DAMON

“What’s up with you?” Bruno asks as he stands next to my painting chair. The man is six foot five and built like a tank with a standard army buzz-cut to boot. Growing a beard and letting my hair grow was the first thing I did when I was medically discharged. I’d like to think it was rebellion against the agency responsible for destroying my hands, but really it’s just more convenient for me not to shave. Bruno on the other hand, is so orderly by nature, he probably had the buzz-cut before he joined up; and although he’s always been big, it wasn’t until he completed rehab from his spinal injury that he got to work on becoming the muscled unit he is now. I’m a comparable six three - though not quite so built, and when I’m sitting down, his presence is difficult to dismiss.

“You haven’t said shit all morning. Jenkins says you’ve got your period,” he adds, half serious, half light.

Turning away from my canvas I see both Bruno Jackson and Brad Jenkins staring at me with concerned faces. I’m sure it was only a few weeks ago that I was looking at both of them with a similar expression as they went through simultaneous life crises. Swings and roundabouts, I guess.

“Well your mom came over last night Jenkins, but it definitely wasn’t for anything to do with my pussy. Fuck off back to your own spaces. I’m busy.”

Adjusting myself in the reclining seat I use for painting, I dip my brush into the orange, only to get more paint on my toes than my brush. Sighing I look back at them and point a stump at my painting foot. “See? You’re putting me off. I can’t concentrate while you guys are looking at me like I’m dying inside. I’m not.”

“What are you painting?” Jenkins asks, tilting his head sideways as he wheels his chair closer.

If I tell him, I’ll open myself up for teasing every time we talk about painting. Considering we paint together every weekend and sometimes during the week when I help them with brainstorming and designing the murals they’ve been painting downtown, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. So I lie.

“An abstract. I’m practicing my short strokes, so it’s just color and technique.”

“Looks like fireworks,” Bruno says with a raised eyebrow.

Staring at the canvas, I pretend I haven’t seen the connection. “Yeah, it does a bit. What are you fuck-turds painting?”

“We both painted Brad’s mom,” Bruno says, holding up two voluptuous nudes before jumping out of the way of Jenkins’ leg-killing punches. Dancing away out of reach, he taunts Brad by flicking his tongue out at Brad’s painting’s nipples.

“I’m gonna tell Blondie you’re cheating on her!” Jenkins threatens with a grin.

Since Bruno finally got together with his dream girl Scarlett, we’ve been doing our level best to mess with him, but he’s so happy and in love he barely notices.

“Scar loves it when I paint nudes. It gets me in the mood.”

“Dude. Too much information,” I cry, holding my stumps to my ears. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want us knowing your girlfriend loves frequent cock.”

“Fiancée,” he says, correcting me.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever! Do you want me to bring this dodgy information up in the wedding toast?”

Bruno’s eyes grow round. “What? No! You wouldn’t!”

“Well I can’t talk about what I don’t know, so keep your dirty sex life in your filthy bedroom.”

“Da-ay-mon,” Bruno teases quietly, leaning in too close. “Don’t be jelly!” he says over and over, while he tickles me so ruthlessly that I fall out of my chair.

Recovering myself, I leave his ass covered in painted footprints from kicking him. I also kick Jenkins in his strapped, numb shins because even though he played no part in the incident, he’s laughing even harder than Bruno.

Father Franco, our post-Sunday Service art teacher makes an appearance, tuts and shakes his head, but walks away smiling.

“I can’t believe you just used my one weakness against me like that,” I say, shaking my head in disappointment.

“Pfft. One weakness,” Jenkins says, laughing again. “You suck at thumb wrestling.”

Laughing with him, I knock Brad’s brakes off and push him out the door behind him so he starts rolling down the ramp backwards. The look on his face is priceless until he manages to slow himself to a stop halfway down the ramp. Bruno and I laugh as we watch him blow on his hands to cool them down.

Looking around, I notice the eyes of others - some amused, some not so much - as they watch the trio of weirdos acting like children. Clearing my throat, I bow to Bruno, give him a wink and assume a solemn expression as I head back to my station to start tidying up for the end of class.

Once outside we see Brad’s Mom waiting for him in the parking lot.

“Dude, does your mom wipe your ass too? When are you getting a car?”

“When I can afford one, bitch. And I don’t even want to think about how you wipe your ass, ya handless punk.”

“My shit gets licked off by a squadron of specially trained kittens. It’s quite a pleasant experience. You should try it.”

Laughing as he rolls down the ramp, Jenkins shakes his head. “Sounds like something else I can’t afford, bro. Later!”

