The Wheelchair

 

THE  WHEELCHAIR

A DUBIOUS TALE BY STRZEKA

Good things come to those who wait. Stephen waited for his parents to die before getting his first tattoos to avoid their disapproval and loved seeing his arms inked jet black from shoulder to wrist. He might now even have the backs of his hands inked. He bought his first ever pair of long leather and steel leg braces the next year and gradually transitioned into a man who had obvious problems walking. He wore trousers to cover the braces but ensured that several inches of mirrored steel was visible at his ankles. He bought several pairs of boots with thick leather soles to be adapted for use with his callipers. His lower legs were always held rigid from his knees to his toes and when he wished to appear more disabled, he engaged locks at knee height and made his knees rigid too. He ordered several pairs of walking sticks and began to use them both at home and in public.

 

Stephen retired from working life after a career spanning forty-four years. He had earned a rest. However, walking with two rigid legs was anything but restful. He noticed his legs deteriorate from strong and muscular to weak and flabby, their atrophy accelerated by the leg braces. The steel struts he wore from morning to night every day supported him without needing muscular strength and he used one of his walking sticks to correct his balance when he stood for any period of time.

 

Years passed. Stephen had almost lost the ability to walk any distance without leg braces. The two hundred yards stretch to the local shop and back was enough to cause his thighs to ache and his knees and ankles to falter alarmingly. He relied on his walking sticks although they inconvenienced him when carrying purchases. He was pleased by the loss of the use of his legs. The heavy callipers he relied on were both a symbol of the way he felt he should always have been since childhood and a triumph of his will to live the rest of his time coping with physical challenges, which, he hoped, would help stave off mental deterioration. He looked at his hands and arms and wished they could also be braced by steel and thick black leather. He had searched for a manufacturer of such equipment, unsuccessfully.

 

His opportunity to render his arms disabled came when a friend agreed to sell him an unwanted pair of non-amputee arm prostheses complete with hooks. Stephen had long admired the appearance of men, especially young men, who had lost their hands and chosen steel hooks. He was always envious of such men but only partly understood the disability which losing one’s hands entailed. He wore the artificial arms every day. Each morning, he fed his near-useless legs into their steel callipers and boots and his left arm into its prosthetic socket and hook. Having dressed and prepared a breakfast, he donned the second prosthetic arm and enjoyed being thoroughly disabled for several hours until lunchtime. Initially, Stephen had tried using both hooks for his waking hours but compromised by removing the right until after lunch when he inserted his hand into the socket again and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening wielding hooks. Rising from a chair wearing leg braces without hands required forethought and experience. His semi‑prosthetic body was a joy to him and he loved both the genuine and simulated disabilities he had achieved for himself.

 

His next disability was not so welcome. Stephen noticed that his vision had deteriorated. He waited a couple of months for it to return to normal. It did not. He visited an ophthalmologist. A few weeks later, Stephen learned that both eyes, especially the left, showed signs of macular deterioration and possibly glaucoma. Further tests would be necessary.

 

The left eye had been damaged by a tiny protuberance in a blood vessel near the nerve which fed visual information into the brain. It distorted vision in such a way that straight lines seemed to bulge. Stephen was booked in for a series of three injections of a drug which would arrest the deterioration – into his eyeball.

 

Months later, it was apparent that the drug had worked. Stephen was left with a severely myopic but healthy eye, his right, and the left which viewed the world as if through a low resolution kaleidoscope. Together, his ruined vision made it unpleasant to read for pleasure, next to impossible to read small print and turned watching tv into a head-swivelling exercise trying to focus. The greatest disadvantage was that Stephen could no longer walk safely using his braces and walking sticks because he could no longer reliably judge the condition of the surface in front of him. It all looked pocked and pot-holed and uneven, including surfaces like a parquet floor which he knew must be perfectly flat. Walking over unfamiliar surfaces with two completely rigid unfeeling legs began to tire him mentally more than his physical disabilities warranted. He would adopt a wheelchair.

 

Stephen had considered purchasing a wheelchair before but there was precious little space in his small apartment for him to be able to move around in one. His easy chair was in the way in the middle of the lounge and the office chair at his desk would be superfluous. But they could be taken to storage. He watched several YouTube videos by wheelchair users giving advice on buying one and placed an order for a model with a plain steel frame, solid tyres, large casters and a wide grip ring. The ring could be ignored. Stephen did not intend to ruin his shoulders by wheeling. He wanted to operate his chair with levers which he could pull and push back and forth to propel himself. It looked more unusual and the levers could be operated by artificial arms with steel hooks. He imagined himself in the chair with his steel leg braces inserted into thick-soled boots, operating the chair’s propulsion levers with two steel hooks. Perhaps he could also wear a leather eyepatch to negate the destroyed vision from his left eye. With his shapely white beard and shiny shaved head, he would be a striking figure wherever he went. The wheelchair would arrive within a few weeks along with the auxiliary propulsion levers.

 

There was a summer festival in town. Stephen was too old for candy floss and toffee apples but there promised to be a procession through the central streets of a musical troupe playing samba. He decided to make the effort to go and see it. Samba music was always fascinating and he could see something exceptional at the same time.

 

He was wearing his leg braces, as always, and decided that, for once, he might wear the pretender hook on his left arm. He rarely used a hook in public, simply because of the illogicality of being seen with a hook one day and a natural hand the next. If he were an amputee, he would have no hesitation in displaying his artificial arm or arms to all and sundry. He took his favourite walking stick in his right hand and walked slowly and stiffly to the town centre. He waited about fifty yards beyond the town square where he could hear musicians tuning their instruments. On the opposite side of the street there was a tall blond man, standing alone with his muscular arms crossed, watching the crowd and peering towards the square. Stephen found him attractive and watched him. The stranger suddenly made eye contact and held it. He gave a broad grin. Stephen raised his left hand in acknowledgement. His left hook. The stranger raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and looked again towards the source of the musical notes.

 

The stranger had noticed Stephen’s arrival. The odd gait caught his attention first, then the walking stick and the hook visible in the left sleeve. The stranger was an enthusiastic devotee of disabled older men and his eye was trained to notice subtle abnormalities. He was interested in orthotic and prosthetic equipment and decided that before the day was out, he would chat with the old man out of compassion, naturally. He was also pleased by Stephen’s appearance. He was a great admirer of daddy figures and yearned for a long-term relationship with a good-looking senior who relied on mobility aids. He turned his attention back to Stephen and crossed the road to stand beside him.

            – It sounds like they’re almost ready. It won’t be long now.

Stephen looked up at the stranger’s clean-shaven face and attractive blue eyes. He had folded his arms again. It was an unusual gesture but it lent an air of insouciance. The eyes turned towards Stephen’s.

            – Do you enjoy samba music?

            – Yes. I’ve always liked it. I love the massed sound of lots of drums and samba has so many rhythms going on. Plus the dancers are a sight for sore eyes.

            – Yes, I agree with you. I think they’ve started.

            – Can you see them?

            – Yeah, they’re spreading out first. Ah! Here they come.

