by Nelson
Nelson was right. I hated to admit it but damn it, he was. In retrospect, I even had to ask myself, what the hell was I thinking?
It was a simple case of one thing leading to another until I went from just pushing it a little bit on one front to being neck-deep in trouble. Emphasis on the word "deep". It couldn't be helped! I was trying to do a good thing and it didn't work out quite like I wanted it to. That was all, plain and simple.
"What the heck happened?" I hear you asking. I'll tell you. I guess I need to start at the beginning or you aren't going to know straight up what the devil I'm talking about. So, here goes… Buckle up, boys and girls. It's going to be a bumpy ride.
Nelson and I knuckled under and got our taxes filed post-haste this year, having decided what we wanted to do with part of the money if we got enough back in a refund. Now, all of you know that a good chunk of it was going to savings; that's just Nelson's way. Well, this year we had enough for savings and our other plans.
"I can't believe we're actually getting it," I uttered in awe as I stared at it in admiration. Everything else around us disappeared in its wondrous glow; reduced by its splendor, humbled by its beauty.
"We're due a new one, don't you think?" Nelson asked, his own eyes fixed on our prize.
"Definitely."
You've probably guessed. It was a brand new, 37-inch, HDTV, LCD monitor television for the bedroom, complete with 16:9 aspect ratio, a contrast ratio of 1000:1
But I gush.
For the last God-knows-how-many years, we've been squinting at a 20-inch television in the bedroom. Yes, a 20-inch. I know they say size isn't everything, but we all know that's a load of crap. If you think the 20-inch was bad, we considered it an upgrade from the 13-inch that went belly-up before we got that one. Needless to say, we were overdue for a decent TV in the bedroom. We toyed with keeping the 20-inch and replacing our monster of a widescreen in the living room with a new plasma or LCD. Since we like to spend a lot of time in the bedroom – insert blush here – we decided to dump the little TV.
Now, we'd never leave the bedroom. (I'm thinking "woohoo" right about now, but I don't want to say it because you might think I'm cheap. How's "yay"?)
We were so excited when we brought it home, thrilled even. It barely fit in the trunk, it was so big! We made it fit, then Nelson and I hauled the new TV upstairs, trying to keep from stepping on Cujo as we did it. It didn't take long to move the little TV out of the way and hook everything up to the new one.
I took to the new remote like a duck to water and as soon as the TV came to life, I was surfing. The picture was great but still not anywhere near up to the standards it would be if we had an HD receiver.
"I think we should get one," I recommended.
Nelson's brow furrowed as he considered it. "I don't know, Zach. They only have a few channels that are in HD and aside from the receiver costing us $200, we'd have to pay $10 more a month for about 12 or 15 extra channels."
"We should at least consider it," I pushed.
"We can consider it. It looks good, doesn't it?"
Nice segue by Nelson to a safer subject that didn't cost more money. I studied all 37 inches of the spectacular TV sitting atop our ancient monstrous television stand.
"It will look even better when we get it on the wall," I observed.
"Two more weeks. We can stand it where it is that long."
But could we? Could we really? Why should we wait for professional installers to hang it when I was perfectly capable of handling the job myself? Granted, I had never installed one, but it couldn't be that difficult, could it? I had spent the evening before studying the user's manual and I really believed I could handle it. Get it up on the wall, anyway. That part seemed to be a cinch. I was smart enough not to broach the subject right away. I needed time to mull it over and work on my presentation.
The next morning, I toyed with various ways to approach Nelson about it. I had to do it just right to get him to take the bait. We had already paid for professional installation, but I was certain we could get the money back. Hell, we could put the $50 toward the receiver if we decided to get that, too. I went through several different options for sharing my idea with Nelson and came up with the perfect one, the one I knew he'd go for. The one, when presented properly, he could never reply with a –
"No."
Well, damn. He didn't even pause to think about it!!
"Why not? I'm not going to fool with the wiring, just get the mount thingy on the wall and hang the TV. It's light enough for me to handle it myself."
"No, Zach. We've paid for installation and we can wait. It's fine sitting on the old TV stand for two weeks."
"That's too long to wait," I groused. I plopped heavily into a kitchen chair, crossing my arms over my chest in aggravation. "There's no reason I can't do it myself. We have the mount already."
He stopped chunking his spoon into his cereal to look me square in the eye. "I said no."
He did that thing where he pauses with his eyebrows up, his personal radar zeroing in to see if it can get a read on my level of understanding and willingness to comply. I was around a three.
"But it says --"
"I said *no*."
"—that it's fast and easy," I finished, despite being so rudely interrupted by Nelson talking over me.
I can't even begin to tell you how hard it was to keep from looking away. Nelson has the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. Usually soft and gentle. But they can get iron hard in seconds and they were at Titanium strength right about then. God love him, he wanted to make a point, but good for me, I didn't lose my ground. I sat there looking purely innocent and perfectly within my rights to maintain my position.
Nelson shot that down with three little words.
"I mean it."
There you have it. It might not seem like much but those three little words pack a lot of meaning, and potentially, a lot of punch. First, they're saying he means no. End of discussion, non-negotiable, "no" means no and nothing else. Second, they convey Nelson's willingness to expand on the meaning of the word 'no' in case I'm the least bit fuzzy on it.
We sat there staring at each other in a silent stand-off, neither one daring to flinch or give in. Nelson's eyes narrowed as he gathered his forces. I could nearly see them assembling behind his eyes.
After several long hours – er, minutes – of tense quiet, Nelson cleared his throat. A sure sign that he was about to say something profound. Something more than "I mean it". Something I wasn't going to want to hear.
"Are we going to have to have a round this morning?"
Uh, hell no. That won't be necessary. Thanks anyway. I didn't need to ask "a round of what". When Nelson says "round", he isn't talking about something cylindrical. He isn't talking about something circular. He isn't talking about boxing, either. He's talking about an ugly scene where he reminds me that when we disagree, he gets to have the final say.
"No, sir," I relented, as my compliance level shot up from a three to an 8 1/2. It wasn't worth the fight.
