Chapter Twelve: Artificial Birds

"Hey, can someone give me a hand over here?"

It was at least the millionth time Chris had heard this comment, or at least some variation of it. When people made the joke it was usually because they were trying to show-off for friends. It was obvious that this was the case by the way he elbowed his friends in the ribs after making the joke and the way they laughed in such a self-satisfied way.

"Sure. What can I help you with?" Chris quickly responded as if he had no idea what the stranger was referring to. This usually served to disarm the jokester and make him feel foolish, but it wasn't working on this one.

"You crippled and retarded?" the man persisted.

Usually Chris could shrug off any insult or comment hurled at him, but for some reason this guy got under Chris's skin in a way he wasn't used to. These comments were usually insensitive and thoughtless, but this time the remarks seemed to be particularly cold and meant to provoke.

"Oh, I see," smirked Chris as if it just hit him what the man was talking about. "Here you go!" Chris detached the prosthetic arm and tossed it across the counter, hoping he could perhaps diffuse the situation with some light-hearted humor. The attempt did not work. Instead, Chris found that he was standing face to face with a bully that was at least six inches taller than he was and ready to shut Chris up for good. From the corner of he eye he saw the man throw the arm across the floor where it slid until it hit the wall. He nervously looked over to where the arm stopped and was more than a little amused that the lifeless hand almost appeared to be making a rude gesture at the hostile visitor. Afraid at how the creep might react if he made his amusement public, Chris cautiously turned his head back just in time hear a thump! and see the man double over. Sam, his non-romantic girlfriend, had caught the bully off guard by hitting him in the stomach with full force.

Not wanting to be defended solely by a girl, Chris swung at the man's face just as he was starting to stand upright. The swing never hit the intended target due to a brief relapse in his memory. Forgetting that his arm was much shorter now than it had been that last time he swung his fist, Chris threw his strength into the punch, missed and half-stumbled into the would-be recipient. If the artificial "bird" laying on the floor wouldn't have made that man laugh, then the image of a "cripple" swinging with a non-existent arm certainly would have. And it did. The man turned and laughed as he walked out the door with his friends. As they walked past the window and out of sight they appeared intoxicated, stuttering and stumbling as they went on their way.

Sam had already walked over and picked the arm up off the floor and was walking back to where Chris was standing. Chris realized for the first time that his arm was gone. He knew that it was, but not with the stark realization that he did now. He wanted to take arm from Sam and throw it as hard as he could through the window, but thought better of it. He reattached the limb and walked out the door.