Episode 85: Shelly and Gage

 

Episode 85: Shelly and Gage 

The heavy click of the dorm room door did little to shut out the echoes of Ted’s parting words. Shelly collapsed onto her bed, the white lace of her shirt—the very shirt she had foolishly unbuttoned in the bright coastal sun—now feeling like a shroud of her own making.

How had a morning that started with so much hope devolved into such utter ruin?

She stared at the ceiling, her chest aching with the suffocating weight of a promise she was bound by honor to keep. Just hours ago on North Beach, Gage had handed her a secret that answered every confusing signal of the past two days. He wasn’t looking at her with desire; he was looking at her with the relief of a man who finally found a friend he could trust. His revelation—that he was gay, and that the truth had already cost him his last job in Washington—had instantly shattered Shelly’s brief, misplaced fantasy. He wasn't her future. He couldn't be.

But Ted didn't know that.

Ted had only seen the laughter, the shared donuts, and the scandalous lack of a bra beneath her translucent shirt—a desperate, clumsy attempt on her part to see if she could still make a man's head turn after months of feeling discarded. In his eyes, Gage was the new, muscular threat, a legend-killer taking his place. And because Shelly had given her word to protect Gage from the ruin of exposure, she had stood there frozen, letting Ted walk away into the misty afternoon believing a lie. She was losing the only man she truly loved to protect a secret that wasn't even hers to tell.

Deciding she couldn't bear to face anyone else, Shelly stood up to change. She peeled off the white lace shirt and threw it aside, leaving her shivering slightly in the cool room. Shelly caught a glimpse of herself in the small dresser mirror, her eyes dropping to her bare chest. A wave of self-consciousness hit her like a physical blow. Ted had always been so gentle, so reassuring about her body; he’d never cared how small her chest was, always making her feel beautiful just as she was. And yet, in a moment of sheer panic, she’d bared herself to a man who couldn't even see her that way.

The irony was a sharp, twisting knife.

She kicked off her jeans, slipping into her comfortable pajamas, before reaching into her drawer for an oversized shirt. Slipping it over her head, she felt a desperate need for comfort. She pulled out the photo album from her bag—the one filled with the glossy remnants of her and Ted's wild ride that summer.

She flipped the pages, her fingertips tracing the edges of the pictures. There they were, laughing, soaked in sea spray, radiant with a raw passion and a wild, carefree fun that felt a lifetime away now. The memories didn't soothe her; they broke her. The tears leaked out again, hot and fast, blurring the faces in the photos.

The door creaked open, and Maria stepped into the room. She took one look at Shelly's tear-streaked face and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Shelly? What on earth happened?" Maria asked, her voice dropping its usual mischievous edge, replacing it with genuine concern.

Shelly’s throat locked up. A desperate urge surged within her to just open the floodgates—to scream the truth, to tell Maria everything about Gage, about the beach, about the impossible corner she’d been backed into. But she choked it down. In a place where gossip spread faster than the incoming tide, she didn't know who could be trusted anymore. A secret like Gage's could ruin a life, and she had given her word.

She forced herself to take a ragged breath, closing the photo album with a soft thud.

"Maria, I wish I could tell you," Shelly whispered, her voice trembling as she looked up. "I really wish I could, but I can't. Ted is... he's so angry with me. We were supposed to have a perfect day together today. A fresh start. But I was off joking and walking on the beach with Gage, and I lost track of time. Ted's utterly convinced something is going on. I assured him, Maria. I swear I assured him that I wasn't interested in Gage romantically, but... he didn't believe me."

Maria sat beside her on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning softly under their weight. "So, you're really not interested in Gage?" she asked, studying Shelly’s face. "I mean, I like short men personally, so I wouldn't be interested in him either. But you don't have *any* attraction to him?"

"No, I really, really don't," Shelly pleaded, her voice thick with unshed tears. She reached out and squeezed the stuffed teddy bear that Ted had bought her over the summer, clutching it against her oversized pajamas like a shield. She looked up at Maria, her eyes wide and desperate, grasping at absolutely any straw she could find to fix things without breaking her promise to Gage. "Do you think... do you think it would help if *you* told Ted that you don't think I'm interested in Gage?"

Maria grabbed Shelly’s hands gently, shaking her head. "No, darling. Even if I said it, Ted would just think I was doing damage control for you. And truthfully, I haven't been around you and Gage long enough to know anything about how you two interact. If I'd actually seen you together, maybe then I could say something to him, but I just don't know."

Hearing the hard truth of it, Shelly began to cry all over again, the heavy tears soaking into the fur of the teddy bear.

Maria watched her for a moment, sighing softly as she stood up to get ready for her evening walk. She stripped down without a care in the world, grabbing her deodorant and rolling it on before spraying her favorite body scent through the air. She scooped up her denim shorts, underwear, shirt, bra, and socks.

Shelly watched her, a familiar knot tightening in her stomach. She honestly didn't like how comfortable Maria was with just stripping down anywhere. Maria always justified it, of course, waving it off with her usual line: *"We're all girls here, Shelly. I don't like girls, you don't like girls, so I don't see the problem."*

Maria vanished into the washroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair, coming out a few minutes later completely dressed. "Well, I'm out of here," she said, giving a sympathetic look. "I really wish I could help, darling." With a final wave, she slipped out the door.

