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LEGS
by Nathan Leslie 
copyright © 2001

Ludlow Press Short Fiction

Legs

Kurt and Mary

My legs are Kurt and Mary.  Mary is the leg I depend on, the strong leg, the kicking leg, the pushing-off leg.  Kurt is deadweight.  He just sits there forcing Mary to do all the work.  He stumbles and trips and drags.  Kurt tries to kick Mary or twist her unexpectedly, but Mary treats him with tenderness, rubbing, pressing, and trying to calm his fears.  Kurt is ungrateful.  He falls asleep constantly.

A Shotgun

My father’s shotgun didn’t do the trick.  They said it would.  I leaned against a linden near the horseshoe pit in the dark and pulled the trigger.  My father bolted out of the house.  I thought it would blow off clean like the movies.  Kurt was suffering with a hole the size of a mayonnaise jar, but he was still there.  I hollered despite myself.  I didn’t feel anything at first, but then I did.  My father thought it was an accident and scolded me for weeks for not putting the safety on.  I told him I was just holding it.  “What were you holding it for?”  I said I just liked the feel of it.

The Room

The people in the room understand.  They don’t have names for theirs, but they tell me they fantasize about their stubs.  One man keeps his hand in a hermetically sealed glass box.  I go to the room and everyone greets me with suggestions for removal:

Jig saw, chain saw, train tracks, freezing it off, acid.  Sometimes all this is overwhelming, but mostly it’s not.

Last Year

I ate grilled cheese sandwiches for fifty straight meals, including breakfast.  I touched my sister’s breast when she was asleep, which wiggled in her shirt like Jell-O.  I made a centipede farm then flooded it with Mountain Dew (it’s okay because they were eating each other anyway).  I stole three dollars in coins from my father, but returned it slowly over guilt.  I lifted cans of tomatoes five hundred times every morning.  I never masturbated.  I painted pictures of my father every day in art class.  I saved rain-water and then drank it.  I dreamed many sweet dreams.

The Job

I got a summer job with a landscaping crew.  I knew they had chain saws.  Some people in the room say hack-saws are cleaner, but slower.  I wonder if I could get somebody to do it for me—doubtful.  Before Kurt heals from the previous attempt, I want to find their chain saws.  This means getting the keys to the shed.  The only person who has keys to the shed is Alice, the four hundred pound manager with eyes like minnows.

Alice

“You’re pretty.”           

“What?”          

“You’re very pretty.”

I tell her whatever she wants to hear.  Her curtains are two inches thick.  Her place smells like eggs.  Dust-storms whirl in the apartment whenever you open or close a door.  I found crumbs under her breasts.  She wants me to smear yellow cake on her and lick off the remains.  Who am I to say no?  Her breasts are bigger than my head and neck.  She lies on top of me and I have no choice in the matter.  When she is asleep I take her keys and slip out.

Hesitancies    

When I wonder about these things I think of Mary’s feelings.  Mary is very giving and humane.  She might miss Kurt.  I try to tell her everything will be fine, but I can sense her sadness.  But then I think, which is more important? Her sadness or my sadness?  Kurt must go.  I have responsibilities to Mary.

Moonlight and Gasoline

I can’t find a gasoline container.  I buy a two-liter of Pepsi from 7-11 and dump out the Pepsi.  I fill it with gasoline, which costs eighty cents.  The moon is almost full.  It rises from the horizon like another sun.  It is orange and pink.  I draw a line at the top of my thigh and lean against the shed with the chainsaw and Kurt and Mary outstretched.  I rev the saw.  Mary cries while Kurt screams.  My arms vibrate from the saw.  I close my eyes and lower the blade right on line.

Nathan Leslie's fiction and poetry has appeared in over thirty publications including Amherst Review, Wascana Review, Poetry Motel, Connections, The Crab Creek Review, The Higginsville Reader, Fodderwing, The Sulphur River Literary Review, The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and Daybreak.  He won the 2000 Katherine Anne Fiction Prize.  He currently teaches writing at Towson University, and UMBC. Email: NathanL@erols.com

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