The first drumbeats sounded, the interaction between a solo drummer and the rest of the troupe answering his beat. The dancers twirled their costumes, waiting for the samba rhythm before they threw themselves into their flamboyant dance. The solo drummer answered the troupe’s drumming with his insistent reply, waited… and the samba began. A shiver of pleasure ran up Stephen’s back and along his arms, giving him goosebumps. He tried to manoeuvre his legs to face in the direction the troupe was coming from and would have liked to have a cane in his left hook. The stranger noticed and stood behind Stephen with his hands on the old man’s shoulders. Stephen was surprised and glanced up for a moment. The stranger kept his eyes on the dancers. It felt pleasant to sense the stranger’s firm support. The troupe arrived directly in front of them and Stephen again altered his stance. The stranger removed one hand but kept the other around his other shoulder. They watched the drummers and dancers passing by for two or three minutes.

            – That was fun, wasn’t it? Do you want to follow them?

            – It would be nice to walk along with them but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the music anyway.

            – Shall we go for coffee somewhere? I’d like to chat with you. My name is Dominique, by the way. Everyone calls me Dom.

            – My name is Stephen. Not Steve.

            – Pleased to make your acquaintance, Stephen. Shall we walk along until we find a café? Take my arm.

Dom stood on Stephen’s left and Stephen put his arm prosthesis through Dom’s cocked arm. Dom glanced at the steel hook and felt sudden excitement at escorting a handsome daddy with such obvious orthotic and prosthetic equipment. He walked slowly, letting Stephen manipulate his rigid legs, gripping the artificial arm tightly with his own muscular right arm.

            – Let’s go in here. They do some very nice cinnamon buns and I’m feeling a bit peckish.

            – I’ve not been here before.

They sat down and Stephen ordered coffees and buns. Dom insisted on paying. Stephen rested his hook on the tabletop. Dom liked seeing it but made no comment. He had also enjoyed the way Stephen stood and released his knee locks before sitting. Other customers watched them with varying levels of shock or interest.

            – It’s good to have some company. I don’t think I would have come here otherwise.

            – It’s always more fun when there are two of you. I hope you didn’t mind me holding you when we were watching the band. I was a little worried about your balance.

            – No, I didn’t mind. I quite liked it. It did help. I felt safer.

            – That’s good.

            – Dom, you are a young man. I like that, don’t get me wrong. But I have the strange feeling that you are almost flirting with me.

            – I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give offence. I have to admit that I find older men more to my taste than people my own age. I’m thirty-three, by the way. You are a handsome man and I was attracted by your disability, if I may say so. I hope you aren’t offended.

            – Not at all. I am disabled but I struggle on. I think my legs are giving out. I used to be able to walk a little without callipers but these days, I dare not even try. They do make walking a lot more strenuous but they also keep me secure. But I’m afraid that I shall soon be in a wheelchair.

            – Really? You might well find that a wheelchair actually gives you more freedom.

            – Yes, I realise that. I should be taking delivery of one fairly soon, in fact.

            – Is that so?

            – Yes. I have already ordered one and it should be delivered in a few days.

            – Perhaps I could help you assemble it, if you like.

            – You know, I would like some help, actually. I’m not entirely useless with tools but it would be good to have a little assistance.

Stephen lifted his prosthetic arm and let it drop back onto the table in way of explanation.

            – This doesn’t help matters.

            – No, I would assume not. Would you like more coffee?

            – Thanks, but no thanks. I should make tracks for home.

            – Would you like me to walk with you?

            – You really don’t need to, Dom. I can manage.

            – Yes, I know. I thought we might continue talking.

            – Come on, then. It’s a pleasure to have a good-looking escort.

 

Stephen rocked slowly back to his home. Dom walked beside him, enjoying the squeaks and thuds emitted by Stephen’s callipers. They spoke of other musical venues where they had enjoyed impromptu displays of creative dance and unexpected presentations. Stephen released one of his knees to allow him to negotiate a few steps outside his apartment building.

            – This will be difficult if you are in a wheelchair.

            – I’ll still be semi-ambulatory though. I won’t have lost all ability to stand or walk. Just that a chair will be more comfortable and faster for me.

            – You’ll still have to be able to drag your chair up the steps.

            – True enough. Dom, thank you for your company and help today. I’m very grateful to you. I’ve enjoyed talking to you. It’s not often I have someone sensible to talk to.

            – Thank you. If I give you my phone number, you can call me when your wheelchair arrives and I’ll come and assemble it.

            – That would be very kind of you.

Stephen and Dom exchanged phone numbers and Dom left. He glanced back at the crippled arm amputee with admiration. Perhaps Stephen would let him into his life. They had so much in common.

 

Stephen’s wheelchair was delivered the following Thursday. He slit open the package and looked at the myriad parts which would need to be assembled and adjusted. He could do it himself well enough but Dom had offered and it was an excellent opportunity to see his handsome new friend again. He sent a text message and waited impatiently for a reply. It came within an hour.

            – shall be delighted to help. will saturday afternoon be soon enough?

            – perfect. Any time after 2.

 

Dom arrived at two fifteen. He carried a satchel containing a wide variety of screwdrivers, Allen keys and wrenches, although the manufacturer had included all the necessary tools to assemble the wheelchair in the package. Stephen was wearing his kafos as always and the pretender prosthesis on his left arm.

            – It’s good to see you again. I hope I’m not too early.

            – No, not at all. I’m pleased you could come. I was just about to make some coffee. Would you like a cup before we begin?

            – I’d like that very much, thanks. Do you need any help?

            – No, I can do this well enough.

Dom watched Stephen busying himself in the kitchen. The coffee was good.

            – I dare say you are looking forward to trying out the chair. I would have come earlier but we’ve been busy at work and the schedule was full.

            – What is it you do, Dom?

            – I’m a paediatrician. A children’s doctor.

            – Oh. And you work at the local hospital, I suppose?

            – Yes, I have a subsidised apartment which is a little too big for just me – in fact, there’s a whole room which I use only to exercise in.

            – And you live alone?

            – I live alone. I think I told you that I am not attracted to men of my own age. And naturally enough, older men are reluctant to uproot themselves from their homes to move in with me. They have their own homes and their own furniture and prefer to remain where they are. It makes cohabitation unlikely.

            – Yes, I can see how that might be a problem. Is that why you’re still single?

            – Partly, I suppose. I’m not sure but I think older men have the idea that people my age are incapable of forging a relationship with someone older. I’ll admit it is unusual. But that’s enough of my troubles. Let’s get your wheelchair up and running and we could go out for a walk to try it out.

            – That would be good. I’m going to sit and watch you.

Stephen engaged his right calliper’s knee lock and stood up. He moved to the lounge and released both locks before lowering himself into his easy chair. He held his hook with his right hand. Dom sat cross-legged beside the pile of components still in their cardboard box and read through the assembly instructions. He checked that all the necessary parts were present and began. The wheels and casters went on the frame first, then the footrests and the push handles. The armrests were next and gradually the wheelchair took shape.

            – Come and sit in it, Stephen. I need to adjust the position of the seat so you’re not too far forward or in danger of tipping over backwards.

Stephen pushed himself up and walked across to the wheelchair. He held on to the armrests as best he could and sat. As his hips slipped down into the chair, he noticed that at least the seat was the proper width. He hooked his left callipered leg onto the footrest and then the other. His hands reached down for the push rings on the wheels. Dom looked at him from one side and decided that the seat could be moved back a couple of inches.

