My husband kind of has a super power. I don’t know what else to call it. He is able to do something that no one else can do, at least that I know of. There probably is some underground government facility that houses people like my husband, but as much as he annoys me, I would rather the government stay out of our lives.
Jerome does not have the kind of superpowers that you read about in comic books. He doesn’t become invisible, see through walls, or teleport. Actually, thank God he is not able to do any of these things. I have enough grief checking the history on his computer and then deleting his activities. I don’t need him walking by a Victoria Secret’s and powering up.
My high school sweetheart, the love of my life, who I married for better or for worse, walks on air. This was not a romantic sentiment of how I make him feel, but it is what he has been doing for the past month. He walks three feet off the ground and always three feet off the ground. Jerome claims that he is not able to step up or down, so he was stuck at three feet off the ground. My husband, the super hero.
It happened one month ago when I asked him to jump down from the kitchen counter and help me with dinner. With his palms flat against the counter surface, he lifted himself up and stayed there an impressive five seconds before plopping back down, rattling the muffins in the cake dish. He was proud of this accomplishment. “Look at me! Look what I’m doing! Just like an Olympian!”
Cutting the chicken breast into chunks, I chuckled at his antics. God, I found it cute. I told him to swing his fine bottom over to the cupboard and get me some garlic. I expected to hear the thump of his feet on the kitchen floor, rattling the already disturbed muffins, but instead he shouted, “Oh my God, Kelly! Kelly! Look at me!”
With a knife in my hands, I turned to see my spouse standing solidly three feet off the ground. As if he was standing on some invisible step stool. Carefully, I put the knife on the cutting board, threw the scraps of chicken fat into the garbage, and washed my hands before looking at my husband, who was still standing three feet off the ground. It was three feet because he later made me get a tape measure.
On my hands and knees, I waved my hand under his feet, which were missing one sock. I felt like I was some magician’s helper demonstrating to the audience that this was real magic. Walking around him, I did not see some apparatus holding him in place. My head now came to his belt buckle, which he noticed and said, “Convenient, huh?” I punched his thigh and shouted, “Look at you! How did this happen?”
Jerome walked back and forth above the kitchen floor with his head inches from the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s not my fault. I really got to pee. What am I supposed to do?” he said, looking at me as if I should automatically have the answer. His aim is bad enough when he has two feet on the ground and whistling the theme from The Andy Griffith Show with the door open.
“Am I going to be able to pee in the toilet or will it land at my feet and just float there? What if I got to do more than pee? Where will it go?” I told him to calm down and held up a banana to him. “What is this? A fiber commercial? I really got to go!”
Closing the curtains, so the neighbors would not have to see their resident X-Man in action, I told him to drop the banana to see what would happen. Jerome extended his arm, holding the banana in front of him and closed his eyes. “Just drop the banana, Dear.” Jerome gave me that look when he is having trouble screwing something in, and my comments aren’t helping. “I’m sorry, J. Would you please drop the banana?”
Dramatic music did not come out of nowhere and start playing as time slowed down and our eyes watched the slow fall of the brown banana. This was not going to be another fantastic discovery in my husband’s new superhero career like he was Spider-Man first discovering his ability to scale walls. I swear Jerome makes me watch all those comic book movies.
The banana fell all the way to the kitchen floor bypassing Jerome’s feet and whatever it was holding his weight. I picked up the banana, carried it to the trash, and looked up at my husband who was flexing his muscles. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, Dear.”
Next problem: how to get him into the bathroom? Jerome was about 5’8 and since he was three feet off the ground, his head was about four inches from the ceiling. He couldn’t simply walk into the bathroom because the top of the door frame came to his neck. “You’re going to have to duck or get on your hands and knees and crawl, or something,” I instructed.
“Damn, this is hard. Do you think I can crawl on the air too?” Jerome backed up against the wall facing the bathroom door with his hands on his knees, as if he was a baseball player observing a batter. I was beside him with my phone in my hand wondering who I could call for help. “I don’t know, dear. You’re going to have to try.”
