A Difficult Season

The studio apartment had a main room, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Across from his bed was a rough work bench. A television with a nineteen inch screen sat on one end of the bench, in the center was a computer monitor and keypad, and next to the monitor was a soldering iron and other tools. The computer was under the bench along with a toaster, a blender, and an old radio. The place smelled like stale beer and sweat. Jack did not drink much, but it only took a few drops of beer in the cans sitting in his trash to give off the rank odor. He was still asleep. The bed was made when he retired last night, but the colder it got the more disheveled the bed became because in his sleep he tugged at the blankets to cover his head and wrap more material around his body. It had started snowing last night and the snow was still coming down.

The cold pulled him out of his slumber well before the sum came up. He had to untangle the blankets wrapped around him in order to get out of bed. When this was done he stripped off the sweat clothes he slept in. He sprinted into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. The cold tile in the kitchen felt like ice beneath his feet, but it was only a few quick steps back to the relative warmth of the carpet in the main room. His next stop was the bathroom. There he turned on the hot water valve in the shower. Then he stood in front of the toilet. The water coming out of the shower was hot by the time he finished peeing. The hot water spraying his body in the shower felt like heaven. He was tempted to linger there, but he thought about the water bill and kept his shower short.

“Christ, you could store meat in here,” he thought as he entered the main room. He turned up the gas wall heater and stood in front of it as he dressed. He put on his long underwear, both the top and the bottom. The next item he put on was his plaid, flannel shirt, followed by a pair of jeans. He topped off this clothing with a water resistant pair of bib overalls. He glanced over at his boots as he opened the sock drawer of his beat up dresser. The boots were made of rubber or synthetic rubber, he did not know which. They were still water proof but the lining on the inside was badly worn. He took a pair of socks from the drawer. He thought about wearing two pairs of socks, but decided against it. His boots were sock eaters that sucked his socks down to the toes of the boots as he walked or shoveled snow. It was very uncomfortable walking on one pair of socks wadded up under his toes and the balls of his feet. Adding another pair would only increase the wad of material under his feet. After pulling on his socks and his boots he turned down his wall heater and walked into his kitchen. He placed two pieces of stale bread into his toaster and poured a cup of coffee. When the toast popped up he spread peanut butter on it. That was not much of a breakfast for a grown man. At eleven-thirty, however, he would buy two of the egg and muffin sandwiches at a fast food joint. That would tide him over until supper. He only drank one cup of coffee with the toast. He poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos bottle. He would save the coffee in the thermos to have with his egg and muffin sandwiches.

He put on his jacket, his hat and his gloves and walked out to his truck. He climbed into the cab of the truck, placed his key in the ignition, and gave the key a twist. The engine of the truck quickly started. There was a broom with a shortened handle behind the seats. He used that broom to sweep the snow off of the roof of the truck, then off its windshield and its hood. The heater was still blowing out cold air when he climbed back into the cab of the truck. It seemed to take forever for the defroster to heat up enough to melt the thin layer of ice on the windshield. His truck ran well, but the heater either baked his cookies or froze them; there was no in between. He took off his jacket. Then he raised and lowered the plow that was mounted to the front of the truck. The plow was working properly, and he smiled. He turned on the headlights and set about plowing the parking lot. This task was made more difficult by the cars parked there. He was careful not to erect any berms that would make it difficult for the drivers of those cars.

Most people complained about the snow, but for Jack it was a blessing. The snow and his truck provided him with his income in the winter. He had bought the truck with the plow to clear the long driveway of his house. This was back in better times. Jack was working as a foreman for a company assembling televisions back then. He was good at repairing electronic devices and he had a talent for organizing the production. The company he worked for thought highly of him and paid him well. Unfortunately that company was taken over by a larger corporation that moved its production out of the country. Jack was devastated because he could not find any comparable work. The winter was bitterly cold and wet that year. Some of his neighbors offered to pay him for clearing the snow from their driveways. That was the beginning of his snow clearing business, and it provided him with enough income to keep him from dipping into his savings.