            – I need to make a couple of adjustments, Stephen. Can you get out again?

            – Sure. Pull me up, will you?

Stephen put his feet on the floor and offered his arms to Dom. He rose and Dom placed his arms around him for a quick hug as they stood chest to chest. Dom made the adjustment to the seat and Stephen sat down again.

            – Ah, that feels better. I can reach the wheels more easily.

            – Good. Your body weight is centred over the axle now, so you have to be aware that if you lean back, your chair might topple backwards if you lean too far. You have to remember to lean forward slightly when you are pushing yourself or when you go up a kerb.

            – Don’t forget I have fairly heavy braces on my legs. They might help to keep my balance.

            – Yes, they might. OK. Give it a go. Can you manage the left wheel with your hook?

            – Not well. It doesn’t grip round shapes very well. I ought to come clean with you, I suppose, Dom. I am not an amputee.

            – Oh? What’s going on, then?

            – I always wanted to use a hook, you know, to have an arm stump. This is the best I have been able to do. My left hand is bunched up inside this socket.

            – I thought you had lost your hand. Would you really like to be an amputee instead?

            – It’s the one thought that has followed me all through my life. The desire to be an amputee. I started using leg braces as a way to feel what having artificial legs might feel like. But most of all, I always hankered after a hook. I’m sorry, Dom. You probably think I’m crazy.

            – No, not at all. I’ve heard about paraphilias before. You’re the first man I’ve met who admits to one, though. I expect we see others around us every day without realising it. So you’d like to have your hand off?

            – Yes, I would, especially now when I know what it’s like to use a hook.

            – Well, keep this under your hat but I might be able to help you. Since I work at the hospital, I can probably fake a few papers to get your name on the patient list. And when they have a slot for you, you’d go in for your amputation.

Stephen stared at Dom, not knowing what to ask next.

            – Really? You could get me an amputation? How is that possible?

            – Well, it’s a matter of having access to the records and the right papers. You don’t need to know how it works but if you wanted to lose your hand, we could arrange it for some time in the autumn.

Stephen stared at Dom. He might be able to have a genuine artificial arm at last. Better late than never.

            – So you just need to give me the word and I’ll set things in motion. Now, shall we go outside and try out your wheelchair? Do you want to take your hook off first?

            – Yeah, I think I will.

Stephen took his pullover off and removed the harness from across his shoulders. The socket loosened and he withdrew his fist from it.

            – May I see that? It’s made pretty much like the genuine article. I think the shape of this socket is the giveaway but I have to admit that I didn’t notice.

            – And its length. It has to be long enough to contain my hand which the genuine article does not, obviously.

            – Very interesting. I can see why you enjoy wearing it.

Stephen dressed again and sat in his wheelchair. He rolled forward a little and turned to face Dom who stood watching with his arms crossed.

            – I’m ready. Shall we go?

Dom helped negotiate a couple of low steps but otherwise allowed Stephen to propel himself. Stephen was trying to use the chair in the way he had seen so many users explaining – regular strokes from back to front in a circular motion, take a rest when you can use the momentum, keep your head up. It was comfortable and a relaxing way to get some exercise. Dom walked along beside him, admiring the outline of Stephen’s kafos through his trousers and the sturdy black leather boots holding his kafos in place. Stephen’s legs were as immobile as any paraplegic’s. If Stephen intended to use the wheelchair permanently, perhaps he might consider further amputations to rid himself of his useless and burdensome legs.

            – How does it feel, Stephen? You seem to be managing very well, not that I know anything about wheelchairs.

            – This is fine. I reckon this would build up my upper body strength over time.

            – It certainly isn’t doing your legs any good.

            – Ha! No, it isn’t. I should get rid of them altogether, useless things.

            – If you’re serious, Stephen, I can arrange that too.

            – It seems to me that we’re going to have to sit down and have a discussion about this. You realise, I hope, that I would be more disabled as a triple amputee than I am now with a pretender hook and leg braces.

            – Yes, you would but you would also have achieved the body you seem to have wanted all your life. Legless and mobile in a wheelchair with a prosthetic hook. It sounds a comfortable way of living, if you are determined to enjoy your amputations. I can see why some men might regard it as a kind of set-back.

            – Ha! You’re a master of understatement. How would I manage my life as such an extreme cripple?

            – You could arrange to have someone from social services visit you two or three times a week, give you a bath and dust the bookshelves. But I will make you a promise here and now, Stephen, and I am very serious. If you go through with your amputations, I will stay by your side and live with you as a companion and helper – or more, if you allow me. I already want to be a part of your life as a friend so I can see you more often. I hope I’m not being too forward.

            – No, not at all. I like seeing you too. So basically, what you’re telling me is that not only can you arrange for me to acquire three stumps but that you would also worship them afterwards.

            – When you put it like that, the answer has to be ‘yes’. We would always be together and I would be your legs for you, your helping hand when you need it.

Stephen stopped and twisted his chair around to face Dom again. They were on a tree-lined suburban street opposite a park. He looked up at Dom’s earnest friendly face.

            – It’s almost like a marriage proposal.

            – Yes, it is. I’d like to be with you even if you stay as you are. But if you want to have your amputations, I promise to stay with you afterwards. You can be the way you want to be and I will stay with you.

            – Thank you, Dom. Shall we go back? This has been enough exercise for one day. And I need to have a think about your proposal. I assume I would need to move to another flat somewhere. There’s no room in my place for two.

            – I hope you could share mine. It has two bedrooms, so you would always be able to have some privacy if you wanted to. You’ll have to visit and take a look.

            – I’ll do that.

 

Dom made sure Stephen was safely at home and they said goodbye. Stephen rolled into his lounge, locked the brakes and stood up carefully. His knee locks dropped into place and he walked stiff-legged to the kitchen to make some tea. He took out a notepad and pen and created a list of everything which Dom had spoken about. He divided the page into ‘Pro’ and ‘Con’ sections and would jot down relevant ideas and impressions until he had concrete ideas which he could discuss with Dom.

 

Stephen took delivery of the lever mechanisms which he had ordered for his wheelchair. They propelled the chair by a simple forward and backward movement of his arms. It promised to be a less fatiguing way of negotiating his way around. He opened the package and decided assembly was within his capabilities. He arranged the components, read the instructions twice and lifted the wheelchair onto the table. The lever mechanisms fit easily into position and after some minor adjustments, his wheelchair was ready for operation by pushing on the levers rather than on the wheel rims. Stephen lifted the wheelchair down and sat in it to test it.

 

It was immediately obvious that the wheelchair was much easier to control. His hands pulled on the levers to go forward and by braking one of the wheels, the chair turned in that direction. His hands stayed away from the push rims. Stephen was pleased with his new purchase and decided that he would transition to using the wheelchair with kafos, allowing himself to stand or walk a few steps when necessary. He would find a way to attach a walking stick or two to the chair’s frame to signal that he was still ambulatory and not completely reliant on the chair. He moved his furniture closer to the wall to give his wheelchair more space.

 

It was still more convenient to stand while working in the kitchen but for most of the time, Stephen sat and wheeled at home. He watched a few training videos featuring young people who had suddenly found themselves needing wheelchairs for mobility. He wanted to learn how to do wheelies – how to jerk the small wheels up and onto kerbs – and would ask Dom to help out by standing behind the chair to prevent him from tipping over backwards. The youngsters were impressive with their wheelchair skills, making the apparatus seem more like a piece of sports equipment than a mobility aid.