Once my special painting chair is loaded in the back, Bruno opens my door and I jump into my Audi A4 station wagon and pull my hooks from my shoulder bag. Slipping into the figure eight harness, I lock them into place at the end of my arms and the burning begins. The burning sensation is so much worse than the regular ache, because it’s raw and instantly present. Wincing, I start the car, because the sooner I start driving, the sooner my phantom fingers will feel itchy instead.

Sighing in relief as I reverse out of the space and take us out to the street, I flick on the radio. Bruno flicks it off.

“So what’s up?”

I raise a hook at him. “The middle finger.”

Batting it away, he gives me a hard look. “Stop being a tool. What’s wrong with you? Are you in pain?”

“I’m always in pain.”

“Yeah, but you’re especially short today. Did you sleep on them funny again?” he asks, his face contorting as he imagines what I go through.

“No. I don’t know. Shut up.”

Bruno turns in his seat to face me more. “Problems with the new apartment?”

“No. Everything seems to be going fine. Should be ready in about two weeks if everything goes to schedule.”

“That sounds like good news,” Bruno says, sounding confused. “So it’s something else.”

“Fuck off. I’m fine. And stop staring at me like that. It feels like you’re undressing me with your eyes, you sleazy bastard.”

Gasping excitedly as if he’s found the cure for cancer, Bruno gives the armrest a high five. “You met a girl.”

“I meet lots of girls,” I say, keeping my tone flat.

“Yeah, but you’ve met one you like,” he says with such a grin that I feel like smacking it from his face. “And you blew it. When was it? Recent. Don’t tell me. It was Halloween. She didn’t like it when you asked her to sit on your stump and be your ventriloquist’s dummy.”

Laughing a little, I shake my head. “I met her yesterday in the street. She’s beautiful and kind and when I kissed her it was so amazing that my hands sparkled.”

“You kissed her? Alright! Then what?”

“Then nothing. She hasn’t called me.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning in disappointment. “Did she not like the kiss?”

I shrug. “She said she did.”

“Was it the hands?” he asks, almost fearfully.

I shake my head. “I was wearing gloves, so it didn’t come up. Something spooked her, but I can’t blame the hands this time.”

Which means it’s just me. Sighing, I hit the indicator and rotate the wheel with the special ring attachment.

“I’m just bummed she hasn’t called. It’s fine. I just really wanted to see her again is all.”

“Then you should have got her number,” Bruno says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well I didn’t, ass-hat. I gave her mine and that’s just how it went. Can we talk about something else?”

“You wanna come up and meet some of the guys?” he asks, without missing a beat. Bruno is a good friend, but he keeps pushing me to meet all his stripper friends. Knowing Bruno, and having met Scarlett, I can only assume that me and my stumps will feel quite uncomfortable in the company of a dozen immaculate human specimens. It scares the shit out of me.

“Maybe next time.”

“Dude, you say that every time! Stop being such a pussy. They won’t bite you, and they won’t judge you either. We’ve all got our own problems. Just come upstairs!”

“If I say I’ll go next time will you drop it?”

“Will you mean it?”

I’ve never meant it before. Meeting new people is painful and I’m avoiding his friends as I would a rectal exam. Bruno stares at me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

Sighing, I watch the road. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. If you promise to come upstairs and hang out next week, I’ll drop it.”

“Fine. I promise to grow some testicles by next week.”

Bruno sits back with a satisfied smile and again adopts a new line of conversation with ease. “You going to your parent’s for Thanksgiving?”

“Probably. Wanna come?”

“I think we’re going to Scarlett’s folk’s. I’m a little worried about the sister being there though. I may have told her she was unpleasant.”

Laughing, I pull up to the curb down the street from his apartment. “Why would you tell her that?”

“Because she is!” he says, defending the move. “I won’t go into it, but she is probably one of the worst human beings I’ve ever met.”

“Sounds like a fun time ahead then. My sisters aren’t awful, if you change your mind. Though one tends to talk about her love life too much for my liking. I mean, Harriet’s only seventeen and she says some seriously outlandish shit, bro. I’m glad I don’t live close enough to hear about it too often, because I’m pretty sure I would have beaten up the lead singer of her band, and half of the football team by now.”

Bruno laughs.

“I’m serious. You’re lucky you’re an only child! I changed that kid’s diapers and fed her mush.” Being ten years older, I helped out with her a lot. Mainly because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get my allowance, but still; she became pretty precious to me. “Seventeen, man. And half the football team. I don’t even want to think about what Lara’s doing at College, but she made a good choice moving to the other side of the country to keep it from me.”

“Aw, big brother Damon all worried about his little sisters. Don’t tell Jenkins they’re easy, or he’ll be hounding you for an intro.”

I hit him in the chest with a hook. “I never said they were easy! She’s dated half the team, not fucked them!”

