Buzzzz

(Cheyenne. 1988)

{Okay, so, this chair i am speaking of in this story is apparently a valuable piece of furniture to Cheyenne because it the only thing she has that had belonged to her uncle. Who, you guessed it, passed away years ago. This isn't true. I'm pretty sure Chey doesn't have an uncle named Randall or an important chair. Anyway: Nikki and Cheyenne got into a fight one night and he threw the chair across the room. He felt bad about it, so now he's trying to fix it for her and he's being a major kiss-ass so she could forgive him. Understand? And this is also another story for Chey.}

Early Saturday morning, I was awakened by the unmistakable sound of a buzz saw coming from the garage. I know what that sound means; I watch crime TV. Petrified, i lay rigid in my bed, my heart thumping out of my chest. My God, he's done it, I thought. I listened for screams, imagined the worst. i couldn't even cry for Tom, not yet. The shock was too fresh.

Gizmo peered out of the door just as i did. We both looked terrified. The blood drained from my face and pooled somewhere in the lower part of my stomach. I tiptoed down the hall, toward the hideous, high-pitched whine of the buzz saw.

I wasn't ready to enter the garage. Paralyzed by the thought of seeing what i was about to see, i clamped my eyes shut as i slowly opened the door.

"Good morning, baby!"

Whistling and clear-eyed, Nikki was cutting segments of chair spindle. Uncle Randall's chair was upside down on his workbench, porcupined with clamps.

"Hand me that wood glue, would ya, babe?" he asked.

I remember every second of that day, every millisecond. Our relationship seemed to glow around the edges. Nikki was himself again. He was funny, charming, silly. We couldn't stop smiling. I made lemonade and ham and cheese sandwiches from scratch.

"Just a little snack." I chirped. I served them on a tray in the garage where Nikki was fixing Uncle Randall's chair.

I brought out our old radio and plugged it into the outlet over the workbench.

That night when I cooked dinner, Nikki helped.

"Could you please skin these potatoes?" I asked, ripping up a head of lettuce for a salad. Romaine, not iceburg. I even made vinaigrette from scratch. Nikki marinated five chicken breasts and told me to pour two glasses of wine.

Everything was perfectly right. I couldn't believe it.

Nikki walked over to me and encircled me with his arms. He kissed the top of my head and said, "Everything's going to be okay, sweetie. You'll see."

In Nikki's arms, smelling his smell, i felt like a kid again; safe and comfortable.