I’d never had my own apartment before, and I was 34 years old. From infancy to 18, I’d lived with my parents, 18 to 21 with college roommates, 22-23 my parents again. Then it was with various women, girlfriends, wives, and in-between ladies, various roommates again…
It wasn’t a bad place for $350.00 a month, utilities included, a one bedroom job on the second floor with a shower stall, toilet and sink behind a flimsy sliding panel door, but it had a spacious living room that came with shag carpet, two large plaid couches with a beat up coffee table in-between, and a 20-year-old 12” color TV with aluminum foil wrapped around its antennas. A cubby in the corner behind the Formica counter served as a kitchen only one person could fit in while grabbing a beer from the small fridge with no ice maker, frying up dinner on the sickly yellow electric grill, or stacking another dirty dish in the rusting sink. And the place was all mine, pure freedom, a place I ruled but shared as I wished. Any friend could stay the night on one of the plaid couches after having too much to drink, and I didn’t have to worry about one of my wives or girlfriends getting on my nerves about it. I even kept buckets around to vomit in after we’d had too many. We just had to rinse them out in the alley the next morning. No one had a right to tell me when to clean up, or when I should return home, or be home. I could have whatever I wanted to eat at any time of day, didn’t have to make the bed, could sleep, yell, sing, drink, and dance however and whenever. Come and go as I pleased. I’d finally become a MAN. I finally felt like I had a home.
One Friday night after work, Nick showed up at my apartment. He had one arm. Nick had recently lost the other one, at the elbow, in a bad trucking accident.
Nick stepped right in when I opened the door. “Hey Johnny!” He hugged me with his one arm that was tightly grasping an unopened and rare 3-liter bottle of Crown Royal in its hand. The bottle pressed into my back. It was going to be a good night.
“I have a bag of ice and some plastic cups,” I said.
“Sounds good. Let’s get started,” Nick smiled.
I took the bottle and went to the kitchen in the corner.
Nick plopped down on a couch. He was wearing a long-sleeve flannel shirt, and one of the sleeves was folded up around the end of his stumped elbow. The stump rested on the arm of the couch.
I came back with two drinks. Crown Royal on ice in plastic cups, gave Nick one, and plopped down across from him.
“To our new lives,” I toasted.
“To our new lives!”
We reached out and tapped plastic cups.
Then we downed our drinks. I hopped up and went for refills.
Nick pulled out a pack of Camels. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Nope. That’s why the dirty ashtrays are on the table,” I said from across the room.
I returned, put the next round down in front of us, took a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table.
“How things been for you, Johnny?”
“Alright. Working the same job. Glad to finally have my own place.”
“It’s been fun hanging out with you here on weekends since you moved in. But don’t you miss your wife, the place you two had?”
“Ex wife now. And, No, I don’t miss her. I just envy that rich old man that got her. Until I heard she was with him, I didn’t miss her at all.”
“So you do miss her?”
“Not sure. Time will tell. I’m just glad it’s all over. Finally my money is mine, I have my own place. I don’t have to deal with that evil step-kid. The stability is worth it.”
“How long has it been since you’ve been laid now?”
“Six months.”
“Jesus Johnny!”
“Yeah. But I beat off a lot. Usually twice in the morning and twice at night.”
“That’s one way to keep the pipes clean!”
“Sometimes the only way.”
“I hear you man. Before I lost my arm – you remember? I had the same kind of troubles you have now. Women, work, family… I thought I’d have to drive a damn truck the rest of my fucking life.”
“It was pretty grim for you.”
Nick quickly swallowed all of his drink, put it down, and threw up his hand and stub. “Ahhhh! I had nothing to look forward to until now. But NOW… Shit, wouldn’t you give an arm for 2 million dollars?”
“It was a good settlement. You’ll never have to work again if you play it right.”
“So, you’d saw your own arm right off to have it like me, eh? Wouldn’t ya?”
“Probably so. But I’d rather do it quick – like with a guillotine. It’d hurt to saw through the bone.”
We laughed.
I went for more refills, came back.
Nick shrugged. “But, I have to admit, I’d rather have the 2 mil and both arms.”
“Yeah, but guys like us always have to lose something.”
“No shit, man. No shit.”
“Back to getting laid…”
“Yeah?”
“What ever happened to that little tattooed freak, the one that always drank until she passed out? You got a lot of ass there.”
“Oh, her?”
“Yeah. She was fun, kind of cute.”
“She started getting on my case about money. About how I had to buy her things. Remember? I told you this would be my lifelong challenge. Keeping what I have.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“You see. Most people, when they win the lottery – they don’t have to give anything first. And they spend it all fast. I had to give something for my settlement.I gave an arm.”
“You sure did Nick.”
“She left me because an arm is all I’m ever going to give. I’m not going to give a leg too.”