My elevated husband drew in a deep breath as if he is about to do a pushup, and then he placed one hand forward. “Testing the waters first,” I said with a laugh, finally seeing the humor in all of this. Jerome didn’t appreciate the laugh and gave me his frustrated look again. “You know you butt is cute when you bend over like that.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. He took another deep breath and placed both hands on whatever surface I couldn’t see, but he could still walk through. “Huh,” he said pleased with himself. “Okay. I’m on my hands on knees. Will the pee still go through, or float here? Do you got any more of those bananas?” Jerome unbuckled his jeans and pulled his partner out.
“Stand up, Dear, and pee. That is not going to work in that position.” I lifted the lid for him and grabbed a wad full of toilet paper for the inevitable miss. “Ok, you can leave now. I got this.”
I stood outside the bathroom and listened for the splash of urine and tune of The Andy Griffith Show, but I also heard my husband celebrating. “I’m doing it! Yeah, Baby! I got this!” With the wad of toilet paper in my hand, I dabbed at a tear forming in my eye and thought how was I going to get through this?
Jerome does not have the kind of superpowers that you read about in comic books. He doesn’t become invisible, see through walls, or teleport. Actually, thank God he is not able to do any of these things. I have enough grief checking the history on his computer and then deleting his activities. I don’t need him walking by a Victoria Secret’s and powering up.
My high school sweetheart, the love of my life, who I married for better or for worse, walks on air. This was not a romantic sentiment of how I make him feel, but it is what he has been doing for the past month. He walks three feet off the ground and always three feet off the ground. Jerome claims that he is not able to step up or down, so he was stuck at three feet off the ground. My husband, the super hero.
It happened one month ago when I asked him to jump down from the kitchen counter and help me with dinner. With his palms flat against the counter surface, he lifted himself up and stayed there an impressive five seconds before plopping back down, rattling the muffins in the cake dish. He was proud of this accomplishment. “Look at me! Look what I’m doing! Just like an Olympian!”
Cutting the chicken breast into chunks, I chuckled at his antics. God, I found it cute. I told him to swing his fine bottom over to the cupboard and get me some garlic. I expected to hear the thump of his feet on the kitchen floor, rattling the already disturbed muffins, but instead he shouted, “Oh my God, Kelly! Kelly! Look at me!”
With a knife in my hands, I turned to see my spouse standing solidly three feet off the ground. As if he was standing on some invisible step stool. Carefully, I put the knife on the cutting board, threw the scraps of chicken fat into the garbage, and washed my hands before looking at my husband, who was still standing three feet off the ground. It was three feet because he later made me get a tape measure.
On my hands and knees, I waved my hand under his feet, which were missing one sock. I felt like I was some magician’s helper demonstrating to the audience that this was real magic. Walking around him, I did not see some apparatus holding him in place. My head now came to his belt buckle, which he noticed and said, “Convenient, huh?” I punched his thigh and shouted, “Look at you! How did this happen?”
Jerome walked back and forth above the kitchen floor with his head inches from the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s not my fault. I really got to pee. What am I supposed to do?” he said, looking at me as if I should automatically have the answer. His aim is bad enough when he has two feet on the ground and whistling the theme from The Andy Griffith Show with the door open.
“Am I going to be able to pee in the toilet or will it land at my feet and just float there? What if I got to do more than pee? Where will it go?” I told him to calm down and held up a banana to him. “What is this? A fiber commercial? I really got to go!”
Closing the curtains, so the neighbors would not have to see their resident X-Man in action, I told him to drop the banana to see what would happen. Jerome extended his arm, holding the banana in front of him and closed his eyes. “Just drop the banana, Dear.” Jerome gave me that look when he is having trouble screwing something in, and my comments aren’t helping. “I’m sorry, J. Would you please drop the banana?”
Dramatic music did not come out of nowhere and start playing as time slowed down and our eyes watched the slow fall of the brown banana. This was not going to be another fantastic discovery in my husband’s new superhero career like he was Spider-Man first discovering his ability to scale walls. I swear Jerome makes me watch all those comic book movies.