 

Dom paid a visit on Friday evening. He was impressed by Stephen’s transition and interested to see the unusual method of propulsion.

            – Have you tried wearing your hooks yet?

            – No. I’ve thought about it, of course, but I don’t want to scratch the handles. I’ve been looking around for some rings I can fix to the levers so I can use the hooks.

            – Like the rings you can get for a car steering wheel? Yes, I know what you mean. It shouldn’t be hard to find a pair of those. We’ll have a look a little later. So what else is new?

            – I’ve been thinking about my amputations. I’d like to have leg stumps first, I think. Get rid of these leg braces once and for all.

            – Have you thought about how long you’d like the stumps to be?

            – Yes. Ideally as short as possible while still letting me sit in a wheelchair without a seat belt. About six inches, I suppose.

            – Sounds about right. How about your hands?

            – After my leg stumps are healed, I’d like both forearms amputated halfway between the wrist and elbow. And a pair of hooks as quickly as possible after that.

            – You’d look wonderful. Legless in a wheelchair with two hooks. You’re a lucky man. You’re still a handsome man and you have clear skin and good features like your beard. Would you like me to start organising your leg amputations? There shouldn’t be any problems with that. It’s not unheard of for gentlemen of your age to lose their legs to some medical complication. I’m sure we can work something out.

            – How soon might it be?

            – Would you like me to rush it through? If I can find another amputee patient’s records, I can get you into theatre in a few weeks. Stephen, have you considered coming to live with me?

            – Yes, I have. I’m still coming to terms with the idea of living with another man after being alone for forty years.

            – The thing is, it would be a lot easier for you to return from hospital to my apartment and your own room than to return here and have to fend for yourself from a wheelchair, not to mention getting ready for a move as a legless man.

            – Yes, I realise that. Is your flat accessible?

            – Yes it is. More so than even this place. It has step-free access, for a start, and the bathroom is already equipped with support bars and what have you.

            – I think I’d like to move in, Dom. Shall I order a removal van for next weekend?

            – What are you going to do with your extra furniture? You know you won’t need your own bed, don’t you? All you need bring is what you’d like in your own room. I think of it as another day room, not as a bedroom.

            – Shall we both have a clear-out? I could bring all my furniture and a little later we could arrange for the extra unwanted stuff to be collected for recycling or whatever.

            – Let’s do that. So we’ll be together from next weekend? I’m so pleased, Stephen. I promise you won’t ever regret it.

 

Stephen set about organising for a move. He took delivery of two dozen removal crates and filled half of them with things of value. Old receipts and bank statements from decades ago were discarded along with unwanted trinkets, mismatched crockery and never used clothing. Dom rearranged his apartment, moving his fitness equipment into a corner of the living room so Stephen’s future room was completely empty. He also made room in his closet and cupboards for Stephen’s clothes.

 

During slack periods at work, he searched medical records for an elderly patient who had undergone bilateral leg amputations in the recent past. He discovered two cases and selected the more suitable. The patient’s resulting stumps were the length Stephen had stated he wanted. Short enough to deserve the description ‘legless’ but long enough to allow the patient to support himself in a sitting position. Dom made a duplicate copy of the file and began replacing the original patient’s details with Stephen’s, including a fictional report on recurring blood clots in the patient’s legs. Satisfied that the new file was apparently legitimate and credible, he moved it to the queue of patients awaiting urgent surgical procedures.

 

Three good-natured removal men moved Stephen’s belongings to Dom’s empty room on Saturday morning. One of them travelled in the back of the van sitting in Stephen’s easy chair holding onto the wheelchair while Stephen travelled with the others in the front. It was a short distance, barely half a mile, and the work was done before midday. Stephen thanked the lads and handed over a tip of fifty pounds and told them it should only be used for the purchase of alcoholic drinks.

 

It was not yet time for the two men to share a bed. Stephen turned the empty space into a bed/sitting room, careful to leave a path clear from the door to his bed for the wheelchair. Dom was attentive and they soon adopted a morning routine which began with the younger man placing Stephen’s limbs into his leg braces and pretender prosthetic left arm. They lingered over a long breakfast on their first Sunday morning together, planning new and necessary alterations to their shared home. Stephen’s imminent hobbling was at the front of their minds. The apartment would need to be redesigned for a legless man in a wheelchair. They rearranged the kitchen to afford access for a cripple and moved a few items which Stephen would need to a low shelf – a couple of mugs, plates and pieces of cutlery. Each alteration cemented the fact of their new lifestyles.

 

On Monday morning, Stephen received a telephone call informing him that the required medical procedures would be performed on Wednesday afternoon and enquiring whether an ambulance would be needed for transport. Stephen stated that he was reliant on a wheelchair and that an ambulance would be for the best. He was asked to pack his essentials in a small case and to be ready to leave any time after eleven on Wednesday morning. He thanked the person and terminated the call. He suddenly realised that he had no idea what Dom had entered as his medical emergency. But he was elated that by the end of the week, he would be awake and learning how to be newly legless.

 

Dom explained what his medical record showed him to be suffering. Recurring blood clots in both legs had been prevented largely by blood thinners but they still presented a risk of stroke or embolism and the patient’s sedentary lifestyle allowed for bilateral amputation as an effective and non-disruptive treatment. Stephen was impressed at Dom’s thoroughness.

            – I think your stumps are going to be very short, Stephen. I hope you don’t mind. When you sit in your wheelchair it will appear as if you are completely legless although you will still have thighbones about three inches long. They will let you sit much more comfortably compared to having disarticulations. You’ll probably need to wear a safety belt in your chair.

            – That’s alright. I don’t mind that. I’m surprised that my stumps are going to be so short, though.

            – That’s because the urgent reason for the amputations requires almost complete removal of the limbs. I tried to find a patient who matched your age and physique who ended up with mid-thigh stumps but unfortunately there don’t seem to have been any in the recent past.

            – I’ll be able to hand walk without any trouble, won’t I?

            – I should think so. At least until your hands are amputated. After that, we could get you some rubber pads to fix to your arm sockets if you want to hand walk.

            – Are you going to arrange for my arm amputations too?

            – Yes, I hope so. I’ve made a few quick searches, unsuccessful up to now, but it should be possible to use the same blood clot risk to cause you to lose your arms. The trouble is that you’ll end up with short stumps at your shoulders instead of having the forearm stumps which we both want you to have.

            – Yes, I see. I’d prefer to keep my elbows. I can’t imagine being able to operate my wheelchair handles without them.

            – Exactly. I’ll keep looking for something suitable before we go down that route. You’re not unhappy with your pretender arms, are you? If you want to use hooks, they’re adequate for the time being, aren’t they?

            – Yes, but I’d really like to have arm stumps.

            – I know. Leave it to me, Stephen. I’m sure something will turn up sooner or later. It would be best to leave your arm amputations until your leg stumps have completely healed and you’re used to being legless.

 

Stephen was taken to hospital at Wednesday noon in his wheelchair. His callipers stood in a corner of his bedroom, never to be worn again. His crutches and walking sticks similarly would never see further use and his boots and other footwear were useless to him.

