The Making of a Man | The Ink Well Weekly Fiction - Week 6 - Prompt: 51

THE ORDEAL

I fainted.

It wasn't the most manly thing to do. It was the only thing to do at the time.

When I woke, figuring out the landscape was my main concern. Blurred vision caught glimpses of blinding lights fading one by one as I was being wheeled down the corridor of the hospital. It hurt too much to try to figure out why.

I remember waking up in a room. Trying to trace the syringes was like following a woven thread through one of my Grandmother Charlotte's needlework projects. Couldn't tell where each one's journey began. Their purpose I surmised was to keep me alive. The urge to urinate was so strong I couldn't stop it. At least I found where one of the syringes started.

If I was in the hospital, surely Grandmother would have visited me by now. We were like peanut butter and jelly; socks and shoes. Staring at the walls, her face glared back commanding me to "be still, Elliott and let the medicines work."

The blandness of my surroundings and medicinal smells calmed me a bit.

I was so groggy I dozed off again. Suddenly, images grabbed hold and hurled me back to the moment when, as Grandmother always says, "all hell broke loose".

I stood on the side of the street near the cafe, waiving goodbye to my friend. Bystanders started yelling, while others on the sidewalk ran away from the cafe. I didn't understand the confusion until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpse of a large vehicle flipping over.

The problem was it was headed in my direction.

I panicked, not knowing which way to run. So I froze. I didn't have time to feel scared. All I thought to do was turn my head away and close my eyes from the oncoming car and wait. For what seemed like an eternity, I could hear the screeching of tires. But it wasn't an eternity; only seconds for the impact.

I could only turn my head. I was pinned, sandwiched in between the backdoor of the oncoming car and my vehicle. I didn't feel anything; nor did I know what to feel, so I passed out.

THE DECISION

Nurses, doctors, aids, and a physical therapist all bombarded my room at once waking me.

The doctor spoke first. "We had to perform an emergency amputation of your left leg."

My mouth dropped slightly. I couldn't feel anything in both legs, so I didn't know what had occurred. The full realization of what happened enveloped me.

Later that evening, the knock at the door accompanied a soft voice. Entered Armenta, my fiance of two years, whose short blond-hair, medium frame, and bubbly personality would light up any room. She lead my Grandmother towards the bed. Opposite of Armenta, she was a stout, tall woman with a deep no-nonsense voice that commanded attention. The site of them and the smell of grandmother's cinnamon coffee cake elicited a wide grin.

After that, my grandmother couldn't return every day, but Armenta visited each day for two months. She fiercely protected her right to do so because her work as a nurse at the nearby hospital afforded her the opportunity. She arranged to spend several nights in my room. I avoided any discussion of plans for our upcoming wedding.

She was fast becoming my crutch.

I started my physical therapy. My right leg was damaged, but not to the point of the right one.

My friend, Josh, visited me often. His attempts to lift my mood were a bit peculiar by recounting the accident, providing his unique sense of humor. A bizarre police chase on a rainy day that ended horribly wrong. According to him, from the police photos of the scene, it looked like I was butter spread between two pieces of bread. I was pretty much done for in his opinion. But he knew I was a fighter.

"You'll be a rich man now with the lawsuit." Josh grinned, looking away.

What good is being rich and only half a man, I thought. I asked Josh to leave, citing therapy time was near. I nodded toward the wall, signaling for him to turn off the lights. I needed to think about my future.

The pre-fitting for my prosthesis came a week later. I held back tears. I hadn't asked for this. I thought I was a good person who lived a decent life. The question everyone asks wouldn't give me any peace?

The phone just sat there urging me to answer. I was silent for a moment, then "we need to talk" rushed out and must have sounded urgent than I intended.

Armenta arrived earlier than unusual the next day. I was ready for the questions. The arguments of why we should slow down rehearsed, I waited until she settled next to my bed.

"Some things need to be sorted out before moving forward," I blurted, then avoided her eyes.

"Are you saying we should cancel the wedding?" I turned to see the shock on her face. I knew she'd planned a year for it.

"Look Elliott, I'm a nurse. I can take care of you better than anyone else." I could hear the pleading in her voice.

"That's the problem. I don't want a nurse. I want a wife, a lover, and a best friend."

"Stop being stupid. You know what I mean. And you know you'll have all of that. Is this because you lost your leg?"

I didn't answer. Yes, I knew she'd be anything for me I needed. But I didn't want to be a burden; another one of her patients she lathered sympathy upon.

A knock interrupted us. A young doctor entered to check my progress. I attempted to introduce him to Armenta but discovered through their cheerful conversation they already knew each other. I looked away.

