It took him fifteen minutes to reach Terrie’s apartment building. She worked downtown, and he realized as he pulled into one of the guest spots in the parking lot that she might not be home yet. He should have called her. For that matter, he should have responded to the increasingly worried voicemails she’d been leaving him.
Despite his bravado in front of the arm, he wasn’t looking forward to the breakup, whichever of them ended up initiating it. Half of him wanted to put it off forever. The other half wanted to get it over with immediately.
He forced himself to get out of the car and walk across the parking lot to the building. He swung both arms as he walked. He would force the arm to participate, whether it wanted to or not. He would force it to witness, to be part of, his demonstration that he was in control of his life and that the arm was merely a helpless passenger.
He climbed the stairway quickly and walked along the balcony facing the parking lot. Ahead of him, a door opened, and Terrie stepped out.
“Jimmy!”
She ran to him, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately.
He had been longing for her kiss for months. He put his right arm around her waist and kissed her back. The arm hung loosely at his left side.
“At last!” she said. “I saw you pull in. What took you so long? Why didn’t you reply? Come on.” She stepped away, took his right hand, and pulled him toward her apartment.
Inside, she closed the door and stood in front of him. He expected anger, but she surprised him by putting one hand on his shoulder and the other gently on his cheek — that loving gesture that he remembered so fondly, although now it reminded him of the repulsive caress of the arm’s hand in the night, and he shivered. Even so, he looked at her smiling face, and he smiled in return, his prepared breakup speech forgotten.
“Jimmy, answer me.”
“I — ” He felt the arm’s hand opening and closing, going through its self–testing process yet again. He tensed, exerted himself, and established control — enough, anyway, to stop the hand from moving and the arm from bending at the elbow.
“Sorry, Terrie. I thought you wanted to break up with me, so I was putting it off.”
“Break up with you? Sweetie, I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to come home again, and I’ve been afraid for you every day. Why did you think I wanted to break up with you?”
“Because I don’t see how you can love a one–armed man. I don’t see how any woman can.”
“A one–armed man? What are you talking about? Look at you.”
“You know what happened to me over there.”
“Sure. But now you’re okay again. You’ve got this.” She squeezed the arm and then removed her hand quickly. She looked startled.
She had been pretending before. He could see that now. For some reason, she wanted him to think she hadn’t changed, but she couldn’t even bring herself to touch that mechanical arm.
“See?” he said. “It’s not the same. It’s a thing that they put on me. I’m still a guy with one arm. It’s repulsive, isn’t it?”
“I was just surprised by how real it felt,” Terrie said. “I thought it would feel kind of metallic, but it feels just like a real arm.” She laughed. “It feels stronger than the one you had before. Bigger, even.”
Jimmy stepped back from her. “You prefer this fucking thing to my real arm?”
Now I see what’s going on, he thought. She’s got another boyfriend, probably some guy with bigger muscles than me. She’s been seeing him while I was overseas. She doesn’t want to break up with me. She wants to manipulate me into breaking up with her. That way, I’m the one to blame, and she won’t even have to tell me about the other guy.
He could feel the arm moving again, despite his attempt to control it. It was opening and closing its fist in that maddening way. His inability to make it stop increased his anger against the world and especially against Terrie.
“Who is he?” Jimmy asked. “I hope it’s not someone I know.”
“Who?”
“The guy you’ve been sleeping with while I was being blown up. The guy with bigger arms than me. I suppose he has a bigger cock, too.”
“Jimmy, what are you talking about? I haven’t been seeing anyone else. It’s only you, sweetie.” But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Damn you. You wanted me to do the breaking up? All right, I will.”
“Jimmy! Sweetie, don’t be like that.” She stepped toward him and reached up to him.
Christ, Jimmy thought, what the hell’s wrong with me?
Overcome with love and self–recrimination, he put his right hand out to draw her to him.
The left arm slammed its fist into Terrie’s breastbone.
She flew across the room and landed near the far wall. She struggle to a sitting position, both hands pressed against her chest. Her face was white, and she struggled for breath. Finally, she managed to speak in a hoarse voice. “Get out.”
“Terrie — ”
“Get out! Don’t come back!”
Stunned, he left without arguing or trying to see if she was okay.
I hit Terrie, he kept thinking. I hit Terrie! I’ve never done anything like that before.
No, I didn’t hit her. The arm did. The fucking arm.
He ran down the staircase to the parking lot.
“You hit her,” he shouted. “You’re ruining my life, you bastard!”
* * * * *
The Arm and Flanagan Page 9