It’s not about the germs.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS; it is the property of its respective creators.

Author’s Note: This was written in response to Weekly Writing Challenge # 6 on NFA.


They all think it’s funny. They think that I’m a weirdo, that I’m silly, how can I be afraid of something that’s everywhere? Germs aren’t something that you just want to avoid, not to me. No, germs rule my life. Or more accurately, my fear of getting sick from germs rules my life.

I’ve always been highly aware of what a sneeze in the wrong direction can do to someone with a weak immune system. Before I had to worry for my brother, deep in his coma, chances of waking up slim, I worried for my mother.

My mother, Kayla Jardine, nee Williams, had been sick from a very early age. Her body couldn’t defend itself from germs, and the medication used to help her immune system made her violently ill. She had been terrified to have children with my father, to pass on her “curse” to innocent babes.

A test had shown that my mama wouldn’t give us any of her sickly genes. Only then had she agreed to have children with her husband, my father, Kyle Jardine, not knowing that she would pass on something else to us.

I hate the feeling of thinking a disease is lurking in every corner, on every surface. It’s not fun to have to wipe things down ten times just so you can use them. Truthfully, it’s not living. You can’t be living if you’re always in fear.

I was seven years old when my papa died in the line of fire. If it had been hard before for my mama to navigate motherhood with her illness, it was impossible once papa died.

Mama really fell apart, physically and mentally, once papa died. She was so weak she couldn’t get out of bed, the littlest of germs could get her sick, and she worried constantly something would happen to us.

I all but raised my baby brother, Michael, while making sure mom didn’t have to go outside, and I still went to school.

I used to have to come home from school with Michael, strip us both, and take a shower before we could go see mama. It got to the point that I thought of germs instead of school, instead of sleep, instead of everything.

Mama realized that I was cracking under the pressure of serving too many Gods. She called my Aunt Connie and told her to take us, she was checking into a hospital. She could no longer care for herself, and she couldn’t leave that burden to me.

The last time I saw my mama, she was but skin and bones, delirious, shouting for the evil germs to get away from her. I couldn’t even kiss her goodbye by that point, the glass wall prevented it. I could only say my goodbyes through the glass, and hope some part of her heard.

Time went by. Aunt Connie got both me and Michael through school. Michael enrolled in the Marines. He wanted to be a hero like papa. I, on the other hand, had taken after mama.

Germs were the enemy. They stole mama from me and Michael, tormented her, her whole life long, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I tried to stop thinking about them, tried to have a good time like the other people I saw. I couldn’t do it, no matter how hard I tried. So I gave up and let the fear become part of me.

Michael lived like papa, and he’ll die like him, a hero. I live like mama, right down to huddling in dark small places, also known as my office. Papa made Michael want to stand up and fight for his freedom. Mama made me afraid to touch another person, so I lived in the shadows.

So when they make fun of me, they don’t know what they’re talking about. They’re not making fun of Nikki Jardine, Germophobe. They’re making fun of my family.

Kayla Jardine, tormented soul, trapped in her home by her own body, loving mother no matter how bad the pain was, widowed wife missing her other half.

Kyle Jadine, a fighter for our freedom, he died a hero, passing on the torch to his son, a loving father, and caring husband through it all.

Michael Jadine, his father’s son, his mama’s baby boy, a fighter for what he believed in, the best brother anyone could ask for.

They live on in me. So when you talk about me behind my back, you don’t just insult me, you insult a mother, a father, a son, a brother, a sister, a wife, a husband, and so much more.

Go think about that for while, and see if you think the same about me after.


Valerie Portolano
January 6th, 2009