ubergookjr
06-27-2013, 11:20 PM
{{Walking down the street. People avoid my gaze. No one makes eye contact with me but I know they've been looking. I smell cigarettes. Victor is smoking again. He's been at it for five years. I'm glad I don't have his lungs. He makes a disgusting noise and spits onto the sidewalk. Trying to take my mind off it. I hate the smell, but it really does calm me down. Whatever. It could have been worse. I just want to get home.}}
[[“What the **** are you looking at?” The stranger looks away. I'm agitated. I reach for my pack of cigarettes. Chris eyes my hand going into my pocket. He knows I'm gonna smoke, but he doesn't say anything. He used to, but now he knows better; I just don't give a ****. I didn't even want to come here. He should have gone to the post office yesterday when we went out to get groceries. I'm tired as ****. I didn't even want to wake up this early. I just wanna go home and knock out.]]
{{Finally we're home. We walk up the stairs together. He opens the door in an annoyed state. He's probably not too happy about waking up so early, but it was about the operation, so I had no choice. He says he wants to sleep. I tell him I understand and walk toward the living room couch. He pulls me back and grunts that he wants to sleep in the bed. I tell him I'm hungry and that it's already eleven. He growls like an animal but follows me to the living room anyway, because he knows I'm right. We sit. I ask him for the book next to the lamp. He grumpily hands it to me without even opening his eyes. Though he doesn't say much, he's really obvious when he's angry. It would be better if he weren't so immature. I suffer just as much as he does anyway.}}
[[****, I'm tired. Why the hell won't he let me sleep in the bed? Ugh... I don't give a **** if it's eleven in the morn—you know what? I don't even wanna deal with this right now. **** it. I tell him he better not watch TV. He says he's just gonna read. He asks for the book. I hand it to him briskly and get ready to sleep. I'm just so glad I don't have to hear him think. I'd just ****ing kill myself.]]
{{Christ. He's finally asleep. I really hate living with him. But whatever. We are family after all, even though he's an inconsiderate loudmouth sometimes. I try not to move too much in fear of waking him. He's a real *** when it comes to waking him up. I'm slightly hungry but I guess I'll just wait a little. Just one more week, Chris. You can do this buddy. It won't be long.}}
[[I'm woken up from my sleep. “What the hell do you want now?” He says it's been an hour and that he's pretty hungry. “Ugh...fine.” I get up and go over to the kitchen. He follows. He just settles with a bowl of cereal while I reach for a bag of chips. We sit back down on the couch and turn on the TV. You serious? He wants to watch the history channel again? **** man. We need to get two TVs or something. I just let him change the channel. I reach for my pocket and pull out my iPod instead of watching. He says thanks. “Yea. Whatever,” I say. Only a week to go anyway.]]
{{Finally. The hospital. Can't wait for the operation. Hope it's a success. Doctor says he's gonna make the cut at the shoulder blade. I'm a little nervous because he hasn't performed an operation like this before, but I'm sure he has many years of experience under his belt. He injects my arm with morphine. I feel a wave of warmth and my senses begin to dull. My eyelids feel heavy. Colors fade. Then lines become fuzzy. Then blackness.}}
I can sense the light. I'm conscious again. My eyes open, and it feels as if no time had passed at all. I've been relocated. I glance around, but Victor is nowhere to be seen. He was probably moved to his own room. This is great! Now we can go home together and live slightly more normal lives. For the first time in twenty three years my brother and I will know the meaning of privacy, and have the will to do whatever we want, when we want, and how we want. It is true that I don't have a right arm anymore, but it wasn't mine to begin with anyway. As I sit up to call the nurse and ask about Victor, I overhear a barely audible conversation from behind the curtains. I hear a nurse whisper to her colleague, “Do you think the doctor was allowed to make this call?” “Well, did you see any alternative options? These boys don't have any immediate family, you know.” “Yes, I do. It seems like the best possible choice strictly speaking in utilitarian terms, but it just doesn't feel right that the doctor sacrificed one to save the other.” “Naturally there was a choice to be made. Both Chris and Victor could not have survived the operation, though they were conjoined at the shoulder. Besides, the boy Chris was so much more polite and gentle than his brother Victor.” “But what about the reconstructed shoulder? Shouldn't the doctor have waited before undertaking that procedure? It was uncalled for.” “Who would he have asked? The boy Chris who had enough morphine to knock out a horse? The doctor made a professional decision. He had to.” That's when I feel the strange dead weight hanging from my right side. I stare in both amazement and horror at Victor's arm on my newly reconstructed shoulder. I can move it like it's mine. I can feel the cold of the metal bed railings. Then all of a sudden with a sickening wave of nausea I feel the hotness of my regurgitated hospital food on my new hand. It feels corrosive. “I guess so...I can see where the doctor is coming from. He just wants the boy Chris to live a normal life. I just hope he made the right choice...” The voices fade and I feel like passing out. Victor. I've never liked you, but I feel like I've lost a part of me. When you break a wishbone, I guess someone's gotta get the short end...
