Wow..I am really on a roll here... I am almost done with the HRTM update as well.. but this story just seems to be demanding to be written... so here's another section for you to enjoy ... I hope.
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Friday had been a very long day. Work had been slow, making the seconds excruciating as they had ticked by. The worst part about being an administrative assistant was that you had no identity outside of merely being an extension of your boss. Unless of course your boss screwed up on something, and needed a scapegoat, then suddenly you were very much your own person. I sighed and gripped the steering wheel to my car a little more tightly. I was just glad that the day was over. TGIF was certainly not an understatement at that moment.
Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t stop the grin that crept onto my face as I pulled into the care center parking lot. Tara was waiting out in front, holding J.J. in her arms in anticipation of my arrival.
That morning had been a very interesting experience. Instead of waiting for me and Josh down by the car as she had the day before, Tara had showed up on my doorstep just as I was finished feeding my son his breakfast. Joshua still required being spoon fed, so our routine in the morning still took awhile to complete.
When I had let her in she immediately went to Josh’s side, keeping him entertained while I hurriedly finished getting ready and cleaning up. It was sort of cute really; we didn’t exactly know how to behave toward each other after the impromptu kiss the night before. We were almost like a couple of school kids to each other, suddenly bashful and shy, blushing at anything that could even be remotely interpreted as innuendo.
Before I had dropped them off at Easter Seals, I invited Tara to dinner that night with Josh and I. Friday nights we usually went to Shoney’s, a sort of end of the week ritual celebration. I thought it would be nice to include Tara in yet another aspect of our life. I was very pleased when she had readily agreed.
We arrived at Shoney’s and were quickly seated by one of the back windows. I situated J.J. in the highchair they had provided and pulled a couple of his toy cars out of my purse, placing them on the table top for him to play with. He didn’t show an interest at first, but I knew he would eventually. His reactions were usually delayed as result of his condition.
Tara and I chit chatted for a little bit about the day we each had had while I tried to get my son to eat a small portion of tomato soup, and of course we spent a while talking about Joshua (my favorite subject). Finally our conversation turned to her. As attracted to her as I was, she was still a mystery to me and before I allowed anything serious to develop, I needed to have a better idea of who I was starting to fall for.
I asked her how she had come to work with the intellectually disabled. Tara explained that it had started out as nothing more than a desperate need for work right out of high school. She had been in a hurry to move out on her own, all too aware of the financial burden she was on her mother, but also eager to move west and try new things. Tara related that she was originally from Albuquerque, had spent her entire youth there, but admitted that she never really like the town, and once she had hit eighteen, she was out of there as fast as she could go.
Tara had moved to California with nothing more than a bag full of clothes, a few personal possessions and enough cash in her pocket to buy her a week’s worth of nights at a cheap motel. She had applied for every job within walking distance of that motel and had been turned down for every one, except for the last: an adult care facility.
“They were hiring for client attendants,” she explained, “people to work one on one with the individuals living in the home. They had asked me if I had an issue working with intellectually disabled people. I said no. Then they asked me if I had issues with toileting, and I said no. I remember thinking to myself, why are they concerned with me being able to use the bathroom?”
I nearly spewed my iced tea across the table at her comment, finding it absolutely hysterical.
“Well,” she went on, “I realized when I started work the very next day that ‘toileting’ actually meant assisting others with going to the bathroom. I was mortified. I almost walked out.”
I understood where she was coming from; I couldn’t imagine helping a grown man, disabled or not, use the restroom.
“But I really needed the money,” Tara admitted, “I only had enough left to get me through two more days at the motel, and that was only if I didn’t buy anything to eat. I had to find an apartment right away, and I could only do that if I had a job. So I kept it. At the time Palo Verde was running a special where the first month was free and no deposit was required if you had a job and could verify your employment.”
“They do that sometimes,” I confirmed.
“So I moved in, got a bus schedule and the rest is history,” she concluded.
“So you worked in the group home for…” I drifted off, hoping she would fill in the blank.
“Four years,” she replied, seeming to marvel at the number herself.
“And you just decided one day that you wanted to work with kids instead?”