I saw him relax and the steel in his eyes slipped from Titanium to Aluminum. "Good," he said, softening a bit. "I know it seems like a long time to wait for the professionals to come install it, but we want it done right, don't we?"
"Yeah," I muttered ungraciously.
"Neither of us knows the first thing about wiring or hanging TVs so it's best to wait."
It sounded so logical. So simple. I nodded half-heartedly and reached for the box of Cheerios.
"Besides, it isn't like we can't watch it for two weeks," he continued. "It just has to stay on the stand we have now."
"It would be nice to get it all done and get that big stand out of the bedroom, though."
"I know. And we will, but not for two weeks. Ok?"
I sighed really loud so he'd know I was not happy about agreeing no matter what came out of my mouth. "Ok."
I really meant to do what he told me. I truly did. I was being stubborn, though. I knew it but I couldn't help it. Even as I kissed him goodbye and wished him a good day, I knew he'd have a decidedly bad day if he had any inkling as to what I was considering.
It started simply enough. I wasn't going to actually hang the TV – that would be disobedient. I was just going to find the stud. That was all. Then I was going to drill the holes. That was all. I figured if I got the holes drilled and everything prepped, it wouldn't take much coaxing to get Nelson to let me hang it when he got home. If I didn't actually hang it, then it wasn't really disobeying, see?
I had a thought before I started drilling, though. "Great," you're saying. "We knew you'd come to your senses."
Hang on a sec. I haven't said what the thought was yet.
"Max? How are you?" I greeted through the phone.
"I'm good, Zach. What are you up to?" Nelson's dad replied.
"Well, I'm trying to hang this new TV on the wall, but…"
"I thought you guys paid for installation," he remembered. God, I know where Nelson gets his flawless memory.
"We did, but they can't come for two weeks. I'd love to get this done today while I have time but Nelson's working and…well…"
"Are you trying to do the wiring yourself?"
"No, I haven't really gotten too far and I don't know the first thing about wiring."
"You've come to the right place. You want me to come help you?"
I grinned in victory. "Would you mind?"
"Not at all," he offered. "It'll give me something to do."
It wasn't totally disobeying, you see. Nelson didn't want me doing it by myself because I didn't know what I was doing. His dad knew what *he* was doing, though, and Nelson couldn't get mad when his dad was involved. Dads trumped everyone. *Everyone*.
Nelson would probably be pleased that I had such an industrious idea and involved his dad. In fact, he would probably be kicking himself for not thinking of it before.
Or not. Even as my intestines twisted anxiously, my head did its best to convince my gut that I wasn't going to get in trouble. I was hanging onto the hope that while Nelson might be a bit on the displeased side, he wouldn't be flat-out pissed off at me. Sure, I'd probably get lines or a good chewing out. Maybe even an exasperated swat, but I was confident that would be it. Yeah, no biggie.
Max was there in record time, toolbox in tow.
"I wasn't sure what you had and didn't have," he explained, "so I brought my stuff. Hey there, Cujo."
Cujo's tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he turned his head into Max's thick fingers while they scratched behind Cujo's ears.
"Great," I smiled. "I already found the stud but I didn't start drilling yet. I wasn't sure if I was in the right place for the wiring. I don't know anything about that stuff."
"I got it covered," he said confidently. "We might need to run out to Home Depot, but I have most of what we might need, if not all."
"Why didn't you ever teach Nelson all this stuff?" I asked as we climbed the stairs, Cujo running ahead.
"I tried. He wasn't interested and didn't have a need, really. I learned the hard way when Mary and I hardly had a pot to pee in. I had to do all the handyman work as it came up."
I laughed at his word choice. It was more like something I'd say than what his son would. On the other hand, Nelson was the spitting image of his dad. Big and blonde even if most of what Max had was gray, especially around the temples. I wondered again as I often did if I was looking future-forward at the image of my lover. They were definitely from the same mold, no doubt about it.
I stood back and watched as Max checked out what we had going on behind the TV stand.
The expert spoke. "Looks like we'll need a doohickey up top behind the TV and an outlet. Connect the whatchamajig to the whosit, then we can plug the thingy to the whatsit and we'll be done."
?????????????
That's not what he said exactly, but he might as well have because I had no idea what he was talking about. I seriously needed a Hanging TVs for Dummies book.
I answered as best I could. "Whatever you say, Max."
He laughed and pulled out some things from his toolbox, whether they were doohickies or whatsits, I couldn't tell. "We're going to need a whirligig from Home Depot so we can connect the whatchamacallit," he explained.
I'm paraphrasing again, but you get the picture. We made a quick run to Home Depot and within two hours, we had the TV hung. I actually learned what a whatchamajig was. It's the little thingy that sort of looks like an outlet but has a cable whatsit instead of prong holes.
Max was a whiz. He expertly handled every ugly wire, all hidden within the bowels of our bedroom wall. The TV hung there like a beautiful piece of artwork. It was a gorgeous thing. Nelson was going to be so pleased that his dad and I were able to get this done and save the money on installation!
Or not. But I was going to do my level best to point out all the positives of my decision. He'd likely point out that it wasn't *my* decision to make on my own and possibly throw in something about doing it behind his back, but I'd worry about that when the time came. He couldn't be but so mad at me. It looked great!
"What are you going to do with the old TV and the stand?" Max inquired.
"We're going to put it in the rec room in the basement."
"I'd help you move that thing, but my back wouldn't forgive me if I did," he apologized as he put a hand to the small of his back.
"You've done enough! I couldn't ask you to do anything else. Nelson and I will get this moved," I told him as I tried to pick up a corner of the furniture. Damn thing was heavy as lead. "Do you want some lunch? I'll treat if you want to go out."
"You don't have to treat, but I'd like some lunch. How about Denny's?"
Ick. Voted Senior Citizen's favorite restaurant, winning by a slim margin just ahead of every all-you-can-eat buffet out there. But he had done enough for me; I sure wasn't going to be picky about where he wanted to eat lunch.
Max perused the Denny's menu and complained about the limited over 55 section, citing a variety of a whopping three options for lunch, none of which were what he wanted.
"Get what you want," I urged him. "It doesn't have to be off that menu."
"I'm due some perks for living past 55. I feel like I have to order off this menu."
