Chapter Forty Seven
"This is going to hurt you more than it's going to hurt me." Sparks began to fly and bone shattering pain ripped through every piece of my body, whether it was connected or not. Don had a lot in common with Ted Stockings. He liked to talk when he worked.
"You know when a man comes into this world he's like an empty vessel. If you pour love and knowledge into the vessel, eventually it will spill out on to the rest of the world. If you fill it full of crap. Well....you have created a syndicated game show. When I was a little boy, I had an Aunt that gave me all the attention in the world. She told me I was special and gave me some kind of gift....nothing expensive or earth shattering...but some kind of gift, every time I saw her. It got so I couldn't wait for her to visit. I always asked my Mom and Dad to take me to see her whenever they had the time. They always told me that she was not my friend and I shouldn't spend so much time thinking about her. When I was old enough to ride a bike I would go to her house and sit on her porch. She would tell me stories about the world and give me incites into history and quiz me on my arithmetic. I was so appreciative of her attention."
The room filled with what sounded like a giant fart. It was a pneumatic wrench and it made my teeth ache.
"When I got into 5th grade, I failed a History test. It seems that Aunt Isabella had been making up history in her head. She was addicted to opium. What's more she was selling cocaine out of her house. She got busted right about my spring break and went to prison for 20 years. When I was 16 I went to visit her in jail. She gave me a cigarette."
"I did well in math tho....she knew math. She knew the metric system inside and out. Drug dealers have to know that shit."
From time to time Don would grab a big, clear tube with a pointed end on it and stick it whatever part he was working on. Red liquid would flow down the tube and then suck itself back up when he was finished. I think it was blood. He never said.
"My daddy was an honest, hard working man. He would come home in the late afternoon, so tired he could hardly walk. I felt sorry for him most of his life. He worked down at the mall in one of those places where you could get a pair of glasses in one hour. He was an Optometrist. As hard as he worked he wasn't very happy or very good at his job. He took to drinkin in his later years. You could go down to the mall any day of the week and see the people wearing glasses walking into poles and tripping down escalators. Somebody was always hittin cars in the parking
lot. All because of Daddy and the demon rum. It was tragic. Momma took in sewing to make ends meet. She got glasses from Daddy and her sewing was pretty bad. Thank goodness I had 20 20 eyesight most of my life."
The door opened and Ted walked in. "You about done my friend?"
"I'm missing a chunk of brain Ted, you shorted me again."
"He was like that when I met him Don, did you notice the horrible scar on his head?"
"I thought you did that!"
"Oh for Chrissake Don, you fixed the scar?" Ted rubbed his face and pulled the skin on his cheeks until his eyes looked like exclamation marks.
"Shit Ted! How in the name of holy hell was I supposed to know?"
"Can you fix it?"
"Wait a minute, I'll be right back." Don went to a large machine in the corner and pushed a series of buttons. Reams of information on graph paper came streaming out. He studied it from all angles and walked back, trailing paper like the tail on a kite.
"It was very distinctive Don!"
"Shut the hell up!" Don pulled a small tool out of his shirt pocket and bent down toward my head. I felt pressure and nothing else.
"You're a Goddamn artist Don. A Goddamn artist." Ted pushed his hat back and smiled.
"You know when a man comes into this world he's like an empty vessel. If you pour love and knowledge into the vessel, eventually it will spill out on to the rest of the world. If you fill it full of crap. Well....you have created a syndicated game show. When I was a little boy, I had an Aunt that gave me all the attention in the world. She told me I was special and gave me some kind of gift....nothing expensive or earth shattering...but some kind of gift, every time I saw her. It got so I couldn't wait for her to visit. I always asked my Mom and Dad to take me to see her whenever they had the time. They always told me that she was not my friend and I shouldn't spend so much time thinking about her. When I was old enough to ride a bike I would go to her house and sit on her porch. She would tell me stories about the world and give me incites into history and quiz me on my arithmetic. I was so appreciative of her attention."
The room filled with what sounded like a giant fart. It was a pneumatic wrench and it made my teeth ache.
"When I got into 5th grade, I failed a History test. It seems that Aunt Isabella had been making up history in her head. She was addicted to opium. What's more she was selling cocaine out of her house. She got busted right about my spring break and went to prison for 20 years. When I was 16 I went to visit her in jail. She gave me a cigarette."
"I did well in math tho....she knew math. She knew the metric system inside and out. Drug dealers have to know that shit."
From time to time Don would grab a big, clear tube with a pointed end on it and stick it whatever part he was working on. Red liquid would flow down the tube and then suck itself back up when he was finished. I think it was blood. He never said.
"My daddy was an honest, hard working man. He would come home in the late afternoon, so tired he could hardly walk. I felt sorry for him most of his life. He worked down at the mall in one of those places where you could get a pair of glasses in one hour. He was an Optometrist. As hard as he worked he wasn't very happy or very good at his job. He took to drinkin in his later years. You could go down to the mall any day of the week and see the people wearing glasses walking into poles and tripping down escalators. Somebody was always hittin cars in the parking
lot. All because of Daddy and the demon rum. It was tragic. Momma took in sewing to make ends meet. She got glasses from Daddy and her sewing was pretty bad. Thank goodness I had 20 20 eyesight most of my life."
The door opened and Ted walked in. "You about done my friend?"
"I'm missing a chunk of brain Ted, you shorted me again."
"He was like that when I met him Don, did you notice the horrible scar on his head?"
"I thought you did that!"
"Oh for Chrissake Don, you fixed the scar?" Ted rubbed his face and pulled the skin on his cheeks until his eyes looked like exclamation marks.
"Shit Ted! How in the name of holy hell was I supposed to know?"
"Can you fix it?"
"Wait a minute, I'll be right back." Don went to a large machine in the corner and pushed a series of buttons. Reams of information on graph paper came streaming out. He studied it from all angles and walked back, trailing paper like the tail on a kite.
"It was very distinctive Don!"
"Shut the hell up!" Don pulled a small tool out of his shirt pocket and bent down toward my head. I felt pressure and nothing else.
"You're a Goddamn artist Don. A Goddamn artist." Ted pushed his hat back and smiled.
7 Comments:
Oh the drama....the suspense!!
By Anonymous, at 9:59 AM
Are you talking about the story, or my personal life?
By Joe, at 10:39 AM
Hmmm....both, I suppose!! I would imagine writing this is helping/healing you....and I can't wait to see why all of this has happend to my friend Marty!
By Anonymous, at 10:42 PM
Why is this Book called "Phantom Limb" ?
By Anonymous, at 8:01 AM
The term Phantom Limb refers to the phenomena that occurs when someone loses a body part but still feels its presence after it's gone. Marty lost a piece of his brain to a flying fried chicken leg, but can still use it after it has already gone to the afterlife. His friend Louis has discovered that he can use his missing arm when it becomes necessary. The icon picture is that of an actual item on ebay, a chicken bone that shows (according to its owner) Christ on the cross. I think it looks like Satan.
By Joe, at 8:51 AM
This post has been removed by the author.
By Joe, at 8:55 AM
When you meet the devil, Charles
Tell 'em Cromwell sent ya
By Anonymous, at 11:29 PM
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