The next year was really rough. When the snow stopped falling his revenue stream dried up. Furthermore, he was denied unemployment benefits because his snow clearing operations were considered a business. In desperation, he took the money out of his savings account and started an appliance repair business. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the people who try to get appliances repaired rather than buying new ones could not pay him enough to make his business profitable. After his business failed he tried selling insurance and then real estate. He was not very good at selling and he hated doing it. He became depressed and irritable. The combination of their financial situation and Jack’s bad mood were too much for his wife to bear. She kicked him out of the house and told him not to return until he got it together.

It was now another winter, another time of relative prosperity. He was giving his wife most of what he earned. He did not know how he was going to get by next summer. He tried to put that thought out of his mind. He had to concentrate on the task at hand. He had a lot of shovel work to do in addition to the plowing. It seemed as though his cell phone was constantly ringing as people became concerned about the weight of the snow piling up on their roofs and decks. He did not mind shoveling off the decks that much. The roofs were a different matter. The ones he cleared had a gradual pitch, but it was still a pitch. There were a few times when he had fallen on his ass and slid off the roofs. The soft snow had cushioned his fall, but he could never be sure about what might be under that snow. It was a dangerous job. He did the plowing first, and saved the shovel work for the afternoon. Doing this allowed people to get out of their houses and go to work. The down side to saving the shovel work for the end of the day was that he could not use the plowing as way to get a respite from the shoveling. He had thought about hiring a young man to help him shovel, but decided against doing that. He really needed to maximize his profit. He worked until six o’clock that night. He looked up at the sky and smiled. If it kept snowing at its current rate, there would still be plow work but little shovel work. His aching muscles told him the decrease in shovel work would be a good thing at this point.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Jack was up before the sun, and he was hard at work. By noon it had stopped snowing. He completed his last job by four o’clock that evening. This gave him time to Christmas shop. He really enjoyed shopping for his boys. Most of the toys that were advertised were too expensive for him to buy, but there were still fun things that were in his price range. The parking lot at the department store was full. He saw a lady wheel a full cart up to her car as he pulled into that lane. He stopped and waited for her parking space. She opened the trunk of her car and set about rearranging the things in there. She then took a few packages out of the cart and placed them in the trunk. She rearranged everything in the trunk again before moving the remainder of the packages from the cart to the trunk of her car. She was inconsiderate enough to leave her cart behind the car next to hers. God only knows what she was doing once she finally got in her car. The only thing certain is that she was in no hurry. The driver of the car behind Jack had reached the limit of his patience. He honked his horn. Jack rolled down the window, stuck his out and looked at the impatient driver. It was Santa.

“Move it, dumb ass!” Santa yelled.

“And a Ho, fucking Ho to you!” Jack had obviously reached the limits of his patience as well.

Santa gave him the finger. The women finally pulled out of the parking space and Jack pulled into it. Santa was so busy glaring at Jack that he almost crashed into the back of the woman’s car. He honked at her and gave her the finger. Jack hoped no kids saw Santa do that. He had the brief thought that it would serve the guy dressed as Santa right of some kid peed in his lap or gave him a nasty virus. It was a funny thought, but it was not something he would wish on the poor bastard. You have to be pretty desperate to work for the low wages department stores pay their seasonal help. The man playing Santa was probably late for his shift and pissed off at the entire world. Jack knew how he felt. He believed that he and Santa should be giving each other a hand rather than the finger.

Jack bought his older son, Ron, a safety dartboard that came with blunt darts. He bought his younger son, Don, a battery powered helicopter that flew at the end of the wire carrying current from the battery to the motor. Those gifts alone would make this a meager Christmas, but he knew that his wife, Mary, would buy his sons at least a few of the gifts they had requested. He walked from the toy department to the women’s department to look for some small gift for Mary. He saw a beautiful scarf there. It was the sort of thing she occasionally wore as an accessory so he bought it. By this time his boots had pulled his socks down to his toes. He sat in one of the chairs in the shoe department and took off his boots. The people walking by smiled as he pulled his socks up. Sock eating boots were all too common. He stopped at a candy store on his way home. There he bought a small box of assorted chocolates and a brightly decorated paper sack, in which he put the box of candy and the scarf.

Back at his apartment he heated up a can chili and opened a beer. When he woke up on Christmas morning he looked out the window. The snow had stopped and he knew he would not have to work that day. He celebrated by frying some eggs for breakfast. After breakfast he wrapped the toys. He went to visit his family at nine o’clock. Mary greeted him at the door. She gave him a little peck of a kiss and told him to come in. The boys yelled “Daddy,” and ran up to him. He hugged each of them and gave them the presents he brought for them.