I laughed at his logic. "Do whatever you want. I'm having the Jalapeño Burger."
"I couldn't eat that," Max replied, holding a hand to his stomach. "I'd pay for days."
My own stomach clenched but not from the prospect of having jalapenos and siesta ranch sauce heading its way, but from the idea that I might be made to pay later for installing the TV. I didn't do it alone, though and I *did* save us money. There was hope.
Nelson would understand and see my side because it made absolute perfect sense. He'd have to understand.
Or not. But I did it with help! Help who knew exactly what he was doing! His dad, for heaven's sake! That had to help my cause on some level. I just prayed the level was somewhere above my waist. Way above it, in fact.
I pushed those thoughts away. No need to get indigestion; it was over and done with anyway. We had a nice lunch and Max seemed to enjoy his club sandwich from the Senior's menu judging by the fact that only crumbs remained on his plate. We said our goodbyes and each went our own way home.
Cujo greeted me at the door and then followed me up the stairs when I went to admire our work from earlier. I ogled the TV hanging in our room – a true thing of beauty. I couldn't wait to be snuggled up in bed watching the high def picture with Nelson. Although…
Something wasn't right. I tapped my chin as I studied the wall. I couldn't put my finger on it… but then it hit me. The old TV stand. It was unnecessary and monstrous, distracting the eye away from the high tech wonder on the wall. It really was a nice TV stand, but way more than we needed now. Nelson's dad built it for Nelson's younger brother, when Justin was in college. Somewhere along the line, it got passed on to us.
It wasn't made of that cheapo pressboard, it was made of solid oak. A nice heavy piece of furniture that served its purpose when needed. It was shaped like an "L" with one side taller than the other. The taller side had shelves for the component stuff, while the shorter side had drawers where we could conveniently stash DVDs and extra cables.
I tentatively lifted the taller side and realized it was just as heavy as it seemed when I did the same thing earlier. Hmm. I wondered if I could manage to move it rather than wait for Nelson. I didn't know if I could get it to the steps, much less down them – down two flights to be exact because I'd have to get it down to the first floor then to the basement. It would be quite a little haul by myself. I didn't think I could manage it.
Suddenly, a light bulb burst to life blindingly bright just over my head. The E-Z Moves! Yep, I could do it with the E-Z Moves. A long while back, I was caught up in a QVC moment and found the E-Z Moves, item number V14882, irresistible. Nelson was equally unable to resist giving me a billion or so lines to write as this was about the fifth "unnecessary" purchase I had made off QVC in a week. What can I say? I was hooked and I couldn't help it.
But these little things proved so beneficial to have on hand, Nelson almost apologized. Don't choke - I said "almost". The closest he would come to saying he was wrong was to offer "I guess if you had to buy something we didn't need, this isn't the worst thing you could have picked up". I took that for a change of heart of sorts. It was my last order from QVC for a while because in addition to the lines, Nelson threatened to wear out my couch potato butt and use a parental lock on all the shopping networks if I didn't quit it.
So I quit it. But not until I passionately argued my case and pointed out what an affront it was to be threatened with a parental lock. I was *not* a child!
He agreed.
"No, you're not a child," he commented mildly. "But I know an adult man who is about to get his butt swatted if you don't drop it. Immediately."
So I did. Immediately. Of all the things I ordered that week, I got to keep the E-Z Moves, item number V14882, given how handy they might be. Everything else got packaged up and sent back by yours truly: me. It wasn't fair, I know, but that's what happened anyway. I hardly even minded since I got to keep my most prized purchase.
What were these nifty little things you ask? The E-Z Moves were… well, these nifty little rectangular things that were slick on one side and rubbery on the other. Women on QVC who were no bigger than a minute were moving huge pieces of furniture with no more than their fingers using these things. They really did work! The only difficult part was getting them under the corners of whatever piece of furniture you were moving.
I did another trial raise of the entertainment center. Yes, a corner at a time was manageable. I couldn't wipe the excited grin off my face as I rushed to the basement and went to the storage area where we kept all our carpentry-like things: spare nails, tools, drills and bits, all that good stuff. And item number V14882.
There they were, like a beacon in the night, the answer to my problem. I darted upstairs and slipped an E-Z Move carefully under each corner, tucking them into place with my big toe as I hefted the heavy oak stand off the floor. I stood back and surveyed my work. It was ready to go. Using just my finger like the models on QVC, I pushed the entertainment stand. I frowned as I had to apply a little elbow grease and another finger before the stand began to move, but then move it did, slipping easily across the carpet. I beamed with delight at my success!
Nelson would be so proud!
Or not. But even if I had second thoughts and wanted to turn back, I had already installed the television. No way he wouldn't notice that. Hell, knowing him, he would be expecting it – knowing me. I was already in it up to my eyeballs anyway. Maybe he would be so happy with our work he wouldn't totally kill me; just take me close to death. I shook those thoughts off and pushed the entertainment center easily down the carpeted hallway. By the time I got going, I could even do it with one finger!
I came to a dead stop at the uppermost landing of the stairs and stared down them, perplexed. The E-Z Moves weren't designed to do moguls, just cross-country. The stairs were going to be a problem. But then, gravity was on my side, I realized. If I got in front of the stand, I could let gravity pull it down the stairs and use my body as a speed bump. Sure, I convinced myself. I could do this.
Nelson was going to be so impressed with my ingenuity!
Or not. But I had come this far, and I had to get it down the steps. The first flight of stairs was going to be the worst because not only was I going to have to get to the first floor, I needed to get it to make a 90-degree turn as well about a quarter of the way down. Taking a deep breath, I skirted the stand and got in front of it, inching it along behind me as I stepped down on the first riser.
My heart smacked against my chest as I peered down the stairwell. God, don't let me fall, I prayed. I groaned with exertion as I pulled at the massive piece of furniture. It gave, slid toward me, then teetered on the landing before tilting downward, one end mashed against my back as the other end pointed toward the ceiling.
My muscles tightened and I panicked when I felt the weight of the thing pressing against me. My knees locked and I stood still, measuring the weight and getting the whale on my back to balance. It threatened to pummel me, roll right over my body, leaving me like some flattened cartoon character for my partner to come home to. Then it occurred to me. Nelson might find this little adventure a tad on the dangerous side.