The moment the door clicked shut, a sudden, violent wave of panic washed over Shelly. Her breath caught in her throat. Maria’s casual talk about the girls' communal changing and showering had just triggered a terrifying realization.

Gage.

Gage was living in the men's dorms. And right now, he would be showering and changing in the exact same shared bathroom area right beside Ted.

Shelly went completely pale, the blood draining from her face. *I never thought about this,* she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. *What if... what if Gage's type is Ted?*

The room seemed to spin. She felt utterly nauseated and deeply confused, her mind racing through the dark implications. She was doing the honorable thing by keeping Gage's secret, but by staying silent, was she inadvertently allowing a man who was attracted to men to shower completely naked right beside the man she loved?

The Weight of the Thorns

 

From Shakespeare:

> "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

> Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

> To the last syllable of recorded time;

> And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

> The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

> Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

> That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

> And then is heard no more. It is a tale

> Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

> Signifying nothing."

> 

My life is not a bed of roses. No one knows the truth. Maybe if the rose bush was intact with all the thorns.

I don't tell anyone this because they don't want to hear it. I'm never not in pain physically. I keep that knowledge to myself because people can't handle it, and there's nothing they can do.

Living with this constant pain and disability is a daily, relentless war. There are days when I win the battle mentally, where I can hold my head up and push through. But there are also times when the weight is just too heavy, times when I don’t win the battle, and it brings a profound, crushing sadness with it.

For five or six years, I've tried on and off everything so I can share the good times with someone. I want to find that special someone. Someone to share my dreams with, and my sorrows. Eventually, someone to love me romantically. Someone to share my passions with, and maybe help me accomplish some of the dreams that I can't accomplish entirely on my own. I love my photography, and I would love a person I can go with, pointing out the awesome pictures that I could take, and that I *will* take.

I want someone to cuddle and laugh with, and cry with. I want to share their joys and share in accomplishing their goals.

I spent all last year doing my best to think positively, as if I was going to meet that special someone. That's very positive, isn't it? What happened? It didn't happen, and all my attempts to meet somebody to establish a relationship failed.

Now I'm more lonely than I have ever been in my life. The loneliness of being single and disabled is, at times, absolutely crushing. It's a double weight that isolates me from the rest of the world, leaving me to wonder where I fit in. I sleep too much, because why not.

Every idea that people have come up with, I've done repeatedly over the years. There's nothing new I haven't heard of doing. And if someone says it will happen when you least expect it, I'll strangle them. Or the phrase, "It will happen in God's time." Or, "It will happen eventually, you just have to be patient." Or, "You're such an awesome person, it will happen."

No one wants to give me a chance due to my situation. I feel of no value to single women.

### Verses for the Journey

**Psalm 34:18**

> "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

> 

**Psalm 13:1-2**

> "How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?"

> 

**2 Corinthians 4:8-9**

> "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

> 

........

Från Shakespeare:

"I morgon och i morgon och i morgon, och i morgon,

> Kryper i denna småaktiga takt från dag till dag,

> till den sista stavelsen för inspelad tid;

Och alla våra igårs har upplyst dårar

Vägen till dammig död. Ut, ut, kort ljus!

Livet är bara en vandrande skugga, en fattig spelare

> som strutsar och fretsar sin timme på scenen

> Och sedan hörs inte mer. Det är en saga

Berättat av en idiot, full av ljud och raseri,

> betyder ingenting".

>

Mitt liv är inte en dans på rosor. Ingen vet sanningen. Kanske om rosenbusken var intakt med alla törnen.

Jag säger det inte till någon eftersom de inte vill höra det. Jag har aldrig ont fysiskt. Jag håller den kunskapen för mig själv eftersom folk inte kan hantera den, och det finns inget de kan göra.

Att leva med denna ständiga smärta och funktionshinder är ett dagligt, obevekligt krig. Det finns dagar när jag vinner kampen mentalt, där jag kan hålla upp huvudet och driva igenom. Men det finns också tillfällen då vikten är alldeles för tung, gånger då jag inte vinner striden, och det ger en djup, förkrossande sorg med den.

I fem eller sex år har jag provat allt så att jag kan dela de goda tiderna med någon. Jag vill hitta den där speciella personen. Någon att dela mina drömmar med och mina sorger. Någon som älskar mig romantiskt. Någon att dela mina passioner med, och kanske hjälpa mig att uppnå några av de drömmar som jag inte kan uppnå helt på egen hand. Jag älskar min fotografering, och jag skulle älska en person som jag kan gå med, påpeka de fantastiska bilder som jag kunde ta, och som jag * kommer * att ta.

Jag vill ha någon att gosa och skratta med och gråta med. Jag vill dela deras glädje och del i att uppnå sina mål.

Jag tillbringade hela förra året med att göra mitt bästa för att tänka positivt, som om jag skulle träffa den där speciella personen. Det är väldigt positivt, eller hur? Vad hände? Det hände inte, och alla mina försök att träffa någon för att etablera en relation misslyckades.