“I have something for you too,” he said handing Mary the sack containing the candy and the scarf.

“I thought we agreed not to buy by gifts for each other.”

“It’s just a little token to say I still love you.”

“All I bought you was this card. I’ll show you how much I love you after dinner if you can stay.”

He grinned. It was a good night. The next morning he looked over at her. She was awake and looking at him.

“God, I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you too. How’s business?”

He knew she was really asking about his prospects for full time employment. Since he had not found anything promising yet he chose to ignore her real question.

“Not bad, and another storm is supposed to push in tonight or early tomorrow.”

“Good.”

This was an awkward moment. He knew she would go to her parents house or they would visit her today. They would ask him about his job search if they saw him. Since he was too embarrassed about still being unemployed he excused himself and went home. On the way home he stopped at the grocery store. There was a dog sitting at the door of the store. He looked like a beagle but was slightly taller. He was also very thin. The automatic doors opened and the dog followed him in. A box boy chased the dog outside again.

“He’s a damned nuisance,” the box boy said. “But I can’t blame the poor thing; he's hungry.”

“Someone must have abandoned him,” the checker added.

Abandoned dogs were becoming a problem. Too many people were leaving their pets behind when they moved out of the houses the banks were repossessing. The dog followed Jack to his truck. Jack put the bag of groceries behind the seat. This was not an easy task because he had to keep pushing the dog away to keep it from jumping into the truck. The dog whimpered as Jack got in the truck.

“Sorry buster, but I don’t need a dog.”

The dog looked up at him with big sorrowful eyes.

“Oh, shit!” Jack got out of the truck and walked back into the store. The dog was beside him, and he had to chase it out of the store. He bought three cans of dog food. The dog jumped into the truck when Jack opened the door. It took several forceful no’s accompanied by some shoves before the dog stopped trying to get at the food.

Back at the apartment Jack fed the dog a half a can of dog food. The dog begged for more. It was better not to feed the dog too much at first if it was starving. Jack took the toaster out from under the bench and set about repairing it. The dog placed its front paws on the arm of the chair and whined. Jack patted its head.

“I know you’re still hungry, Buster. I’ll give you the rest of the can before we go to bed, and a whole can for breakfast. Okay?”

He took Buster out for a walk several times before it was time to go to bed. He did not need a leash. If the dog ran off it would simply solve the problem of what to do with him. He did not run off. He had to make Buster get off the bed in order to retire. The wind was howling and the temperature in the apartment was dropping as Jack dozed off. Buster jumped onto the bed and pressed against Jack seeking the warmth of his body. Jack pushed Buster away. All right, it was cold. Jack turned up the wall heater. He was thinking that would keep Buster off the bed. The next morning Buster was on the bed again, curled up at Jack’s feet. He fed Buster the other can of food, and made himself breakfast. It was now snowing. “Tomorrow morning,” he thought. “People won’t need to have their driveways or parking lots plowed until tomorrow morning.”

He looked over at Buster. He thought about taking him to the pound. He could not do it. The thought of someone killing the hound if he was not adopted within a certain number of days was too appalling. He looked through the phone book for a shelter. The closest one was forty miles away. At least for now, he was stuck with the dog. He bought a big bag of dried dog food and some canned dog food to mix with it. Since he could not leave Buster alone in the apartment he took the hound to work with him the next day. He soon learned the sound the hound made when he had to relieve himself, which was not often. During the day Jack showed how lonely how was by talking to Buster. It was going to be difficult when he had to get rid of the dog. So far it had not barked at the neighbors, but that was probably because it did not consider the apartment its territory yet. On New Years Eve Mary called Jack.

“I’m not doing anything tonight. Do you want to come over?”

“I’d love to come over. What time.”

“I’ll be home at six. We can have dinner and ring in the new-year.”

“I’ll be there.”

He hung up the phone and looked over at Buster. Oh, shit! He had forgotten about Buster. He should have said something to Mary about him. He did not know how she was going to feel about him bringing a dog with him.

Mary hugged Jack when she answered the door. Then she looked down at Buster.

“What’s this?”

“It’s Buster.”