Or not. If I was lucky. My better sense, which was nowhere to be found before I started on this little trek, told me that I was full of shit and Nelson would be nothing but *convinced* this was dangerous and I had no business making an attempt to move something so heavy by myself. I couldn't think about it at the moment though. I had to clear my head of negative thoughts and keep my brain focused on the positive: "I think I can, I think I can".
So focused was I that I didn't hear Cujo running up the stairs until I was making that sharp turn. My brain registered his furry white self just as my foot was coming down toward another step. Was he under my lifted foot? My head said YES.
I fumbled both myself and the big stand to avoid stepping on Cujo, who recognized the danger immediately and was instantly out of the way. I realized he was safe at the same time I realized something else. I was going down, ladies and gentlemen. TV stand and all.
My heart raced as adrenalin coursed through my body. My feet did a frantic dance all on their own, tapping and scrambling for a hold on the stairs with no hands to help them with balance and hopefully, save the rest of me. Just as my feet found purchase, my left hand shot out to help them steady me, deciding to save itself and the rest of me versus the television stand. Thank God for left hands with minds of their own.
Only that meant my right hand was left alone to steady the furniture.
As you might have guessed, it wasn't enough. I saved myself and Cujo, but the TV stand couldn't be spared. Not by me or Cujo or my right hand or even my left. It went tumbling hard and heavy into the wall, which, while stopping its fall, managed to take quite a licking in the process. The corner of the TV stand buried itself into the sheetrock, taking out a chunk about the size of a fifty-cent piece.
My heart sank even as it regained its natural rhythm. Cujo, who had taken off with all the commotion, was back in a white flash, barking.
"Oh, sure. You're real tough," I admonished. "You almost killed me!"
He plopped down on the stairs and wagged his tail, oblivious of the close call he caused. He tilted his little head at my voice and my anger melted away. I loved the little critter even when he was being a royal pain in the ass. I couldn't help it. He was so cute.
Maybe I could try tilting my head for Nelson – if I did it as cute as Cujo, his anger might melt away, too.
Or not. I knew better. My hands were shaking as the adrenalin receded and my knees went weak. That was such a close call. I could have fallen, stepped on Cujo, broken one or both of our necks, and all so I could get one measly piece of furniture out of the bedroom. Well, it wasn't so measly. If it had been, it wouldn't have been too heavy to handle and I wouldn't be worried about whether my pants were soiled or not.
If they weren't, they were about to be. My stomach turned itself inside out as I looked at the corner of the wood that disappeared into the wall. It wasn't a little hole and it wasn't gaping either. It would definitely be noticed by my eagle-eyed partner when he got home. No doubt about it. There would be no hiding it and it would lend credence to any argument he might present as to the dangers of moving heavy furniture alone.
I couldn't think about it right then. At that moment, I had one thing on my mind and that was to get the furniture to the basement and most importantly, out of the wall. I'd worry about fixing the hole after I got it downstairs. I managed to get it to the first floor without further incident then I used the E-Z Moves, item number V14882, to slide it to the top of the basement steps. I took my time and eventually had it against the wall we had picked out for it.
I wiped my arm over my damp forehead, whisking away the beads of sweat accumulating there. I did it. I actually did it! There was only that one little problem of a hole in the stairwell wall. Oh, and explaining all this to Nelson. Let's not forget that.
I ran upstairs to boot up the computer and spent less than a minute finding the how-to link on Home Depot's site covering holes in walls and how to fix them. There were two links: one for what they deemed big holes and one for little holes. It looked pretty darn big to me but I clicked on the small holes' link in hopeful anticipation.
To my surprise, a one-and-a-half inch hole was considered small! Anything under two inches, they reported. They also said it was easy to do yourself.
Sort of like installing an LCD TV in the wall.
But I digress. It claimed a start-to-finish time of two hours and I glanced at my watch. Cujo sat next to me on the sofa and I said, "It'll be cutting it close, but we just might get it done before Nelson comes home."
I needed some supplies and that required another run to Home Depot, which would eat into my repair time. I needed sandpaper, some sticky metal mesh stuff to cover the hole, spackling and an applicator. I made a quick list and dashed to the store. I continued to think happy, positive thoughts – if somewhat unrealistic ones - about how I could do it, and how I had more than enough time.
It didn't take me long to find the stuff I needed, especially after I snagged an employee and made him escort me to the right aisles. I was in line at the register in record time feeling quite proud of myself, while I waited behind four other people. I could do this. No doubt about it. I was an intelligent young man with a penchant for creativity and problem solving. Just look at all I had accomplished in one day! I was anxious to get started on the hole, the one minor flaw in the projects I had managed that day, and I passed the time by reading the instructions on the back of the spackling.
"When the patch is dry, sand lightly and apply primer over the repaired surface before applying a paint topcoat," I read to myself.
I almost dropped the handful of stuff I held from the sucker punch to my gut. I had to paint it! Even if I fixed the hole with no problem, Nelson would surely see a big white spot on the wall against the dark beige paint we had selected for the stairwell walls. I was so focused on patching the hole, I hadn't thought about the paint! Damn it!
I got out of line and stomped to the paint section. I had no idea what color we had picked out when we painted the stairwell. I knew it was Behr's brand, but that was about it. I looked through about a million cards of beige paint samples. Every time I thought I found the right one, I found another that could be it. So many of the color names were familiar, but then they should be. We had struggled over a million of them before reaching a decision.
Frustrated and losing time, I finally picked one that I thought was close with a name that sounded familiar. I went back to the register after the guy mixed my paint, hoping that we had the actual leftovers in the basement that I needed in case I picked the wrong shade. I knew we had leftovers downstairs, but I couldn't remember for the life of me if the color I needed was one of them.
With a pint of primer and paint added to my stash, I hurried back to the checkout line and wished the whole time I had bothered to pick up one of those over-the-arm shopping baskets. After fumbling with the heavy TV stand, my arms were tired and the six items I carried were making me keenly aware of the aching in my biceps.