The banana fell all the way to the kitchen floor bypassing Jerome’s feet and whatever it was holding his weight. I picked up the banana, carried it to the trash, and looked up at my husband who was flexing his muscles. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, Dear.”
Next problem: how to get him into the bathroom? Jerome was about 5’8 and since he was three feet off the ground, his head was about four inches from the ceiling. He couldn’t simply walk into the bathroom because the top of the door frame came to his neck. “You’re going to have to duck or get on your hands and knees and crawl, or something,” I instructed.
“Damn, this is hard. Do you think I can crawl on the air too?” Jerome backed up against the wall facing the bathroom door with his hands on his knees, as if he was a baseball player observing a batter. I was beside him with my phone in my hand wondering who I could call for help. “I don’t know, dear. You’re going to have to try.”
My elevated husband drew in a deep breath as if he is about to do a pushup, and then he placed one hand forward. “Testing the waters first,” I said with a laugh, finally seeing the humor in all of this. Jerome didn’t appreciate the laugh and gave me his frustrated look again. “You know you butt is cute when you bend over like that.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. He took another deep breath and placed both hands on whatever surface I couldn’t see, but he could still walk through. “Huh,” he said pleased with himself. “Okay. I’m on my hands on knees. Will the pee still go through, or float here? Do you got any more of those bananas?” Jerome unbuckled his jeans and pulled his partner out.
“Stand up, Dear, and pee. That is not going to work in that position.” I lifted the lid for him and grabbed a wad full of toilet paper for the inevitable miss. “Ok, you can leave now. I got this.”
I stood outside the bathroom and listened for the splash of urine and tune of The Andy Griffith Show, but I also heard my husband celebrating. “I’m doing it! Yeah, Baby! I got this!” With the wad of toilet paper in my hand, I dabbed at a tear forming in my eye and thought how was I going to get through this?
+ + +
My husband has a super power, and at the moment he is shooting at aliens. Jerome is in our bedroom floating crosslegged, three feet off the ground playing a video game. It may look like he has reached nirvana, but instead he has reached a new achievement in his game. It has been a month since we discovered in our kitchen that he was no longer at the same level as the rest of us, but three feet off the ground.
Our mattress is two feet from the ground, which means that Jerome floats lying down just a couple of inches above me. He still sleeps on his side of the bed, and we still share the same sheets and blankets, but it was a little harder to cuddle. I do miss that. Since his ability, when he tries to put his arm around me, his hand hovers above my body, creeping me out.
I am not going to talk about our sex life. Nothing is working. It might have looked kinky to some perverts, but Jerome is better at peeing without splashing everywhere than us trying the other thing. Going to the bathroom has become easier and cleaner since that is the one thing he is forced to do until he gets it right. All of the other daily activities like clothing himself and showering have not been too affected by his new ability. He is basically just a little bit taller, so he has to duck or crawl to get through doors.
He hasn’t done much since he got his power, and there is not much he can do. Because he is three feet off of the ground he can’t cook, load the dishwasher, wash the laundry, make the bed, take out the trash, or get the mail. There are a few things that he is able to do that both of us had trouble doing before: cleaning the ceiling fans, changing light bulbs, and changing the batteries in the smoke detectors. His powers could be used outside of the house for the good of humankind, but the only things I can think of would be getting cats out of trees and out-dunking some basketball star.
Jerome had to quit his job; actually, I quit the job for him. I called his manager and told him that Jerome had left me and moved to Florida. I couldn’t think of any other kind of excuse. I didn’t want to make up a disease and have sympathetic coworkers show up to check up on him. Now everyone sympathizes for me and Jerome is a jerk. It’ll work for now.
My friends are worried about me. I told them the same thing I told Jerome’s boss, that he left me and moved to Florida. I couldn’t think of any other details to add so I said I didn’t want to get into details.