“I didn’t think dogs were allowed at your apartment.”

“They’re not, but he followed me and he was so hungry I couldn’t resist.”

“I know I’m going to be sorry for this, but come in.”

Ron and Don were thrilled with Buster and he shared their joy. They played tug of war with him and chased him around the house. The next morning Mary rolled over and hugged Jack.

“You know, you don’t have to make as much as you did before. You just have to make enough to pay our basic bills, and it has to be a job that won’t destroy that wonderful spirit of yours.”

“I guess a got pretty bad.”

“Yes you did, but I still love you.”

“I love you too.”

They spent the day watching the parades and football games. It was like old times. The kids were out in the yard playing with Buster most of the day. Jack spent that night with Mary as well.

“So what are you going to do with the dog?”

“I can’t keep him. I ‘m really going to miss him, but I guess I’ll have to find a shelter that will accept him.”

“After our kids have fallen in love with him?”

“Are you saying they can have him?”

“Yes. I’m a bit jealous though.”

“Why?”

“They will consider him the best gift of all.”

The next morning Jack was up and plowing early. It snowed like hell over the next few days. He had to plow some places in the morning and again in the evening. He worked late into the night. Then he received a phone call from JC of JC Excavating.

“I hear you do a good job plowing,” JC said.

“I like to think I do.”

“Can you operate heavy equipment?”

“I’ve operated some heavy farm equipment.”

“I need someone to plow out the high school parking lot if you can squeeze it into your schedule. You can pick up the equipment here.”

“How much are you paying?”

“Minimum for a heavy equipment operator because I only need someone for that job. By the time you finish it I’ll be free to do the other work.

“Oh.” Jacks voice indicated his disappointment.

“There is an upside. If you do a good job for me, I’ll hire you full time this summer.”

“You mean for the summer?”

“Yeah, the federal funds have come through for some municipal contracts. I'm pretty sure I can keep you year 'round after that.”

“Mister, you have a new employee!”

This was the miracle Jack had been praying for. Someone must have recommended him. He would have to find out who it was and thank that person. This job was not in the electronics field, but it was something he could feel good about doing. Heavy equipment operators also made pretty good money.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Dec 30, 2011

Amputation And Recovery

I was visiting my brother in the hospital. Sharing a room with him was Mr. Bill Nessell. Mr. Nessell noticed that on my right hand I had suffered the amputation of my index finger, my middle finger, and the top part of my thumb. He asked me the usual questions about how it happened and when it happened. The amputation had occurred decades ago, and I did not mind answering his questions. But he continued. He wanted to know my reaction to the amputation of my fingers and what adjustments I made because of the loss of my fingers. So I told him my story. When I finished he handed me his business card. The name of the organization on the card is “The Amputee Connection.” Some years ago Mr. Nessell suffered the amputation of his right leg just above the knee. He decided to use his experience to help other people. Now he counsels recent amputees and tries to help them adjust to their circumstances. He asked me if I would be willing to go to a meeting and share my story with other amputees.

“I just lost a few fingers,” I replied. “I’m not sure that what I have to say about that would mean much to people who have lost whole limbs.”

“An amputation is an amputation,” he said. “Your experience gives you something to contribute.”

I would have agreed to attend one of his meetings and share my story, but he holds his meetings on Sunday. Unfortunately, Sunday is one of the days on which I work a twelve hour shift. My finances are tight, and I cannot afford to miss working those hours. If my story can help someone, however, I think I should share it. I do not know how many amputees visit this sight or will visit this sight, but telling my story here is the best I can do for the time being.

I had taken a temporary job at a machine shop. I placed a piece of metal in the punch press. Below the deck of the press were two buttons, one on each side of me. I pressed those buttons simultaneously to trip the part of the press that slams down on the metal to shape into the part being made. The press then rose to the top and stopped. I reached in, removed the part, placed another piece of metal into the machine, and pressed the buttons again. I built up a rhythm as I repeated this process over and over again. My focus was on removing the completed part and placing the piece of metal into the proper position before pressing the buttons. Unfortunately for me the press double tripped. The part of the press that slams down on the metal did not stop at the top; instead it only paused there before slamming down again. It came down on my hand as a reached in to remove the completed part. I subsequently learned that this was a common accident. Punch presses at that time did not have the safety devices that pulled the hands of the operator out of the way. My fingers were not cut off they were crushed off.