I got through the line fairly quickly and hurried home, checking my watch again as I dashed into the house. I didn't have a lot of time to start with and now I had even less. I could do it, I told myself. How hard could it be? The directions sounded simple enough and the Home Depot website even said it was easy.
I took the laptop with me up the stairs and balanced it nearby so I could read the instructions, step by step. Carefully, I sanded the area all around the hole, I suppose so the spackling and sticky mesh stuff would adhere. I didn't bother with the whys, I just did as the website told me. I was seriously wishing I had been as insistent about doing what I was told when I decided to disobey my partner earlier in the day.
Not technically disobey, I reminded myself. Bent the rule just a little. There *is* a difference! One thing had simply led to another but despite my positive thinking powers, I was fairly certain I would be in deep shit when Nelson came home. Not trying to be negative, but I was willing to lay money on it.
I turned my attention back to the hole in the wall as I centered a little square of sticky metal mesh over the hole, pressing the wires tightly against the sheetrock. This wasn't so hard at all, I thought. Yes, things were moving along nicely. Well, that was until I tried to get the spackling part done. It didn't smear on as smoothly as I expected and I had to work on that a bit. It looks so easy on DIY! I finally got it on right and I leaned back on my heels, pleased with my accomplishment. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I was suddenly proud of the many projects I managed that day. I had gotten the expert help I needed to install the TV so I wasn't doing it alone and wouldn't mess up anything. Learned what a whatchamacallit was – or was it a whatchamajig? Anyway, it was one of them. Used my noggin to come up with a way to move the heavy furniture all by myself, which was only made possible through an earlier grand decision to purchase E-Z Moves, item number V14882. Finally, I learned to patch small holes in walls. Not bad for one day's work. I was turning out to be a pretty good handyman.
The only fly in the ointment now was the drying time on the spackling. One to two hours before I could put the primer on it. Clearly, spackling drying time wasn't figured into the two hour job, or else Home Depot didn't add in the painting time. Either way, I needed more time and I was hoping the spackling would dry closer to one hour than two. I ran downstairs to see if we had any spare paint from the stairwell while I waited, hoping to find what I needed.
There must have been six cans of leftover paint down there, but not a single one looked like the paint in the stairwell. I found the living room paint, which was slightly darker than the stairwell, but not a match. Closer than stark white but still not the match I was hoping for. I hadn't checked to see if what I bought was the right shade, but my luck would have to be pretty good for that to have happened.
Think positive! I checked my watch again. It was almost 3:45 and Nelson would be home at 5:00. That was barely enough time for the spackling to dry, never mind getting it primed and painted. I tried not to give up hope, I really did, but I was terribly afraid that the jig was up. I held the little paint card against the wall and eyeballed the shade I had chosen with what was already there. Not a match. Big surprise.
I got that sudden queasy feeling that comes in waves when I know I'm in trouble. My hands started to sweat as I realized just how little time was left before Nelson would be home. My shoulders slumped as I came clean and quit trying to fool myself. The paint color didn't matter because the wall wasn't going to be finished drying in time to get that far before 5:00. I had a lot of 'splainin' to do and I wasn't sure where to start or if I even wanted to.
I tried not to think about it while I waited for the spackling to dry. I seriously needed a distraction before I threw up. I went to the kitchen and got dinner started, hoping it would take my mind off facing Nelson since it gave me something to do besides worry and wait on drying spackling. I had spent the day telling myself it wouldn't be that bad and that he wouldn't be upset with me, that I hadn't actually disobeyed him. Not technically. And he never said not to move the furniture. The hole in the wall was incidental.
Now that there was only dinner to distract me, things were seriously looking grim. Downright dismal, even. The positive thinking (a.k.a. Lying to Oneself) I had been doing all day was stripped down to bare reality. Nelson was going to be anything but pleased with me. In fact, he was going to kill me. The buzzards would be here licking their chops over my body before nightfall. That was whether or not I got the hole in the wall fixed, by the way. My mind started playing out the scene that was sure to happen later in the early evening.
"The hole wouldn't have gotten in the wall if you hadn't made the poor decision to move the furniture rather than wait for me," I mimicked my lover.
Cujo jumped up and leaned his front paws against my leg when he heard my voice. "That's what he's going to say, you know," I told the Jack Russell. He tilted his head in empathy. "Then it's curtains for Zach."
My insides quivered again in trepidation. "Then I'm going to get sent upstairs, unless I'm up there already by the time he says that," I explained to Cujo.
I sighed as I chopped onions to go in the chili I was making. My eyes burned when I was halfway through the milky vegetable and I fought the urge to wipe them and make it worse. I knew they'd be burning later, onion or not. I finished as quickly as I could and dumped the onions in with the hamburger to cook then quickly washed my hands before my eyes really started to gush. By the time I added the tomatoes and beans, my stomach was revolting at the very idea of putting anything in it, let alone chili.
I left the chili to cook and went to the stairwell to check the status of the drying spackling. I was no carpenter but I could see that it was still very wet in the middle where its darker color contrasted against the dried white edges. I looked at my watch. I wasn't going to get it finished before Nelson came home.
I had the insane urge to bolt. To run, run as fast as I could. I don't mean go for a jog either. I needed time to think, time to clear my head. I paced, trying to decide what to do, how to tell him if I hung around long enough to face him. I didn't want to have to tell Nelson about my day, didn't want to tell him I hung the TV or moved the stand, not that he couldn't figure that out by simply going to our room. I would have to tell him something, but did I have to tell him that night? Did I? I nervously checked the time again. He would be home any minute. I had a narrow window to either escape or stay to face my partner.
I should have stayed. I know that. But you know what they say about hindsight, right? Well, ugliness was smack-dab in front of me so there was no hind *in* sight.
I left the house, taking a route out of the neighborhood that I knew wouldn't send me barreling past Nelson. What was I doing??? Talk about going from bad to worse. Even knowing that didn't make me turn around. I wasn't running from Nelson, no matter how it might look. I was postponing the inevitable. There *is* a difference. I needed to clear my head. Get my thoughts (excuses) together.