“Is this a metaphor?”
“Shut up man. Johnny. Don’t use those fucking school words on me. I’m trying to say something meaningful.”
“Sorry Nick.”
“Anyway. I live on half my interest, as a rule of thumb. I’m not that rich. The money is getting paid to me over ten years too. So, I have to budget. After house payments, and my new caravan, and the bar tab, I can’t be buying women diamonds. There ain’tthat much left to dish out. But she wanted to cut into the nest egg. I was SELFISH because I wouldn’t blow my money on fucking DIAMONDS for her. Some pendant-kind-of-thing she wanted – no, DEMANDED – really started the shit.”
“So she’s gone now?”
“Yeah. I threw her out of the house with one arm, and pitched all her clothes on top of her as she sat in the yard crying.”
“Sounds kind of mean.”
“Johnny. You haven’t given an arm yet. I have. I have to keep what I’ve still got.”
“You have a point there.”
“Yeah! And where is the fairness?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when she was with the guy before me. Some cop. She was happy wearing a $250.00 promise ring. Why wasn’t I only charged $250.00? I could have spentthat much. And I took her places, fed her good sit-down meals, showed her things that he never did.”
“You have a point there. A woman, as a rule, will drain a man for all he’s got. If he’s rich or poor, she’ll take it all if you let her, up until the point where he’s nearly drained of blood.”
“That’s exactly it man! You said it right. And it ain’t fair. With us fellas, we don’t want any more than a little pussy, some cooking, and cleaning. No matter what a woman has, we only ask a fixed amount.”
“And no nagging!” I insisted as I put out my third cigarette, grabbed the empties, and went for more refills.
“No shit! Can you believe that before I kicked her out of the house – about a week before – she started nagging me about getting a job?”
“What? No way!”
“No shit!”
“She didn’t work.”
“No shit!”
I sighed. “It’s society’s double standard. Women don’t have to do so much, but men, if they aren’t suffering, there is something wrong.”
“No shit! IT IS like women think they have to enforce the policy or something: MAKE MEN SUFFER. DRAIN THEIR BLOOD. Just like you say… Jesus.”
“I’m with you brother.”
“So, anyway, Johnny, I lost my arm – I gave an arm – and for it I’m a made man. But it’s still a war out there. Like we been sayin’. Women will always be after my money and my happiness, as much as I got. Out for my SUFFERING.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ve always got to be on the alert.”
“I still can’t believe this girl tried to get you to find a job.”
“Oh yeah! Me too. Can you believe it? She sat around on her ass, in my house all day, and she had the nerve to tell me I was lazy. I wasn’t out protecting the public like her cop ex-boyfriend, or doing anything meaningful, like being an accountant, digging ditches, getting yelled at by bosses for missing deadlines. ‘I wasn’t being a MAN!’ she’d say. ‘MEN WORK. It isn’t about the money,’ she’d say. Yeah… right… fuck.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Yeah! Being a MAN has nothing to do with suffering when you don’t have to. Hell, maybe she thought the extra money I’d make could go for her fucking DIAMONDS.”
“Yeah, she was fucked in the head. Being a MAN, I think, is all about making wise decisions not to suffer. If a bitch wants DIAMONDS, she can work her ass off for them herself. Put Women’s Lib to work for real.”
We toasted, emptied our drinks. I got up and poured yet another round.
“About being a man. That is exactly why I bought a used Dodge Caravan.”
“How so? How does that make you a man?”
“Johnny, I could have a new sports car, maybe one of those new fucking Mustangs, just like I could have a girl with DIAMONDS.”
“Go on. I’m following you.”
“The used Caravan. It isn’t flashy, but it is sensible, affordable, practical. The driver sits high like he’s in a truck, but it rides like a car. There’s plenty of room to haul stuff. Six grown men can fit in it comfortably. It gets fair gas mileage. You can even fold the seats down, roll out a blanket and stretch out in the thing for a good night’s rest.”
“Sounds like a deal. With a sports car you just burn too much gas too fast and get eaten alive by the monthly payment, and the insurance.”
“Exactly. So you see, Johnny, I am being a man by making wise decisions. I’ve given an arm, and I’m going to keep the rest.”
“Nick. With one arm you are holding on more tightly than most men with three arms.”
And so we talked and drank until we could hold no more. Nick collapsed on the couch. I threw a blanket over him and stumbled to bed, but forgot to turn out the lights. We didn’t see each other for several weeks, and I began to wonder where Nick had been. He didn’t answer his phone.
Then one Friday night, someone knocked on the door. I opened up. It was Nick, standing there with a single crutch under his only arm. Now he was missing a leg. A pant leg was folded up and pinned at the stub at his knee.
Nick smiled sheepishly. “I got lonely and called the tattooed girl one night. I let her drive my Caravan.”
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