According to witnesses I let out a very loud and rather impressive stream of profanity. Some people have told me that I then became almost eerily calm. I picked up a nearby rag and wrapped my injured hand with it. Some instinct told me it was better to avoid the trauma of looking at my mangled hand.

“Will someone please take me to the hospital?” I asked.

As long as there were people near me I was putting up a brave front. I even made a lame attempt to joke with one of the nurses. What happened after the first injection of pain killer is somewhat of a blur. I vaguely remember asking how many fingers I lost. I was told it was two and part of my thumb. I was also told that my ring finger was split open vertically and that the top joint of that finger was crushed. I cannot recall when they operated on my hand, or the recovery room, or being taken to the room where I would spend the next two days. My girlfriend and her brother told me I was really out of it when they visited me but that I was still putting up the brave front. What I really remember is waking up when the lights were dim and no one was near me. That is when I mourned my loss. Actually it went beyond mourning and degenerated into self-pity. Sometime during the next day that changed, and I said to my self: “Okay Steve, you’ve thought about all the things you can’t do. Now it is time to think about all the things you can do.” I cannot tell you everything was okay from that point on, but the part of my recovery I could control, the mental part, was well underway.

I was more than ready to leave the hospital when they released me. My right arm was in a sling and my right hand was so heavily bandaged that it resembled a volleyball. This meant I was going to have to find a way to do what I wanted to do using only my left hand. Doing that was made more difficult by the fact that I am right handed. Rich, who later become my brother in law, said he was going to offer to tie my shoes for me but decided not to ask when he saw me manipulating the shoe strings with my left hand. Somehow I managed to tie my shoes with one hand. I had him stop at a shoe store on the way home. There I bought a pair of loafers that did not require shoe laces. Just because you can do something does not mean you want to do it. Tying my shoes with one hand was a lot of work.

The next few weeks were a real education. Some of the things I thought would be difficult turned out to be fairly easy, whereas some of the things I thought would be easy turned out to be difficult. Putting on my pants was not that difficult. The key was to use my bed and lie down on my back in order to fasten my pants and my belt. Urinating was another matter. Under shorts definitely favor right-handed people. The material is folded over the opening in the front to make it easy for you reach into your shorts with your right hand. Reaching into your shorts with your left hand requires a contortion that is not easy to accomplish. Loose fitting boxer shorts made it a little easier. I also found myself taking preemptive pees. It is much more difficult to reach into your shorts when you are dancing. Does anyone make left handed under shorts?

When the bandage on my hand was changed my fingers were still covered rendering the fingers I still had useless. My thumb, however, was exposed. My thumb was still badly swollen and discolored. There were also ugly black stitches in what was now the end of my thumb. The important thing was that the thumb was somewhat functional, and this gave me another tool to use. I asked Jeri, who would eventually become my wife, out to dinner. She watched as I placed a fork between my swollen thumb and the bandages. I tried to spear the meat on my plate and cut it with the knife in my left hand. The fork slipped out of my grasp and fell on the floor. She asked the waiter for another fork. It also slipped out of my grasp and fell on the floor. She asked the waiter for three forks, two of which slipped out of my grasp and fell on the floor. But I eventually succeeded. Jeri could have cut the meat for me, but what she did was really better. I was embarrassed about dropping all of those forks on the floor, but she showed no embarrassment at all. She was more than willing to ask for as many forks as it took. That was all the encouragement I needed.

By the time the bandages were removed and I could use my ring finger and my little finger I was thinking about what I had rather than what I lost. My right hand was not what it had been, but it was functional. I had two hands again. I could write with my right hand again!

I have to do some things differently than I used to, but I am still able to find ways to do what I want to do. I have also discovered that doing what I am capable of doing makes it easy for the people around me to ignore the amputation and see the whole person that I am. What I want is acceptance rather than pity. Like anyone else, I want people to recognize my accomplishments and tolerate my limitations. All people have their limitations. Successful people work around their limitations to become as productive as possible. This is true of people who have not suffered an amputation as well as people who have suffered an amputation. The greatest change for me is that I do not take as many things for granted as I once did, and I am more methodical in the way I approach tasks that are difficult for me.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Nov 22, 2011