I had no idea where I was going. I thought about the movies, thought about the mall, thought about Barnes and Noble where I could read the paper and sip a latte. That sounded like a good idea. Sure, add a little caffeine to the mix to settle my nerves. I headed for Barnes and Noble and circled the lot for a parking place. I passed at least five of them, finding none of them up to par for absolutely no reason at all before I came to a bold realization.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave Nelson to worry where I was, wonder how much more to the story there was than he could piece together on his own. He could figure out the TV hanging. He was a doctor, after all, not a dumbass by any means. He wouldn't know that I hadn't done it on my own but he'd figure out I was involved. He'd see the missing TV stand and figure I was involved in that, too; unsuccessfully, according to his deductions derived from the big white patched-up place on the wall.
Then there would be the one big, gaping piece of the puzzle that would be missing. The piece he would be most interested in finding. The piece that could make the whole picture clear as could be instead of fragments of a whole. That missing piece was me.
He'd be upset that I had done any of what I did, but more upset that I had intentionally worried him and had chosen to leave rather than own up to what I had done. Face-to-face and man-to-man. I bravely reached for my cell phone to call him and tell him I was sincerely sorry and on my way home, not to worry about me because I was fine. To my dismay, my pocket was empty.
"Shit!" I exclaimed as I brought my palm down on the steering wheel. Things just went from really bad to seriously worse.
I stepped on the gas, suddenly eager to get home. The longer I was gone, the worse it was going to be and the angrier he would be with me. I was in shit so deep the smell was making my eyes water. I checked my speed and drove just shy of ten miles over. A speeding ticket would definitely darken the day further. No doubt about that.
I finally pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, sitting in the quiet by myself to gather my thoughts and quiet my nerves. I watched the garage door leading to the kitchen for signs of life inside, knowing that Nelson was home as evidenced by his car next to mine. In my hurry to get home, I had conveniently shoved the thoughts of facing Nelson away, just as I had done earlier. Now, here I was, unable to avoid him or the consequences. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest and swallowed hard to quiet the butterflies in my belly.
I sat there long enough for the garage light to wink out and I took that as a sign that it was time to face the music. I could already hear it playing. It was the Death March. Or was it the Darth Vader theme song? I don't know, but it sounded ominous. I swallowed hard and took a courageous step out of the car but promptly lost my bravado when my feet hit the cement, frozen in place. He hadn't been home long. I could still hear the click, click, click of the motor cooling in his car.
Did he already know? Was he inside, pacing and fuming? Or did he just get home, still downstairs and oblivious to what the rest of the evening would entail?
There was only one way to know. I opened the door to the kitchen, not sure what I would find, but surprised nonetheless. Nelson had changed his clothes, so I knew he had been upstairs. Upstairs where the TV was hanging, right where I left it. But he wasn't pacing. Fuming was yet to be determined.
He was sitting at the table casually flipping through mail like it was just an ordinary day. He didn't say a word when I came in. He merely stacked the mail, pushed it aside and looked at me, waiting for me to start.
Uh oh. Fuming. I gulped and took the lead. "I'm sorry."
"For?"
"All of it?"
He crossed his arms and kept looking at me, patiently waiting for specifics, unwilling to accept the broad strokes I was painting. He wanted details.
"Ok, first of all, I didn't hang the TV by myself," I started babbling. For someone who hadn't wanted to face the music – oh, it was the Darth Vader one, by the way – I was suddenly singing like a damn canary. "Your dad helped me and was glad to do it. Then I moved the TV stand – without any problems – except for that one little turn where I knocked a little bitty hole in the wall – which I fixed, in case you didn't notice – before I took a quick drive to get my thoughts straight but didn't leave you a note – I left in a hurry, see – and I forgot my phone or I would have called."
There. It was all out in the open. I took a breath.
"Does that about cover it?" he asked me tightly.
Boy, he was ticked. I could tell. I nodded in answer and glanced at the buzzard perched on the kitchen windowsill licking his lips.
Nelson sarcastically commented, "You've had quite a busy day, then."
It *had* been a busy day, I realized with regret – one of many regrets. I regretted not listening to him in the first place, regretted ever calling Max, *really* regretted moving the TV stand and seriously regretted making a run for it. I wasn't the least bit fooled by his short sentences and quips. He was going to have plenty to say.
He used his toe to push a kitchen chair out for me and waved his hand toward it. "I think we can dispense with corner time since you've already taken time to think," he pointedly commented.
He was being sassy and that wasn't a good sign. I contritely took a seat, straightened my halo, and waited to be properly tongue-lashed.
"Let's start with you installing the TV—"
"Your dad helped me," I threw in quickly. Had to get that on the record again. Dad was my Ace card, remember. Dads *always* trump all, everyone knows that. "You aren't mad at him, too, are you?"
Way to go, Zach, I patted myself on the back. Good move to turn the spotlight on someone else. Leave it to Nelson to shine it right back in my eyes. I blinked against the glare.
"Why would I be mad at Dad? He was helping," Nelson pointed out. "I never told him not to help and even if I did, he doesn't answer to me."
The "but you do" was left unspoken but hung conspicuously in the space between us. The font was bold, Arial Black, 16 point. "He knew what he was doing," I offered.
Nelson irritably drummed his fingertip against the tabletop. "Did it ever occur to you, Zach, that by installing it yourselves rather than have the dealer do it will kill the warranty if you did anything wrong?"
No, I hadn't considered that. "Are you sure?"
"Why else would I agree to pay them to do it when I knew my dad could do the wiring?"
"You didn't say—I didn't know—"
"I shouldn't have to say. You did know that I told you not to do it. Just because I forgot to mention that detail is not the issue. I told you not to."
"I thought you didn't want me to do it because I didn't know what I was doing."
"That was part of the reason. I certainly didn't think you'd call Dad to come help you or maybe I would have thought to explain my rationale."
"Yeah, if you had told me that…" I insinuated.
He was shaking his head before I could finish the sentence. "Don't even try it."
Ok, so I won't, I thought to myself. It wouldn't help anyway. I was in deep, from shit to Shinola.
I chose another route for the second time that evening. "I thought I was saving us money?"
And he was shaking his head again.
"I was!" I argued. "I was saving us money!"