 

The preliminary preparations were completed by four o’clock. Blood tests showed his general health to be satisfactory. His surgeon seemed apologetic for performing such radical surgery. Stephen assured him that the amputations had been expected for many years and he was quite prepared to enjoy further years freed from the risk of strokes. The surgical team set about their work and four hours later, Stephen’s legs had been reduced to semispherical stumps with incision scars to the rear. His lower body was wrapped in bandages and he was placed on the amputee ward to begin his recovery.

 

Dom visited every evening after work. They discussed rehabilitation first and foremost. Stephen was perfectly content to simply rely on his wheelchair but Dom insisted that he should make the additional effort to do the recommended exercises in order to build up his core strength a little. Dom mentioned having removed the mats and carpeting at home to make wheelchair use less tiresome. He also intended buying a vacuum cleaning robot which would ensure that the floor was as clean as possible should Stephen wish to walk around on his hands. Three weeks after his amputations, Stephen was discharged and delivered to his new home in an ambulance. He was carried inside and placed into his wheelchair.

 

Dom arrived a few hours later and knelt in front of his friend.

            – Welcome home, Stephen. Are you ready to continue where we left off?

            – I think so. What do you mean, though? Where did we leave off?

            – We were planning your arm amputations.

            – Oh, those! Yes, I see what you mean. Dom, give me a while to get used to being legless before going through another big change, alright? I want to experience my new body and enjoy it before I make any decisions about my arms. Don’t get me wrong – I still want to have the perfect arm stumps I have lusted after for sixty years but let me discover leglessness first.

            – I understand. I hope you’ll derive great pleasure from your new configuration. You look extremely handsome and commanding now. I hope we can be together more often. Oh, why do I never say it? I’d like to invite you to share my bed. I would love to explore your body and your stumps.

            – I have been lonely, especially over the past few weeks. I felt vulnerable, being newly disabled in hospital. I think I would like to be with you and share your bed.

Dom stood and beamed at his friend. He would finally get to see Stephen’s stumps that night.

 

Stephen was fascinated by his leglessness. The change in his weight alone was novel and enjoyable. Walking on his hands was easy, although getting out of his wheelchair onto the floor needed some practice. He loved the sensation of emptiness in front of his hips. His leg stumps were extremely minimal. When he sat, they did not extend beyond the profile of his torso. He had enquired in the hospital about wearing stubbies and was regretfully informed that his residual limbs were unsuitable for prosthetic use. He might be able to wear some kind of support below his pelvis to use in conjunction with short crutches but he would never walk independently. Stephen had thanked the professional for his opinion and was satisfied. It was enough for him to be belted into his wheelchair and power along pumping its levers.

 

Dom was attentive and paid close attention to what Stephen was able to do for himself and what he attempted to do without asking for assistance although a little help would have made his life easier. Stephen had lived an independent life for four decades and was reluctant to ask for help. The amputations had been desirable in order to achieve a more preferable body image, not to make life more difficult or to turn him into a dependent invalid. Independence was still the order of the day,

 

Stephen was able to function in the bathroom well enough. As in all the apartments associated with the hospital’s residential area, the wet rooms were equipped with bars and supports in the shower stalls and beside the wc seat. At the end of their first joint evening after Stephen’s return, Dom accompanied Stephen to the bathroom and watched him.

            – Are you ready? Would you allow me to carry you to bed? You can leave the wheelchair here overnight.

            – Yes, we can do that.

He lifted his arms and Dom cradled him. The naked men went to Dom’s bedroom and Dom placed Stephen’s torso on one side of his bed.

            – May I look at your stumps?

            – Go ahead!

Stephen revolved his thighs and the stumps moved slightly. His cock and large balls rested on the stumps and overlapped a little.

            – You are a lucky man, Stephen. You have the perfect body. I hope you like it as much as I do.

            – I hope so too. I like being appreciated. Thank you, Dom, for what you have done for me.

            – It was my pleasure. Do you want to read? Shall I turn the light out?

            – No, I can’t read any longer – not for pleasure, at least. My vision isn’t what it was.

            – OK.

Dom switched the light off and pulled Stephen towards him. The stumps were juxtaposed with his genitals and Stephen playfully kicked Dom. The warm cushioned flesh moved against Dom’s erecting penis and they drifted to sleep, Dom holding his prize, Stephen feeling the safe embrace of Dom’s handsome arms.

 

Stephen gained new energy from the new situation. His mood improved in the attentive company of a reliable friend. He did as much general housework as he could from a wheelchair and prepared simple, healthy evening meals for the two of them from ingredients which he purchased himself on independent trips to the local shopping centre. The chair moved reliably. The propulsion levers were responsive and pleasing to use, much less demanding on arm strength than the traditional way of using a wheelchair.

 

Dom took Stephen’s trousers to a seamstress who shortened all the trouser legs to small bags to enclose the stumps. Stephen was delighted with the improved appearance of his lap. Dom waited patiently for Stephen to bring up the subject of his arm amputations again but continued to search medical databases for a senior male who had received bilateral forearm amputations. Finally, six months after Stephen’s return, a case from a northern hospital appeared. The cause had also been attributed to blood circulation problems which would match with Stephen’s previous fictional medical record. Dom decided that there would never be a better opportunity for Stephen to gain the stumps he most desired and brought the subject up at home.

            – It might be a case of now or never, my friend. This is the first case I have found which could also apply to you and I have been searching the records regularly for the past eight months. How would you feel about simultaneous bilateral arm amputations? Bear in mind that you’ll be fairly helpless for a few weeks before you get your first custom pair of hooks.

            – That’s what worries me most – the in-between period. I know the hooks will not pose a problem.

            – No, I’m sure they won’t. I’ve seen how well you can use the pretender arms. Your own genuine hooks will be better fitting and more versatile. I’ll help with everything you find difficult. The only problem I see is the few weeks after the amputations and before you get your hooks. You’ll be here at home feeling pretty useless for hours on end and I don't want to put you through such a depressing period.

            – I’m sure I can cope with that, Dom. Simply knowing that it’s only a temporary stage everyone has to go through. I’m up for it if you can arrange it.

Stephen explained the length and nature of the stumps he most preferred. Dom understood and approved. His man would have forearms shortened by about a third. Long enough for good leverage and stability with his arm sockets, practical enough to use without prosthetics as individual pincers after the stumps had completely healed. Dom spent the rest of the week adapting the Northerner’s records for Stephen and copied the new file into the timetable of patients awaiting surgery.

 

Once again, an ambulance collected Stephen from his home. The reason was one of practicality. The distance was short enough for Stephen to have managed perfectly well in his wheelchair but the medics could deliver him directly to his relevant destination. He remembered why he was in hospital and had to make a conscious effort to use his hands as little and as awkwardly as possible. He was placed on a ward and had blood drawn for testing. The next morning, a surgeon explained the procedures he would shortly undertake and reassured Stephen that he would soon be back on his feet with a new pair of prosthetic arms. Stephen thought it unlikely but understood the gist. Five hours later, his healthy, wrinkled and liver-spotted hands had been amputated and he was placed in the familiar amputee ward with his fresh stumps tightly bandaged.