[[“What the **** are you looking at?” The stranger looks away. I'm agitated. I reach for my pack of cigarettes. Chris eyes my hand going into my pocket. He knows I'm gonna smoke, but he doesn't say anything. He used to, but now he knows better; I just don't give a ****. I didn't even want to come here. He should have gone to the post office yesterday when we went out to get groceries. I'm tired as ****. I didn't even want to wake up this early. I just wanna go home and knock out.]]
{{Finally we're home. We walk up the stairs together. He opens the door in an annoyed state. He's probably not too happy about waking up so early, but it was about the operation, so I had no choice. He says he wants to sleep. I tell him I understand and walk toward the living room couch. He pulls me back and grunts that he wants to sleep in the bed. I tell him I'm hungry and that it's already eleven. He growls like an animal but follows me to the living room anyway, because he knows I'm right. We sit. I ask him for the book next to the lamp. He grumpily hands it to me without even opening his eyes. Though he doesn't say much, he's really obvious when he's angry. It would be better if he weren't so immature. I suffer just as much as he does anyway.}}
[[****, I'm tired. Why the hell won't he let me sleep in the bed? Ugh... I don't give a **** if it's eleven in the morn—you know what? I don't even wanna deal with this right now. **** it. I tell him he better not watch TV. He says he's just gonna read. He asks for the book. I hand it to him briskly and get ready to sleep. I'm just so glad I don't have to hear him think. I'd just ****ing kill myself.]]
{{Christ. He's finally asleep. I really hate living with him. But whatever. We are family after all, even though he's an inconsiderate loudmouth sometimes. I try not to move too much in fear of waking him. He's a real *** when it comes to waking him up. I'm slightly hungry but I guess I'll just wait a little. Just one more week, Chris. You can do this buddy. It won't be long.}}
[[I'm woken up from my sleep. “What the hell do you want now?” He says it's been an hour and that he's pretty hungry. “Ugh...fine.” I get up and go over to the kitchen. He follows. He just settles with a bowl of cereal while I reach for a bag of chips. We sit back down on the couch and turn on the TV. You serious? He wants to watch the history channel again? **** man. We need to get two TVs or something. I just let him change the channel. I reach for my pocket and pull out my iPod instead of watching. He says thanks. “Yea. Whatever,” I say. Only a week to go anyway.]]
{{Finally. The hospital. Can't wait for the operation. Hope it's a success. Doctor says he's gonna make the cut at the shoulder blade. I'm a little nervous because he hasn't performed an operation like this before, but I'm sure he has many years of experience under his belt. He injects my arm with morphine. I feel a wave of warmth and my senses begin to dull. My eyelids feel heavy. Colors fade. Then lines become fuzzy. Then blackness.}}
I can sense the light. I'm conscious again. My eyes open, and it feels as if no time had passed at all. I've been relocated. I glance around, but Victor is nowhere to be seen. He was probably moved to his own room. This is great! Now we can go home together and live slightly more normal lives. For the first time in twenty three years my brother and I will know the meaning of privacy, and have the will to do whatever we want, when we want, and how we want. It is true that I don't have a right arm anymore, but it wasn't mine to begin with anyway. As I sit up to call the nurse and ask about Victor, I overhear a barely audible conversation from behind the curtains. I hear a nurse whisper to her colleague, “Do you think the doctor was allowed to make this call?” “Well, did you see any alternative options? These boys don't have any immediate family, you know.” “Yes, I do. It seems like the best possible choice strictly speaking in utilitarian terms, but it just doesn't feel right that the doctor sacrificed one to save the other.” “Naturally there was a choice to be made. Both Chris and Victor could not have survived the operation, though they were conjoined at the shoulder. Besides, the boy Chris was so much more polite and gentle than his brother Victor.” “But what about the reconstructed shoulder? Shouldn't the doctor have waited before undertaking that procedure? It was uncalled for.” “Who would he have asked? The boy Chris who had enough morphine to knock out a horse? The doctor made a professional decision. He had to.” That's when I feel the strange dead weight hanging from my right side. I stare in both amazement and horror at Victor's arm on my newly reconstructed shoulder. I can move it like it's mine. I can feel the cold of the metal bed railings. Then all of a sudden with a sickening wave of nausea I feel the hotness of my regurgitated hospital food on my new hand. It feels corrosive. “I guess so...I can see where the doctor is coming from. He just wants the boy Chris to live a normal life. I just hope he made the right choice...” The voices fade and I feel like passing out. Victor. I've never liked you, but I feel like I've lost a part of me. When you break a wishbone, I guess someone's gotta get the short end...