"That's not why you did it," he refused to believe. "You did it because you wanted it done yesterday rather than wait two weeks. Isn't that the truth?"
"Well, yeah, that was part of it, but not all."
"You wanted it done and you thought you found a way to get around outright disobeying me by involving my dad, didn't you?"
That was a tough question to answer. I shrugged my shoulder noncommittally.
He shook his head again. "You know what?" he smiled deceivingly. "It doesn't matter. I said not to do it and you did it anyway. With or without help doesn't change that fact. Next?"
My shoulders slumped. One for Nelson, zero for Zach. "The TV stand," I relented, offering my jugular to the executioner.
"Yes, the TV stand. What on *earth* possessed you to move that by yourself? I know Dad didn't help you because he has a bad back."
"I wanted the bedroom done when you got home."
"Oh, really? You think I would have given one minute's notice to the finished bedroom if you were in a broken heap at the bottom of the stairs? Did you think about that at all?" he lectured.
It was my turn to shake my head. "Not until it slipped into the wall."
"When you almost dropped it," he surmised.
"Cujo came running up the stairs and I lost my balance. I was doing fine until then, and I had no trouble going down the second set of steps."
"I know how heavy that thing is. To move it alone was thoughtless and careless. If that was all you did today you'd be in trouble up to your neck. A possibly broken neck."
"I didn't get hurt," I countered.
"Lucky. You should play the lottery today."
Funny, I wasn't feeling the least bit fucking lucky. I was feeling downright unlucky, not to mention guilty as hell. "I wasn't lucky," I argued. "I was careful. The only reason it hit the wall was because Cujo came running up the stairs and got in my way."
"So this is Cujo's fault?" he asked incredulously.
"Well… yeah," I shrugged. Whose else was it?! *I* had control of the damn thing before Cujo took a run at me!
"Uh huh." He didn't buy it. I could tell by the tone, if not by his glib reply. "And what if you had fallen? No matter whose fault it was?"
"I would have probably gotten hurt, but I *didn't* fall," I was quick to add.
He expelled an agitated breath. "It gets down to one question. One simple question. Should you have moved it by yourself?"
So the battle of "what ifs" was over, just like that. He wasn't messing around; he went straight, dead center to the point. He was in no mood to go round and round, which meant this conversation was going to be over in short order. Part of me was glad because the discussion prolonged the coming of my ill-fated future. I mean, as long as we're having a conversation, there's the off-chance I'll be able to convince him to deal with my misdeeds some other way than the way I know he's going for. Like maybe we could just talk it out like two rational individuals and be done with it. Over, kaput, in the past, forgotten.
Or not. But it sure as hell was worth discussing. I needed him to understand that it wasn't as bad as he was seeing it. That it was a simple case of me saving us money, saving him a hassle and possibly a backache. The fact that I hit the wall along the way was no biggie because, hey, I fixed it, didn't I? It just needed a little paint and it would be good as new.
"Should you?" he asked again. I scrambled to remember the question.
Oh, yeah. A trick question.
"*You* think I shouldn't have," I declared the obvious. "Even though I saved us money, saved you a pulled back, and fixed the wall."
He ignored my perfectly logical rationale. "And *you* think it was a good idea to move a heavy piece of furniture down two flights of steps by yourself? Is that what you want me to believe?"
You know, I wanted to say yes, I really did. As my mouth hung open ready to declare it, my mind turned back to that scary moment just before I pulled the TV stand down to the first riser. Then it flashed to that *really* scary moment when Cujo ran up the stairs, threatening to send the stand, Cujo and me straight to the hospital or worse.
I couldn't argue the fact that it was a stupid idea and that I was fortunate I wasn't hurt.
"No, sir."
"I'm glad we agree," he commented dryly. "Now about you leaving…"
"I didn't say I agree," I objected in a rush. "I still think things turned out ok except the wall and I fixed that."
"I said no; you didn't listen." Well, didn't that just sum things up nicely? "If you had, moving the furniture wouldn't even be an issue because the TV would still be sitting on it. Wouldn't it?"
Crapola. I heaved a sigh from my toes. I was going down fast. He was two for two. "Yes, sir."
"Good, now about you leaving," he started again.
"I just felt like I needed to leave for a little while," I explained. "I realized I shouldn't have left so I came straight back. I was barely gone."
"How long?"
"Maybe 45 minutes? Just to Barnes and Noble and back. And I never even got out of the car! I didn't even park it."
He gave me a long knowing look. Was that a glimmer of understanding I saw in his eyes?
Yes, I think it was.
"I understand that you panicked, Zachary. I also understand that I was the last person you wanted to see tonight," he held up his hand to shush me when I started to deny it. "You didn't want to see me and I understand why. That doesn't make it right that you took off, but at least you recognized it and came straight back home."
I was shocked. Floored, even. "You mean… I'm not in trouble for leaving?"
He leaned back casually and draped his arm over the back of the chair. "Oh, no. I didn't say that."
Fuck.
"I'm just saying I can understand it. If you hadn't come home like you did and I had to go looking for you, I can guarantee you'd be in a heck of a lot more trouble. Leaving me worrying about you, even for a little while, was bad enough."
No shit. The common sense part of my brain had saved me more trouble by convincing my flight instinct to land quickly.
"I knew you'd be worried. I had done enough to make you mad and I didn't want to make it worse so I came home."
"It would have been worse, believe me," Nelson confirmed seriously.
I had no doubt. "I really would have called, but I forgot my phone because I left so fast. I'm sorry I left, Nelson. I'm sorry about all of it."
Nelson stood up and held his hand out to me. "I know you are. That doesn't change the fact that we're going upstairs to deal with all this."
Panic. Panic!! My heart started racing and my insides flip-flopped. I knew what "going upstairs meant" and how he planned to "deal with this". I needed an out that didn't involve running. That was part of the reason I was in this mess, though not a big part, apparently. I was sure if I took off again, though, it could quickly become a bigger part of the reason. Still, it was tempting, very tempting.
The chili! That might be an out.
I glanced with a worried expression toward the stove. "Now?" I asked, hoping it would be enough for a pardon, if only temporary.