 

Dom visited the next afternoon immediately after work. Stephen had slept through the night for nine hours, the first time he had slept so long in decades. His arm stumps throbbed and the incisions itched but were too tender to scratch. They were both of the opinion that they were going to look superb. Dom said he was already looking through various sites for unwanted Hosmer hooks and advised Stephen to specify half inch screw connectors on his sockets when the prosthetist paid him a visit. He would be tempted with more modern systems in order to use bionic hands and the like but he should insist that good old-fashioned screw-threaded hooks had stood the test of time and that they were what he wanted. Dom could even bring the hooks from the pretender arms to give to the prosthetist so he would not need to order a new pair and the socket would definitely be suitable for a huge variety of hooks and artificial hands which occasionally turned up.

 

Stephen spent seventeen days in hospital and made his first appointment with a prosthetist for three weeks after his discharge. His stumps should have reduced in size by then to something approximating their final dimensions. The prosthetics and orthotics department was also on hospital grounds and Stephen would be able to visit it in his wheelchair – as soon as he had his first prostheses. Dom purchased a pair of ring adapters intended for attachment to a car’s steering wheel, allowing someone wearing bilateral hooks to drive safely. He attached them to the levers on Stephen’s wheelchair. They were steel, the same as Stephen’s hooks. He would make an impressive noise wheeling himself along.

 

Stephen’s arm stumps healed quickly. They no longer itched although they were tender and sensitive to even small knocks. He wore thick elasticated shrinkers to shape the stumps and to protect them. Dom collected him from hospital sixteen days after his amputations and took his limbless friend home in the wheelchair.

 

This time, Dom had a genuine reason to serve and pamper Stephen as much as he wanted to. Stephen himself gratefully accepted all help with eating and drinking, with peeing and showering and with simply moving around the apartment. Every evening, they spent time outside for an hour or so, talking about their joint future, Stephen’s rehabilitation, the prosthetic arms and terminal devices Stephen would soon own. Dom had started growing a beard during the time Stephen was away. It was blond with symmetrically darker areas on his cheeks. It promised to be distinctive and handsome. Dom wanted to feel Stephen’s stumps fondling his beard and face. Stephen’s own beard, white and curly, needed a trim but Stephen said he had never let his beard grow long before and wanted to see what it looked like. It would also serve a focal point for onlookers instead of his rather obvious disabilities. Dom brushed his beard carefully every morning. He was gentle and thoughtful and considerate. Stephen realised that he loved his giant devotee lover. Dom was not the first man he had loved but the last time it ended in a suicide from which Stephen needed many years to recover emotionally.

 

Dom was present when Stephen met his prosthetist, David Jensson, for the first time. They vaguely recognised each other. Dom had not known which department the man worked in. They occasionally saw each other in the canteen. In future, they would have something to talk about. Jensson was aware that the old man wanted the most basic artificial arms, no rotating or articulating wrists, nothing more than carbon sockets with the half inch screw wrist connectors and then hooks. The patient would have his first set of prostheses within a few working days. Jensson took casts of Stephen’s stumps since the desired end product was so basic. He could have scanned them for printing but there was no need to complicate matters.

 

Stephen returned with Dom for his first fitting eight days later. Dom had left Stephen’s existing hooks with Jensson and noticed that the rubber bands had all been renewed. Both men assured Jensson that rehabilitation was not required and that Stephen, being legless as well as a fresh upper limb bilateral amputee, would find it easier to learn to use his new arms in the privacy of his own home with the encouragement and guidance of Dom. It was of little matter to Jensson, who agreed and wished them good luck. Stephen was assisted back into his heavy winter jacket, cast an appreciative gaze at his steel hooks and fed them into the rings on his wheelchair’s levers. He propelled himself out of the hospital with Dom at his side and they went home to their ideal lifestyle which both men had longed for.

 

THE WHEELCHAIR

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inconspicuous

 

I N C O N S P I C U O U S

 

An uplifting tale of rehabilitation by strzeka

 

In Kensal Green, there is an alleyway between two run-down council estates which leads to an acre of brown field mostly used as a dumping ground for unwanted mattresses, old car tyres and even the wrecks of a car or two. Discarded tins of paint, sump oil, piles of old newspapers and general litter dot the area. Lacking anything more appropriate, local children congregate there to smoke, drink cider, set small fires and fight over territory. They all know it as the Dump. It could originally have been a pleasant area of parkland but following decades of saturation with countless gallons of toxic chemicals, the ground would now be unsuitable for any natural purpose.

 

The Salazar Gang were in current possession. There were only five of them, ages ranging from eleven to fourteen. They all lived in the neighbouring tower blocks, erected by the council in the early seventies in a desperate attempt to do something about slum clearance. They went to the local school, played footer together and generally looked like they might cause trouble wherever they went. The features of the youngest members were already gaining the familiar and distinctive snarl of the permanently disadvantaged young Briton.

 

On this evening, Mick Wilson had succeeded in getting a small fire together and ordered the youngsters to find something they could poke into sausages to grill them with. There was a discarded bike in one corner and Pete used his Swiss army knife to snap off a few spokes. Mick had nicked a couple of packets of bangers from the Patel’s corner shop. The boys poked the rusty spokes into the sausages and held them over the flames for a couple of minutes. It was a boring business. The flames smelt foul and there was nothing wrong with a raw sausage anyway. They tucked in and felt like explorers after having brought down a prize specimen of game. The first members of the Willesden Gang strode into the Dump and saw the flames first. Then the twerps sitting around having a picnic. They roared their hatred and rushed forward. The Salazars dropped their evening snacks and dispersed screaming. Mick followed the others, unwilling to fight on alone and disappeared behind some long grass. There was a burnt-out Fiat CinqueCento hidden in the undergrowth and he crawled inside hoping the Willesden bastards would not find him. No such luck. Two of them saw him and half dragged him out and gave him a good kicking. One of them tried to boot the car’s door shut on his legs but the door was warped. It closed except for the warped bottom rim into which Mick’s legs extended. A third gang member threw a tin of burning paint into the wreck and they all ran away when a sheet of flame burst through the shattered windows. Paint splattered over Mick’s jeans which had already soaked up some oily liquid from a pool on the floor of the car. The fire spread instantly and Mick’s legs began to burn. He screamed in agony for half a minute until a resident whose back garden bordered the Dump became curious enough to peer over his fence to see what the noise was about. He saw the burning Fiat and saw Mick screaming and beating his arms against the rusty door. He ran inside to summon the fire service and an ambulance. Mick passed out from the pain. His legs continued to burn.

 

The fire had almost extinguished itself when the fire brigade arrived on the scene. Three of them found the unconscious boy and set about releasing him from the searing hot wreck. The charred remnants of his legs resembled two sticks of charcoal. As two ambulance men arrived carrying a stretcher, one of the fireman vomited. Mick was quickly carried to the ambulance and taken directly to a surgical theatre where a senior surgeon with a strong stomach appraised the situation and prepared for an emergency double amputation. There was viable skin available halfway up Mick’s thighs. He was left with identical stumps formed by four inches of femur padded with muscular tissue. The stinking destroyed legs were hurriedly removed and the stench of burnt flesh soon cleared from the theatre. Another surgeon was delegated the task of closing the wounds. He worked quickly and neatly.