Nu är jag mer ensam än jag någonsin varit i mitt liv. Ensamheten att vara singel och handikappad är ibland helt förkrossande. Det är en dubbelvikt som isolerar mig från resten av världen, vilket gör att jag undrar var jag passar in. Jag sover för mycket, för varför inte.

Varje idé som folk har kommit på har jag gjort upprepade gånger under åren. Det finns inget nytt som jag inte har hört talas om att göra. Och om någon säger att det kommer att hända när du minst anar det, kommer jag att strypa dem. Eller frasen, "Det kommer att hända i Guds tid". Eller, "Det kommer att hända så småningom, du måste bara ha tålamod". Eller: "Du är en fantastisk person, det kommer att hända".

Ingen vill ge mig en chans på grund av min situation. Jag känner inget värde för ensamstående kvinnor.

### Verser för resan

Psalm 34:18

"Herren är nära de förkrossade och räddar dem som krossas i anden".

>

Psalm 13:1-2**

Hur länge, Herre? Kommer du att glömma mig för alltid? Hur länge skall du dölja ditt ansikte för mig? Hur länge måste jag brottas med mina tankar och dag efter dag ha sorg i mitt hjärta?

>

**2 Korinthierna 4:8-9**

"Vi är hårt pressade på alla sidor, men inte krossade; förbryllade, men inte i förtvivlan; förföljd.la, men inte övergivna; slagna, men inte förstörda".

>..........

De Shakespeare:

> "Mañana, y mañana, y mañana,

> Creeps en este ritmo mezquino día a día,

> Hasta la última sílaba del tiempo registrado;

> Y todos nuestros ayeres han encendido tontos

El camino a la muerte polvorienta. ¡Fuera, fuera, breve vela!

> La vida no es más que una sombra andante, un pobre jugador

> Eso se pavonea y trastea su hora en el escenario

> Y luego no se escucha más. Es un cuento

> Contado por un idiota, lleno de sonido y furia,

> No significa nada.

>

Mi vida no es un lecho de rosas. Nadie sabe la verdad. Tal vez si el rosal estuviera intacto con todas las espinas.

No le digo esto a nadie porque no quieren oírlo. Nunca tengo dolor físicamente. Me guardo ese conocimiento para mí porque la gente no puede manejarlo, y no hay nada que puedan hacer.

Vivir con este constante dolor y discapacidad es una guerra diaria e implacable. Hay días en que gano la batalla mentalmente, donde puedo mantener la cabeza en alto y seguir adelante. Pero también hay momentos en que el peso es demasiado pesado, momentos en los que no gano la batalla, y trae consigo una profunda y aplastante tristeza.

Durante cinco o seis años, he probado todo para poder compartir los buenos momentos con alguien. Quiero encontrar a esa persona especial. Alguien con quien compartir mis sueños y mis penas. Eventualmente, alguien que me ame románticamente. Alguien con quien compartir mis pasiones, y tal vez ayudarme a lograr algunos de los sueños que no puedo lograr completamente por mi cuenta. Me encanta mi fotografía, y me encantaría una persona con la que pueda ir, señalando las fotos increíbles que podría tomar, y que tomaré.

Quiero que alguien se acurruque y se ría, y con quien llorar. Quiero compartir sus alegrías y compartir el logro de sus metas.

Pasé todo el año pasado haciendo todo lo posible para pensar positivamente, como si fuera a conocer a esa persona especial. Eso es muy positivo, ¿no? ¿Qué pasó? No sucedió, y todos mis intentos de conocer a alguien para establecer una relación fracasaron.

Ahora estoy más solo que nunca en mi vida. La soledad de ser soltero y discapacitado es, a veces, absolutamente aplastante. Es un doble peso que me aísla del resto del mundo, dejándome preguntarme dónde encajo. Duerme demasiado, porque ¿por qué no.

Cada idea que la gente ha tenido, la he hecho repetidamente a lo largo de los años. No hay nada nuevo que no haya oído hablar de hacer. Y si alguien dice que sucederá cuando menos lo esperes, los estrangularé. O la frase, "Sucederá en el tiempo de Dios". O, "Con el tiempo sucederá, solo tienes que ser paciente". O, "Eres una persona tan increíble, sucederá".

Nadie quiere darme una oportunidad debido a mi situación. No tengo ningún valor para las mujeres solteras.

#### Versículos para el viaje

**Salmo 34:18**

> "El Señor está cerca de los quebrantados de corazón y salva a los que están aplastados en espíritu".

>

**Salmo 13:1-2**

> "¿Cuánto tiempo, Señor? ¿Me olvidarás para siempre? ¿Hasta cuándo esconderás tu rostro de mí? ¿Cuánto tiempo debo luchar con mis pensamientos y día tras día tener tristeza en mi corazón?

>

**2 Corintios 4:8-9**

> "Estamos muy presionados por todos lados, pero no aplastados; perplejos, pero no desesperados; perseguidos, pero no abandonados; derribados, pero no destruidos".

>