“Pretty much,” she shrugged, “it all really started with Blondie the Therapy Dog.”
“Oh, I love Blondie,” I interjected, “her trainer sometimes brings her to visit the kids at Easter Seals.” Blondie was a lovable German Shepard that had been trained as, among other things, a therapy dog. She frequently visited hospitals and other facilities where people couldn’t necessarily keep pets of their own.”
“I know,” Tara smiled, “she also visits the group homes. During one of her visits, I started talking to her trainer and we ended up having a great conversation. I asked her if she wanted to join me for lunch, and she said she couldn’t because she had to take Blondie to visit the kids at Easter Seals.”
“And suddenly your interest was sparked,” I grinned flirtatiously.
“Yeah,” Tara nodded, her cheeks turning a little pink under my gaze. “So… um… I had heard of Easter Seals, but I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of services they provided. So I asked Charlene, Blondie’s trainer, and when she said they dealt with MR kids something just clicked inside me and I knew that’s what I wanted to do.”
“So it’s like your calling,” I suggested.
“More like… my accidental calling,” she chuckled. “I never lay awake at night in my bed dreaming that one day I would work with special needs kids.”
“What did you dream of instead?” I asked.
Her expression became wistful for a moment as she recollected childhood dreams. “A painter,” she said, a sad smile caressing her face. “I always dreamed I’d be some famous painter living the bohemian lifestyle in Greenwich Village, painting provocative and shocking paintings of nudes in watercolors.”
“You still can,” I encouraged her.
“Maybe…” she said, letting the word hang mid-air.
We fell silent for a few moments. I returned my attention to my salad, pecking at a few neglected croutons. I looked up from my munching and noticed Tara staring intently at my son in his seat. She seemed to be paying particular attention to the movements of his hands. Curious to know what she found so fascinating, I began looking at him as well.
Joshua was playing with his cars. Or at least, he was trying to. He would stare at them intently before reaching out an unsteady hand and grasping at them, usually missing. I was used to the behavior. I had always attributed it to his mental slowness and arrested development. But the look on Tara’s face suggested it might be more. I became very concerned.
“What is it?” I asked, worry evident in my voice.
Tara pulled her attention away from Josh and looked at me, letting out a breath as if she was trying to find the right words to say. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began, “exactly what kind of diagnosis your doctor gave Josh. His file at work just says mild MR.”
“That’s all it is,” I responded, trying to do my best to keep my defensiveness regarding Joshua at bay.
“Remember how I was playing patty-cake with him the other day when you came to pick him up?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, I was doing that for a reason. I had noticed earlier that day that he seemed to have a lot of trouble with his eye/hand coordination, so I was playing patty-cake to see if it was as bad as it seemed.”
“Please tell me what you are trying to say,” I stated firmly. When it came to the welfare of my son, I absolutely did not put up with people beating around the bush.
“The general inability for him to stand on his own, the poor eye/hand coordination, the slight tremors in his hands,” she listed off the symptoms she had recorded. “Willow,” she said seriously, “I think Josh may have a form of cerebral palsy.”
“Don’t say that, “I said, dropping my fork in shock.
“I could be wrong,” Tara admitted quickly, “I’m not a nurse or anything like that. But I’ve worked with a lot of people with it and… I think you should at least get him tested.”
“He doesn’t have cerebral palsy,” I countered, “cerebral palsy is usually diagnosed by six months old. Josh was only diagnosed with MR. If he had…that… they would have known back when he was originally tested.”
“Okay, okay,” she soothed, putting her hands up in surrender. “I was just pointing out what I had noticed. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
I suddenly felt terrible for my behavior, it was clear that she was only trying to help. She really seemed to care a lot for Joshua, and here I was punishing her for her concern. “I know,” I acquiesced, “I’m sorry. I just get sort of… crazy… sometimes when it comes to Josh.”
“I understand,” Tara replied. I could tell that she really did.
“You ready to get out of here?” I asked, noting that neither one of us had seemed interested in our food for a while.
“Sure,” she said. I paid our check and we left to head home.
And so began one of the most amazing nights of my life.
*****
TBC...
Edited by: DarkWiccan at: 4/18/04 1:17 pm