 

The police visited a few local homes making their enquiries and soon discovered the identity of the injured boy. His parents were notified and Mick’s father accompanied the police to the hospital where the situation was explained. His mother had been too distraught to leave and was in the watchful care of a young policewoman.

 

Over the following weeks, police enquiries unearthed the Willesden gang members who had been present. They were all charged with causing grievous bodily harm to a minor and would be paying compensation for many years. Mick made a good physical recovery but his mental trauma was not so easily dealt with. His nightmares slowly became less frequent and he was able to talk about his fears more openly with a psychologist. He seemed least concerned about his maiming and trundled around the hospital areas open to him in a manual wheelchair, his bandaged stumps barely visible inside a pair of football shorts. Mick had two almost hemispherical nubs, a little short for full-length prosthetic legs but suitable for stubbies with a belt or for wheelchair use. The boy at least had the option to choose.

 

He was discharged from hospital nine weeks after his arrival. He had a folder containing instructions for stump care and exercises and addresses of prospective sources of prosthetic limbs. He was provided with a new steel-framed wheelchair without footplates and was advised to ask his prosthetist about courses where he could learn how to use it to its greatest extent. The wheelchair was impractical inside his home. The flat was too small with an inconvenient floor plan, too much furniture and thick shag carpets throughout. Mick hand-walked and came up with his own toileting solutions. His father lifted him in and out of the bath twice a week. His mother could not stand the thought of seeing her son’s ruined legs and was constantly distressed. Her GP proscribed a tranquilliser and she felt more relaxed within a couple of days. Mick received a letter from the school board saying that he had been granted leave until the new school year started in September and that he would have to repeat Year Seven. September was months away. He put school out of his mind.

 

His mother reconciled herself to seeing her legless boy swinging himself around their home on his hands. She wished he could have a pair of artificial legs made so he could be at least his former height. One morning, she gathered all her mental strength and steeled herself to bring the subject up. They were sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea.

            – Where’s that folder the hospital gave you? Do you think it’s about time we got you a pair of legs, Michael? I know the wheelchair’s awkward for you and I don’t like to see you down on the floor all the time.

            – It’s on the windowsill in my room. Shall I go and get it?

            – No, sit there. I’ll get it.

She fetched it and looked through its sections until she found the brochures from manufacturers of artificial limbs and a list of local services.

            – Have you looked at these already?

            – Yeah, I’ve had a look. But look at the photos of people wearing their new legs. They all have great long stumps for the socket thing and all I’ve got is little short ones. There aren’t any photos of people with stumps like mine. I don’t know how I could wear one of those legs.

            – Well, they must have a way. I don’t know how. I was wondering if it was time to start looking into it all. What do you think? Would you like a pair of new legs or would you rather use the wheelchair when we go out?

            – The wheelchair’s alright. I don’t mind it. But I suppose if I had legs, it would make things a bit easier.

            – That’s what I was thinking. Shall I give one of the manufacturers a call and see if we can make an appointment? It looks like the nearest one is in Wembley. And that’s easy to get to on the Edgware bus. Yeah? Try and get an appointment?

            – Alright. Will you come with me, though?

            – Of course I will. Don’t be daft. I’ll give them a call when we’ve drunk our tea.

 

Mrs Wilson rinsed the cups under the tap and looked for a pen and the notepad she used for shopping lists. She first copied the telephone number of Bayliss Prosthetics onto the pad and made a headline under it, New Legs. She took the folder with her into the living room and sat down by the telephone. She thought about what she was going to say and placed her call.

            – Hello. My name is Sandra Wilson and I’m calling on behalf of my son Michael Wilson. He was hurt in the spring and lost his legs. I was wondering if it would be possible to make an appointment to see about getting him a pair of artificial legs.

The person at Bayliss was patient and understanding of Mrs Wilson’s halting introduction.

            – When would you like to come for a consultation? I see we have an available time slot this afternoon at three if that’s convenient. Someone seems to have cancelled. Otherwise next Monday at ten is the next available time.

            – Oh, today would be good. Will you wait a moment and I’ll tell my son. Michael! They have a time this afternoon at three. Shall we go and see them today? Hello? Yes, this afternoon will be fine.

Mrs Wilson gave a few personal details and wrote down brief instructions on how to find Bayliss Prosthetics from the main road and thanked the person.

 

            – Fancy that. What a good thing I called them now. They have a cancellation so they can fit you in straight away. It’s exciting, isn’t it?

            – Yeah. What time’s lunch?

 

Mrs Wilson put her light jacket on and asked Mick if he was OK wearing just the hoodie. He was. He pulled the hood over his head and vaulted into the seat of his wheelchair. He was wearing a pair of white football shorts whose legs drooped over his meagre stumps. Mrs Wilson opened the door to let him pass and they went down to street level in the lift. The bus stop was about fifty yards away. The single deckers had a ramp at the middle doors which the driver could extend, usually for mums with prams. Mick might be able to get his wheelchair up it, otherwise his mum would have to shove him. A bus pulled up after a few minutes and the driver activated the ramp. His mum paid the driver and Mick managed to negotiate the ramp with two good pushes on his wheels. He twisted the chair around to face sideways and locked the brake. His mum sat on the nearest seat.

            – Was that difficult?

            – Naah, it was alright. I had to lean forward quite a bit. I thought I was gonna fall out at first.

            – Let me push you when we get off, Mick. I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.

            – It’s alright, mum. Don’t worry about it.

New passengers boarded and walked past the wheelchair with varying reactions. Most ignored it completely. A couple of boys around Mick’s age actually stopped to appraise his leglessness and sat where they could see him. Mick was conscious of being an unusual sight. Any other teenager would have cringed in embarrassment but Mick had somehow developed the attitude that he was just as good as anyone else and if they didn’t like it, they could stuff it. He could hear the chatter of the boys and the whispered mentions of stumps. He pulled his hood away from his face and glared at them. They looked away and quietened. 

 

Mrs Wilson looked ahead at the road anxiously as they approached their stop. The tannoy announced Wilbur Avenue and she rang the bell. She walked up to the driver’s cab and asked him to lower the ramp again. He nodded. The bus pulled in to the stop and the doors hissed open. The ramp ground its way out from the underside of the bus and slapped onto the pavement. Mrs Wilson took hold of the wheelchair’s handles and cautiously pushed it down the incline. The driver saw that they were clear and prepared to depart.

            – Now which way do we go? I think the man on the phone said carry on in the same direction and then turn left. Shall I push you or can you manage?

            – It’s alright, mum. I can manage.

The pavement was smooth asphalt rather than the broken concrete slabs around Kensal Rise. They were in the middle of an industrial estate of low flat-roofed buildings, corrugated steel and painted grey or light blue. Names of companies operating in each building decorated the walls. They turned left and spotted the name Bayliss in black and red on the next hall. There was a slight incline up to the door which opened automatically as they approached. They entered a small lobby with a few seats and a sliding window in one wall with a button on its counter to summon assistance. A young man holding crutches between his legs looked up from his phone and looked Mick over for a moment before returning to his phone. Mrs Wilson pushed the button and a surprising klaxon sounded. Within seconds a smiling young man dressed in a lab coat pulled the window open and greeted them.

            – You must be Mrs Wilson and Michael. Hello! You’re in very good time, so thank you for that. Wait there just a moment and I’ll join you.