Nothing doing. "The chili has waited this long, it can wait a little longer," he calmly commented, steadfastly waiting for me to take his hand.
And that was that. He knew I wouldn't be up to eating before he pummeled my butt anyway and he would never make me try to eat. It wouldn't do him any good because I couldn't do it. I might choke it down but it would be right back up.
Admitting defeat, I threw in the towel and slipped my hand into his then followed his lead up to our room. He proceeded to haul me to the bed, despite my dragging feet, where he took a seat before focusing all his attention on lowering my jeans and underwear so he could have unhindered access to my backside.
"Nelson, I think we should talk about this some more," I urged insistently, though his hands never stopped working my pants down my legs. He was a man on a mission.
"We've already discussed it. Is there something you'd like to add that we haven't talked about?"
He looked up at me expectantly, waiting to hear my response before pulling me over his lap. I thought frantically. There had to be something else we could discuss! Something! I didn't want this to happen. Not at all.
"I think you're overreacting," I reached.
"Do you?"
He asked the simple question and raised his eyebrows, partly seeking confirmation and partly in surprise as though he couldn't fathom me thinking any differently about the situation than he did. Whether it was an overreaction or not, it was the reaction I expected. I knew he wouldn't be happy with my choices no matter what I told myself all day. I just wished there were another way for him to let me know how he felt without going this route.
"I don't want you to do this," I replied honestly.
"You should have thought about that earlier. Let's get it over with," he said sympathetically.
He wasn't sympathetic enough to change his mind, though. The next thing I knew, I was sunny-side up over Nelson's lap with his knees grinding into my middle. He tanned me good, leaving me gulping and blubbering apologies while I hung on to the leg of his pants for dear life. I swore a million ways to Sunday that I would never ever disobey him again – EVER - and that I sure as HELL wouldn't involve his dad or anyone else to get the extra muscle I needed to have my own way. Never ever!
I meant it, too.
I'm not sure Nelson could understand what I was saying because he didn't come remotely close to letting up when I wanted him to; no, not even when I asked him to. I'm sure that's what the problem was; he couldn't understand me. Even to my ears, it sounded like I had a mouthful of marbles. Surely, if he could understand my heartfelt vows and sincere regrets, he would have stopped immediately and offered his own apologies.
Or not. As it was, he kept going until he was good and ready to stop.
And that was about a million minutes longer than I thought he should go. By the time he was finished with me, my eyes and nose were running like a river and I was quite sure, positive even, that Nelson had a point about hanging TVs, involving others in my schemes and leaving when I knew I was going to have to answer for all the above.
I pulled my boxers up ever so carefully as soon as my feet were back on the floor, even though I feared for the safety of my underwear. You're not supposed to put cotton next to an open flame and I was positive my rear was on fire. I thought for sure my boxers would spontaneously combust as soon as they came into contact with my burning skin, but lucky for me, they didn't. I stepped out of my jeans since they were closer to the floor than to my butt by the time I was righted, not to mention I wasn't too keen on having them anywhere near my nether region at the time.
Nelson stood up after helping me get my tangled jeans off my feet, and he pulled me to his chest, running his hands soothingly up and down my back.
"When I tell you not to do something, I have a reason and I expect you to do what I say," he explained firmly yet gently.
Yeah, I knew and I understood. I couldn't reply but I nodded my head against his shoulder smearing tears and probably snot on his shirt. Served him right.
Not really. It wasn't his fault I didn't listen. I knew all day how things would go. I got what I deserved, but I didn't want talk about it or anything else right then. Couldn't if I wanted to. All I wanted to do was crawl in a hole and lick my wounds until I felt better. He wouldn't let me do that though.
"It's ok," he soothed as he continued to hold me. "I love you, Zach, you know that."
I nodded again, gulping as my breath came in short, jerky inhalations while my sobs diminished and I transitioned back to normal breathing. He held me and gave me time to get myself under control before he wordlessly took my hand once again. This time, I didn't hesitate to let him.
We went downstairs and cuddled in the big chair in the living room. Cujo jumped up against the side of the chair sniffing at me and nudging his cold wet nose against my palm. I distractedly rubbed his wiry fur to assure him I was ok. I might not have felt entirely ok, but I would soon enough. I curled up tightly against Nelson and wiped my burning eyes.
"Sorry I ticked you off," I managed after awhile.
Nelson chuckled. "It was so much more than that, Zach, and you know it."
"Can you at least admit I saved us some money?" I asked. My nose was so stuffy, it sounded like I had clamped off my air.
"I can admit that. You got lucky in not damaging the TV in the process. If you had, we'd be out our warranty. We still could be if anything goes wrong later, depending on what it is."
Hmm. He had a point there. I said a quickie prayer to the Powers that Be and asked that the TV never break down, at least in my lifetime.
"If I hadn't been disobeying you, would you admit that I might have been right?"
Nelson wrapped his arms around me tightly and laced his fingers together. "You'd feel better if I said you were right to hang the TV and move the stand by yourself even if it meant disobeying me and putting you in danger of a broken neck?"
He has such a way with words. "Yeah," I replied simply.
"What if I don't think you were right?" he prodded.
"Can't you at least pretend?"
He laughed again. "But if I say you were right, that means I was wrong. Which means I had no business telling you no this morning or spanking you for doing what you did."
He didn't have to remind me I just got walloped. Believe me, I knew and I wasn't in danger of forgetting anytime soon. "Can't you be wrong?" I challenged.
"I'm never wrong," he teased. "Well… I *thought* I was once."
"But there's no way you think you could be this time?" I pleaded. "Just this once?"
"I think you got lucky. You really did a nice job with it from what I saw, but I still think I was right to say no," he said heartlessly.
He was as stubborn as hell. He wasn't going to throw me even a little tiny bone. "We'll never see this the same way, will we?"
"Maybe not entirely. We can agree on a few things: I told you not to do it, you did it anyway, and that doesn't fly in our house."
Damn. He had a point. Again. Even if he didn't, what skin was left on my rear was still thumping and that makes Zach quite an agreeable guy.
"Yeah," I conceded. "You're right."
"My record stands," he laughed as he kissed the side of my head.
End