Bruno studies me for a moment, about to say something, but then he shakes his head and smiles. “I’m sure you’re right Shermansky,” he says, hopping out of the car. “Thanks for the lift.”

I stare at him. “I am right. And we will never speak of this again. Do you hear me? They will both be virgins until they’re thirty and that is all there is to say, because we both know that men are assholes. Especially the young ones.”

Bruno smiles and nods. “Whatever gets you through the day, brother. Hope that girl phones you soon. You’re turning into a grumpy old man. Smell ya later.”

***

PARKING THE CAR IN the garage, I let myself into my basement suite apartment and rid myself of the hooks before they burn right through my hands. As soon as they’re off, the dull ache comes back, but it beats the acid melt. Sighing, I flick open the kitchen cupboards and look at my supplies. Taking a protein bar, I rip the wrapper off with my teeth and take a bite.

I can’t be bothered cooking, so I’ll probably head over to Patty’s Patties later and get Lucille to whip me up a Damon-burger. Twiddling my non-existent thumbs, I look around my apartment, wondering what to do to keep my mind off the pain, and off Alexa.

Thinking about going for a run, I decide instead to go cycling.

Assembling anything I might need and putting it into my shoulder bag, I shorten the strap so it won’t rub on the tire of my unicycle. I’ve tried riding a bicycle since the accident, but without hooks, it’s too hard to steer around corners and brake. Unicycling allows for easy freedom and when I’m rolling along with the wind in my phantom fingers, it’s a damn good feeling.

Fitting my Bluetooth, hands-free headset, I start the ‘easy listening’ playlist on my phone and throw that in the bag too. Slinging it over my head, I walk back out to the garage, hooking the unicycle on my way out the door as I hit the automatic garage door opener. Stowing that safely into my bag, I set off.

About six blocks from home, my music gives way to my phone ringing. Reaching up, I nudge the side button on my headset to answer. “Yello?”

There is silence on the other end, so I speak a little louder.

“Hello-o? You’ve reached Damon. Anyone there?”

“Um. Hi, Damon.”

“Alexa?” The surprise of hearing her voice sends me off balance and before I know it, I’m sprawled on the sidewalk swearing as my left elbow scrapes the concrete. Scrabbling to my feet, I reach up to my headset to make sure it’s still on. “Alexa? Hello? Are you there? Please say you’re still there!”

“I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Ah yeah. Sorry about the cussing. I just fell off my unicycle. How are you?”

“Okay, I guess. You ride a unicycle?”

Wincing as I check my elbow, I lower it out of view. The faint fizzing in my hands at the sound of her voice does wonders to help with the pain.

“Yeah. I know it’s weird. And no, I’m not a clown. Well, I make stupid jokes, but I don’t have a creepy wig or anything. I’m babbling. Wow. Alexa. I’m so glad you called. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

There is a quiet pause on the other end of the phone, and then a small sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she says as though it’s a bad thing. “The reason I called, was to say thank you, and that I’m sorry for how I behaved. I think you’re very nice, but I can’t see you again.”

My throat closes tight around a groan as her words send stabbing pain through my chest and I have to look down to check if actual daggers have impaled me.

“It’s not you,” she says quickly. “You were amazing. Too amazing, actually. I don’t want to mess you around by making you think I can offer what I really can’t. I’m messed up, Damon. I mean really, badly messed up. I’ve got more baggage than you could fit in that big car of yours and although I really want to... have coffee with you, I just know that it won’t end well. So I just thought I’d call and let you know that while I think you’re very handsome and special, I’m way too damaged to consider ruining what was maybe the most perfect moment I’ve ever experienced. Thank you for that, by the way. And the jacket. I was going to ask you for an address to return it, but I’d like to keep it, if that’s still okay?”

“Alexa wait! Please don’t give up on me. You don’t know how much baggage I can carry. I carry a shitload already, but I’m strong enough to take whatever you need me to. The second I held you in my arms, the pain went away, Alexa. You’re the one who made that moment perfect. You might change your mind about how special I am when you actually see what’s missing, but I still want the chance to show you, Alexa. Keep the jacket. Take anything you want, just say you’ll see me again. Please.” I’m begging now. I know I must sound desperate. I am. I can literally feel the idea of her slipping through my no-fingers as the throbbing pain begins to intensify again.

“Damon please don’t make this harder than it already is. I need to work through my problems. Alone. They’ve ruined enough lives already.” Her voice begins to shake a little, as if she’s on the verge of tears.

“I’ll wait,” I say, grasping at any semblance of hope. “You have my number. I won’t change it. Call me anytime. If you won’t see me, will you at least talk to me?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’ve gotta go.” The line disconnects and I curse the darkening sky. Digging in my bag for my phone, I run my stump over the screen to get the call log. Looking at the number she’s called from, I frown. It looks weird.