Trying to support me, my friends now want to hang out more, so I go out and leave my husband at home. I cook something for him to eat and make sure he has the TV remote and video game controller. Thinking ahead, I actually tied string around the wireless controller and remote, and then tied the other ends of the strings to his belt, so he wouldn’t drop them. I don’t know how else he could pick them up if I wasn’t there to do it for him.
Our mattress is two feet from the ground, which means that Jerome floats lying down just a couple of inches above me. He still sleeps on his side of the bed, and we still share the same sheets and blankets, but it was a little harder to cuddle. I do miss that. Since his ability, when he tries to put his arm around me, his hand hovers above my body, creeping me out.
I am not going to talk about our sex life. Nothing is working. It might have looked kinky to some perverts, but Jerome is better at peeing without splashing everywhere than us trying the other thing. Going to the bathroom has become easier and cleaner since that is the one thing he is forced to do until he gets it right. All of the other daily activities like clothing himself and showering have not been too affected by his new ability. He is basically just a little bit taller, so he has to duck or crawl to get through doors.
He hasn’t done much since he got his power, and there is not much he can do. Because he is three feet off of the ground he can’t cook, load the dishwasher, wash the laundry, make the bed, take out the trash, or get the mail. There are a few things that he is able to do that both of us had trouble doing before: cleaning the ceiling fans, changing light bulbs, and changing the batteries in the smoke detectors. His powers could be used outside of the house for the good of humankind, but the only things I can think of would be getting cats out of trees and out-dunking some basketball star.
Jerome had to quit his job; actually, I quit the job for him. I called his manager and told him that Jerome had left me and moved to Florida. I couldn’t think of any other kind of excuse. I didn’t want to make up a disease and have sympathetic coworkers show up to check up on him. Now everyone sympathizes for me and Jerome is a jerk. It’ll work for now.
My friends are worried about me. I told them the same thing I told Jerome’s boss, that he left me and moved to Florida. I couldn’t think of any other details to add so I said I didn’t want to get into details.
Trying to support me, my friends now want to hang out more, so I go out and leave my husband at home. I cook something for him to eat and make sure he has the TV remote and video game controller. Thinking ahead, I actually tied string around the wireless controller and remote, and then tied the other ends of the strings to his belt, so he wouldn’t drop them. I don’t know how else he could pick them up if I wasn’t there to do it for him.
+ + +
One night I came home later than usual after hanging out with my friends at a bar. Jerome was floating in the middle of the living room reading a book. “A book? Why are you reading a book?” I said with a laugh.
“I was getting tired of video games,” he said, looking at me with a look I have not seen from him often—worry.
“What about all of your TV shows? I thought you were going to try to finish Lost and 24 and that sci-fi show with the killer robots.”
“Cylons,” he corrected me.
He walked over to me and reached down for my hand. “I just wanted to say that I love you and thank you for taking care of me during this whole thing. I promise you I’m going to find someone to help us. I’ve been on the Internet doing research.”
I laughed out loud and said, “The Internet? I’m sure that will answer all of our problems.” He let go of my hand and turned around. I picked up his book from off the floor and raised it up to him. “You might want to Google something on me as well.” “What do you mean?” he said.
“I mean, that I think, maybe I have a superpower too, or whatever we are calling it. Ever since you got your thing that you do off the ground, I have not had to eat, sleep, or even fill the gas in my car. What has it been? A month. A year. I feel great! I could get in my car now and drive for days and not have to fill it up. I could just keep driving till I hit an ocean.”
Jerome scratched at his three-day beard, as I walked into the bedroom. “I’m going to do a load of laundry because I have a dress that needs to be cleaned. I’m going out with my friends tomorrow and some other people you don’t know. Then after that who knows what I’ll do. It’s my day off.”
Jerome seemed to have floated over to me at the door to our bedroom and said, “I love you, Kelly.” I held a couple of his fingers in the hand he was holding out to me and said, “I know you do.” A single tear fell from my husband’s left eye, but unlike the banana, urine, and everything else, it dropped down in front of his feet three feet off the ground held by something I will never see.
