by Ashley Logan
“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.
lookma_nohands@: She called.
He must not be screwing his wife-to-be with his newly functional wiener, because he answers straight away.
woodificould@: 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.”
woodificould@: 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.”
woodificould@: 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.”
woodificould@: 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.”
woodificould@: 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.”
woodificould@: 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.
woodificould@: 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.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEXA
After calling Damon, I don’t dance for three days. That’s how I know for certain that I’m completely hung up. That, and the excessive crying and balling myself up in his jacket. Though I haven’t yet discussed it with my therapist, I’m pretty sure that behavior makes me crazy. Who gets that attached after meeting a guy for ten minutes? It’s pathetic. I don’t care how great the guy might seem in that short time frame, he can’t possibly be worth three days of over-emotional bullshit. This has never happened to me and I don’t know what to make of it. I try to detach myself from my emotions as I normally do, but it’s as if he’s weakened my ability to do so.
After visiting Madame Jermaine in the hospital, I make my way to her dance studio to pick up the three after-school classes that Janine, her assistant, can’t cover today. Putting on a brave face, I run each group of kids through their basic skills before we work through the choreography for their upcoming recital. By the end, I’m pleased to learn that I’ve got some of my desire to dance back.
Locking the door as the last group leaves, I put on my own music and use the space to dance out my emotions. I dance in the empty club when I’m home, but Madame’s feels like home too, only there aren’t a bunch of other dancers everywhere you turn.
Cathartic dancing requires more privacy than Beyond can offer me. My friend Violet insists that dance helps you to work through troublesome emotions, and I’m getting nowhere crying in my bed.
The truth is, I know she’s right. I’ve always loved dance; right back since Mom first took me to see Swan Lake when I was four. I begged her to let me learn, though she didn’t take that much convincing. All through the bad stuff, it was dancing that gave me comfort. Which is why, when I had the chance to take my life back, I begged Madame to let me join her classes.
She looked at my old clothes and hole-ridden sneakers, and I knew immediately I wouldn’t fit in with her other students, but she let me dance for her. It was an audition of sorts, I suppose. She wanted me to prove I was worthy of her tutelage, and I had nothing to lose. With no music, I danced for twenty minutes straight in complete silence. She never said a word the whole time, but when I finally came to stand before her, her eyes were wet. That was when Madame Jermaine invited me to attend any class I wanted as long as I paid my way by washing her walls of glass and mirrors. The back room soon became my home, and the lost property collection box became my wardrobe. Luckily for me, one black leotard looks much like another, so nobody ever accused me of stealing.
As I dance now, I let myself be lifted by thoughts of those who helped me climb out of trouble. One day I plan to be strong enough to help others to do the same. People like Madame, and Prez, and Sam and Larry, prove there is good in the world and kids in trouble need more of that good in their lives.
Slowly spinning to a stop, I hold my position a moment before relaxing to flat feet. Walking to my bag, I look up at the sound of tapping on the glass. Sam’s face is pressed against it, flattening her nose as she squints through the tint. She gives me a wave. Waving back, I quickly change into my shoes and pull on my hoodie.
Coming to stand next to me as I lock the door, she waits patiently for her hug. I squeeze her longer than is really necessary and she pulls away to look at me in concern.
“Everything okay?” she asks. “You dance beautifully, by the way. Every time I watch you, I’m entranced.”
“I’m fine,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “Got you a present,” I say, diverting and rummaging in my bag to pull out a pair of my old boots. “They look worn enough so nobody will want to steal them from you, but they have warm linings and no heels.”
“You don’t have to keep looking after me like this, Lex. I’m an adult.”
“I want to. Walk me to the bus stop?” I ask, checking her out and smiling because not only is she wearing the jacket and hat I gave her, but she has also showered recently.
Gesturing for me to lead the way, she takes the position on my street side.
“So did you and Damon get beyond making goo-goo eyes at each other?”
Staring at her a moment, I drop my eyes to the sidewalk. “Why do you ask?”
Sam shrugs. “I just thought he seemed kind of perfect for you, is all.”
I stop. “Why would you say that?”
Laughing, she looks at me. “Um, it’s pretty obvious, but whatever.”
Looking at her strangely, I fold my arms tighter around myself. “Maybe he is perfect. All the more reason to stay away from him. I’m nowhere near ready for perfect. I’ll only mess it up.”
“You’re crazy,” she says, nudging my elbow with hers the way she always does when she wants to show me she cares. “I love you Lex, but you have to open yourself up to pursue happiness.”
“I’ll open up when I’m ready, Sam.”
“You’re ready now!”
“I’m not!”
>
“Why not?” she asks, leaning against the bus stop shelter and looking down the street.
“I’m just not ready, Sam! I have too much to do before I can even try. I’m not finished school, I don’t have a perfect job, or a perfect past, or a perfect family, or a perfect track record.”
“But you could have the perfect guy.”
“Perfect guys don’t want crazy and I have way too much crazy. If any guy knew all my crazy, there’s no way he could ever love me.”
“I know all your crazy and I still love you,” she says, stepping forward as my bus approaches.
“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that we didn’t work out either. I’m not ready. I can’t handle a perfect guy yet. I’ll scare him.”
“He seems brave enough to me, but what would I know? I’m not perfect either. We still deserve a chance though, right?” she asks, kissing me on the cheek and leaving before I can respond.
ALGEBRA IS INSANE. I can’t for the life of me untangle the numbers from the letters. Since I was nine, math has been a constant struggle and although I’ve been fighting my way through the grades, I feel like there will never be an end to this numerical battle.
It’s late in the afternoon and I’m probably the only one in the apartment that’s stressing out. Sundays are our permanent day off, because the club stays closed. It should be the most relaxing day of the week, but I’m on a deadline. Closing my eyes, I lean back in my chair. I can hear talking and laughter coming from the living room, which means that most of my roommates are having a nice day.
“It’s good someone’s enjoying themselves,” I tell Charlotte, who’s propped on my desk watching me work. She stares at me with her good eye. Rubbing my own eyes, I smile at her.