Hitting call, I wait while it rings and rings. Hanging up, I wait a minute that feels more like fifty, and try again.

Again it rings and rings, but this time someone eventually answers. A guy.

“Um, hi. Is Alexa there?” I ask, hoping he’s a brother, or a roommate and not her boyfriend.

“Where? On the street? Man, I thought this would be like in the movies.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What was the name? I can yell it out and see if anyone walking by answers to it.”

“Pardon? Who is this?”

“Name’s Cuba. I picked up the phone thinking I might be in some sort of police bit. Seemed a fun idea at the time. What do you want man?”

“Cuba, my name is Damon and I’m looking to speak to Alexa. Where are you?”

“Main Street.”

“Main Street?” I can hear traffic in the background and start to get a horrible feeling. “Are you on a pay phone?”

“Yeah man. You should know, you called it. Oh shit,” he says, coming to the same conclusion I just did. “That Alexa chick gave you a fake number.”

“Yeah she did,” I reply, feeling another blade pierce my heart. “Thanks anyway, man. You have a good day.”

“You too man. Get yourself a stiff drink and a lap dance.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Nudging my headset, I collapse next to my unicycle and assess it for any damage. It seems okay. Better than my elbow. Taking a Clorox wipe from my bag, I wipe the blood from my arm and clean the dirt out of the graze. Packing my bag again, I cycle back home.

Flopping in front of my computer, I change headsets to the one linked into my speech recognition software as the screen comes to life. Getting into my mailbox, I email Bruno.

[email protected]: She called.

He must not be screwing his wife-to-be with his newly functional wiener, because he answers straight away.

[email protected]: And?

Sighing, I speak into the microphone.

“And nothing. I’m out. She said it was perfect, but she was too messed up to go any further. She even went so far as to call me from a pay phone so I couldn’t call her back.”

[email protected]: Ouch. That’s rough dude. You OK?

“Yeah. No. I mean, I’ll be fine, but nah, man. I’m not feeling great at all. Also, you need a new email address now that your dick is working. Tell me something good.”

[email protected]: I heard the base up at Holiday Valley is nearly thirty inches. You going skiing soon?

“Maybe I’ll blow off school and go to the cabin for the week.”

[email protected]: By yourself? Can you even do that? Don’t you have assignments and shit?

“I studied astrophysics. I’m sure I can take a week off how to teach basic math to kids with learning disabilities,” I say, kicking the leg of my desk. It bangs against the wall forcefully enough to make an elbow of macaroni fall from a picture a kid made me last year. “Fuck it. Now I feel guilty, because I have no idea how to teach math to kids who can’t see the numbers straight. It’s probably different from the reading and everything. Fuck you man. Now I have to sit in class thinking about skiing while my hands feel like jelly.”

[email protected]: Class makes them feel like jelly? Gross. Better than pain, I guess. What’s skiing again?

“It’s like a tingle, but the weird kind. Like when your leg has been asleep and it’s waking up, but just before the pins and needles start. Kinda like bee swarms. You’re always expecting a sting. It’s not the same as the tingle that turned into sparkle explosions, but I’ll take it over the pain any day.”

[email protected]: Is that what you were painting? The sparkle?

“I’m done listening to myself now. Thanks for the chat. Later.”

Yanking the headset off, I rub my face and stare at the screen.

[email protected]: Sorry man. Here if ya need.

I think about heading out for that burger, but I’ve lost my appetite. Pushing my chair back, I decide on a shower followed by medication induced sleep. My phone rings and my parent’s number flashes onto the screen. Sighing, I nudge it and put it on speaker as I try to pull off sounding upbeat.

“Hey Ma. Now’s not a great time.”

“Is everything okay honey? You sound down.” How does she do that? It’s like she’s tuned in to the ‘fragile son’ frequency or some shit.

“I’m fine, Ma. I fell off my bike, so I’m just heading to the shower.”

“Are you alright? Were you wearing a helmet?” The line is delivered in a tone that turns the question into a form of lecture.

Rolling my eyes, I try not to let my tone show it. “My head is fine, I just grazed an elbow. Everything is okay, but I’m busy right now. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Make sure you do,” she says as if I wouldn’t.

“I will, Ma. Say hi to Dad and Haz for me. Love ya.”

“Love you too Damo.”

Ending the call, I take a deep breath and head to the bathroom. I have a lot to be grateful for in my life. I have a loving family, good friends, a brain and the use of every part of my body I have left, so I try not to waste energy thinking of how much easier life would be if I had hands. It’s not like they’ll grow back. That actually makes it easier not to dwell.

Alexa however, is a girl I might dwell on for a while to come.