The hug I then witnessed surprised me. My expression wasn't lost on Armenta as she seemed to sense my discomfort. After he left, she came closer to my bed and held my hand.

"I have nothing a normal guy can give you. I don't even have a decent past to share with you. And a future, I'm unsure what it will hold for me." My voice choked as though a child was defending his misdeeds.

Armenta stared at me for a few moments.

"I won't spend the rest of my life convincing you that you're a man. If you don't realize it, then you'll never be well or whole and of no use to me. We've planned this amazing life together. But I can't do it without you, and I can't make you want it now."

It would have helped if Armenta had slammed the door. Looking out the window, I hadn't realized she'd left. I looked down at the ring on the bed.

GRANDMOTHER

There was still only person I couldn't talk my way out of her life. Feeling tired of my self-imposed exile, my thoughts turned to Grandmother as I now felt truly alone for the first time.

A wise female, she was old in her physical appearance, but her mind was as close to my thoughts as if she were my twin sister.

Maybe it was because she raised me. The circumstances surrounding how that came to be I still don't understand. A mother leaving her only son and choosing to take her daughter instead.

All I remember is my grandmother using a language I came to know as a good raking over the coals, as my aunt retold the story. I remember because my twin sister, Eleanor, was yelling my name and begging my mom not to leave me.

Then she screamed she wanted to stay with me and Grandmother.

I hid behind Grandmother's skirt, clenching the inside folds with my face buried deep. I can't explain how I felt, but something whispered in my ear, and lead me to believe it was better I kept quiet.

Eleanor's tears were in vain as my mom grasped her by the arm and they left. That was the last I saw of them until I turned eighteen.

For whatever reason my sister and I didn't fully understand, we both felt it was better to be with Grandmother than our mom.

I didn't realize until ten years later that Grandmother, in her arguing, was begging my mom to leave both of us. "You win some and lose some, but some things are just for the best," she said softly when I asked; then hugged me until my breath gave way.

Whenever I had a problem, I'd take it to her. Then she'd move her head to the side. I immediately jumped out the way as she was looking for her special tin cup.

Later, I was so proud to present Armenta to Grandmother.

They fell in love at first sight. As Grandmother put it, "you'd be a fool to let that one slip away. I've seen you dallying with some no-name brands, but this one is pure-bred. Mark my words." Then she struck a match on the end of her rocker, pushed the filling down deep in her pipe, and puffed until smoke appeared. It was the most delightful aroma I'd ever smelled.

My day with the doctors, therapist, and then Armenta was draining. So I called Grandmother.

Next week couldn't come fast enough.

THE MAKING OF A MAN

Upon arrival, Grandmother placed the fresh baked coffee cake on my tray. She didn't waste time with small talk.

"You're a plumb fool. I taught you better. You know what to do. It's long past time you let go of the skirt. "

"I'm no mama's boy."

"No. You're a Grandmama's boy with one leg. I'll not listen to that pity party you're wallowing in.

"Look Elliot. It takes more than legs to make a real man. Believe you me. I've known plenty with two good 'uns I'd run over myself, then back up and go at it again if I could get away with it. And that includes the man that's supposed to be your dad."

She looked at me out the corner of her eye. I guess she figured it was time to hit hard.

"I'm sure gonna miss not moving into the Grandmother's Suite. Counted on at least five grandchildren so I could teach how to fetch my spit can." She chuckled, then continued. "Armenta showed me the final plans. She's been taking care of me since you've been laid up. Came by every day after her shift and stopped by to make sure you were being taken care of properly. She'd be dead tired sometimes that she'd end up spending the night with me. I've told you before about that girl."

I couldn't wait for Grandmother to leave. My heart beat faster as I dialed the number.

"I'd like to talk if you're still available." A long pause didn't deter me.

"Available, as in not moved on with my life?" Armenta's question and effort at being distant was evident. I could feel the hurt I'd caused. But I was done with doubting myself.

"Yes, I clarified." My heart beat faster as if reaching out to maintain support for my dwindling hopes.

"I'm willing to listen. No promises, though." I detected a slight encouragement from her voice.

"That's all I deserve, Armenta."

I couldn't wait to be released from the hospital. It's not often you get a second chance like this, I thought.

Two weeks later, I prepared for travel. Getting used to the stiffness of my new prosthetic was to be expected. I promised I'd do whatever it took.

I felt a sharp ping in my stomach as if it was missing that cinnamon smell of Grandmother's coffee cake. The urge to turn around was strong. But the ring in my pocket pressed against my expanding chest confirmed it was missing something also.

It seemed to extend forward like a circling probe, searching for Armenta and the new feeling of walking with my cane as fast as I could with one outstretched arm, wanting to be hugged until my breath gave way.