to be. He supposed that, if push came to shove, he could let this separation occur. He could give up; he could move on. He could divorce her, and go on to marry ... Who? He tried to picture such a future, and all he saw was an empty, misty gap where some unknown woman would presumably go.

That isn't for me. It was really that simple. That isn't for me. My future lies with Caitlyn Delaney now ... One way or the other.

But how was he to go to God with that? It wasn't like writing a letter to Santa Claus or anything. Dear Santa, I want my wife back. Please leave her in my stocking on the chimney... Right, like that was gonna work.

He suddenly realized the synchronicity of it all. Isn't this a sign that this is the right path for me?—that I can't do it without Caitlyn. That I have to do it, whether or not she's there to help me. Or is it a sign that Caitlyn is the right woman for me—that the right choice is to stay with her? (As if I could ever do anything else... )

What do you think?

He suddenly realized that, though his eyes were closed, his face was upturned, as though oriented to some distant heaven. He felt like a radar dish, scouring the skies for faint signs of life ... And yet it seemed right to him. Wasn't that where he had been left?

What do you think, God?

I know this is the right path for me. I think that's been bludgeoned into my head by now—by Caitlyn, by my friends. By You, since clearly all those things were the sound of You trying to tell me something. But ... I don't know if I can walk it. It's scary, to put my trust in someone else's hands. It's scary, to put my life in someone else's hands. And, to me (as I'm sure You know) they're much the same thing. I'm not saying I can't or won't try, I'm just saying ... It's scary. It's something new and different, and every time I've tried it in the past, it just ... It hasn't worked out.

Will you help me? If I give it a try ... Will you help me?

He didn't know how he knew, only that he did; only that suddenly, it seemed easy. That with so many friends helping him, with so many factors lined up in his favor, it must be nearly impossible to fail. He could do this. He would do this. It was what he was called to; it was what he was meant for. To live as well as possible, to love as well as possible ... To follow Jesus. To turn the other cheek. To have faith in the world. To believe ... That there is hope.

The feeling faded, and he became aware of the pain in his bent back and folded legs.

Jon sighed. Maybe I can do it. But I guess it won't be easy. And I'd better start now, before I lose my nerve.

He had an hour or so before he needed to sleep. Caitlyn had left her copy of the Bible. He got up, opened it to the Book of Matthew, and began to read.

Day 78

When her alarm went off, Caitlyn woke up with no idea of where she was. She didn't recognize the noise of the alarm clock, and there was an unfamiliar ceiling above her, and what looked like a fringe of Beanie Babies peeking over the rim of a shelf. She was low to the ground, not waist-high the way she preferred her beds, and somehow she felt as though she were backwards—as though her head should be where her feet were. And there were distant noises like dishware being used, which wasn't right for this time in the morning.

Then she realized she was at home, in her parents' house, in her old room. The room she had lived in for 14 years. The room that had been hers ... Until she met Jon.

She was in a sleeping bag on a squashy air mattress, and there was no question about it—she was backwards. When her bed was here, the headboard had been where her feet were. But the bed was not here; she and Jon had taken it when they moved to her apartment. She was wearing one of her oversize T-shirts, one that reached halfway down her thighs; she had left them here when she moved, and now was somewhat regretting it. Only now did she realize just how naked she felt when sleeping with nothing on, husband in bed with her or not. Besides, the T-shirt was truly voluminous, probably large enough for her and Jon to wear together if for some reason they decided to do so; there would have been plenty of room for him to slide a hand up to clasp a breast, the way he always seemed to. She had a feeling it was simply unconscious, that he couldn't stop if he wanted to. She had never felt confined by his embrace; in some ways, it made her feel free.

The shirt had twisted in the night, and clung now to her body. It was like Jon that way.

She wasn't wearing panties—why, she had no idea, except that they would have gotten in the way while she was still with her husband, in a way that the T-shirt would not. That was why they had given up on wearing clothes to bed in the first place—why bother, when all you did was sleep in them? And sometimes not even then, if one or the other of them should get amorous before slumber took them. It was far easier for him to have his way with her if she just wore nothing; far easier for him to simply slip up into her from behind as they spooned together. Far easier for her to take him inside her with nothing in the way; nothing even to have to worry about taking off.

All these thoughts were making her horny. She wished her husband was with her. She wished she had some form of relief. Maybe if she touched herself ... No, not here, in her parents' house; not with the alarm going off, which her mother had undoubtedly overheard. She wouldn't feel comfortable and relaxed here, the way she needed to for orgasm; she also had a feeling that all the fumbling around and experimenting would just frustrate her even further. How long would it take to give herself an orgasm? Far longer than she had, certainly—here in this stranger's house with this new alarm clock going off, in this uncomfortable sleeping bag and this swath of shirt. Even if she had had a husband here, she doubted she would feel comfortable enough to entertain sex.