He pulled the window closed and disappeared from view. Seconds later he walked through a pair of swinging doors and came across to introduce himself.

            – I’m Johnny Taylor and I’ll be Michael’s prosthetist. It’s good to meet you both. You’re very welcome.

He shook hands with them.

            – Well, let’s not hang about. Let’s go into my workshop and we can have a chat. Excuse me – Gavin, Blake told me to let you know he’ll be another twenty minutes and sends his apologies.

Gavin nodded and returned to his phone.

            – If you’d like to come this way, please.

He led them down a corridor lined with wide sliding doors marked only with oversized black numbers. They went into Room Seven. On their immediate right was a group of armchairs around a circular table. The surrounding wall featured magazine holders stuffed with various brochures and printouts. Framed posters of paralympians highlighting their artificial limbs decorated the upper reaches.

            – Do sit down, Mrs Wilson. Are you comfortable in your chair, Michael, or would you prefer to sit here with us?

            – I’m OK.

            – Jolly good. Right. Well, I can see the problem. Tell me what you have in mind. What can we do for you?

            – Well, you see, doctor, Michael is in a wheelchair but it’s really difficult for him to use it where we live. We have one long hallway and all the rooms come off of that so it’s difficult for him to move around easily, plus the wheels don’t work very well on the carpeting, you see.

            – Oh, yes, I see. It’s a common problem. Are the doors wide enough? Can you get into the bathroom and move around, Michael?

            – No, it’s too narrow.

            – Yes, most doorways are until they’re converted. Well, you have two choices. Either you make some alterations to the flat like widening the doorways and taking up all the carpets, or we get Michael some legs he can use so he doesn’t need to scoot around on his hands. I guess that’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?

            – Yeah. I leave the chair in the hall and swing around on my hands.

            – And you would rather have some legs again, right?

            – Yeah.

            – Right. Well, there are several ways we can go but first I need to see your stumps and then we can come to some decision.

He got up and walked over to a low couch which he covered with a broad sheet of paper.

            – Michael, come over here and jump onto the couch and take your shorts off. You can keep your undies on, don’t worry.

            – I’m not wearing any.

            – Michael! How can you come out like that?

            – Well, I didn’t know, did I?

            – Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem. You still have to strip, though. Come on.

Mrs Wilson remained seated. Mick wheeled himself over to the lower of the two couches lining the room and slid himself across. He pulled his shorts off and Taylor put them at the end of the couch. Michael’s puberty was well advanced and a well-proportioned set of cock and balls nestled between his leg stumps. Taylor ignored them.

            – Dear oh dear. They are rather short, aren’t they? How do they feel? Are they still sore or do they feel OK?

            – They’re OK now. They just feel sort of natural, if you know what I mean. I mean, it’s difficult to explain but they don’t seem any different from the rest of me.

            – Yes, I know what you mean, Michael. It’s good you’ve healed so quickly. It’s only been, what, three months? You’re a fast healer. Well, from what I can see, we have two options to get you up and running again. Just a minute and I’ll get some photos of other blokes with short stumps.

He pushed himself up and ran his finger along a row of folders above his desk. He pulled one out marked three to four and opened it as he returned to the couch.

            – Take a look at these. They all have the same short stumps as you do. And the sort of prostheses they used. Sorry, do you know the word prosthesis? It means artificial limb. So this guy here has almost the same stumps as you. He was given a pair of these short legs called stubbies and as far as I know is still wearing them. He lives in America so I expect they do things differently there. Then there is this guy who I think is Russian. He has a different design but they fit onto his stumps the same way. He walks about on short crutches and swings both his stubbies forwards at the same time. He gets about surprisingly quickly. He can easily keep up with his mates. Then there’s this guy. It’s the same bloke in each picture. He had practically nothing left of his legs after he was run over by a train but he wanted to walk again so he gradually started out on these very short stubbies and then after a couple of months progressed to a longer pair until after three years, here he is on a pair of full length legs walking without crutches and only one walking stick.

            – That’s what I want. Stubbies which get longer until I can use legs.

            – It’s a lot of work, Michael. You and me are going to be very close friends before you’re finished but I agree with you. You’re young enough to master stubbies and I reckon a pair of full-length legs will be yours by the time you’re twenty. So is that what you’ve decided on? From stubbies to full-length legs?

            – Yeah, that’s what I want.

            – Great. Let’s have a look at these other photos while we’re at it. Here’s a bloke, he’s middle-aged now, but he chose these cylindrical stubbies. He straps them onto his stumps and can walk around on them fairly well. But he usually likes to use his wheelchair wearing them, like here. And then there is this other guy who has the same sort of thing but uses crutches to swing along keeping his stubbies together. But he’s quite an athlete and can walk around on his hands. Still, if you’re here so you don’t need to walk around on your hands any more, you don’t need to think about that.

            – No. I like the idea of getting longer and longer legs bit by bit.

            – Good. That’s what I was going to recommend. Start off with something you can handle and work up from that. Shall we do that? Get you started now on longer and longer stubbies until you can get artificial legs? OK, let’s tell your mum and see what she thinks. Put your shorts on. Can you get into the chair?

            – I’m alright.

He hitched the shorts over his genitals and stumps and levered himself back into his chair. They rejoined Mrs Wilson, both smiling.

            – I’m getting stubbies, mum!

            – Oh dear. That sounds dreadful. I don’t understand.

            – It’s all very confusing, Mrs Wilson. I know this is all shocking and confusing for you. Michael has only been hurt for a few weeks and here we are talking about something you’ve never even heard of. But we’ve just worked out how Michael would prefer to get himself back to walking around again.

            – That’s good to hear. But what are these… what you called them?

            – Stubbies. Stubby legs. They are artificial legs which fit onto Michael’s thighs and extend about as far as where his knees were. So he’d be about as tall as he was when he was kneeling. The thing is that when a patient’s legs are as short as Michael’s, it will take a bit of practice before he can progress to the next stage. He has to be able to learn to balance on his artificial feet – he doesn’t have toes to help him do that any more, remember. So, Michael, what have you got to say to your mum?

            – I’ve seen photos of boys who learned to walk again on stubbies. So I want to do that. I want some stubbies.

Mrs Wilson was still not clear what they were talking about and her doubt showed.

            – Would it make it clearer if I showed you the photos I just showed Michael?

He pointed out the before and after photos of amputees with severely truncated thighs who had learned to walk again on stubbies and a couple who had progressed to longer versions and one who had learned to walk on artificial legs like aluminium rods. She was horrified by the photos and then realised that she was being shown something which Michael would shortly resemble.

            – I don’t understand, really. I’m very confused but if Michael knows what he wants, that’s alright with me. I’m sorry. I don’t even understand how these things can fit onto his legs.

            .. Do you mean how the stubby leg is attached to Michael’s leg?

            – Yes. I don’t see how it is possible.

            – Well, I can show you. I’m an amputee too, you see. Don’t be surprised.

            – Oh, I didn’t realise.

            – No matter.

Taylor pulled up his right trouser leg to reveal an artificial leg. Its shape matched his left and it was a glossy black.

            – I’m missing my lower leg so this is held onto my residual limb – that’s what we call a stump – by this rubberised cup called a liner. The inside surface is almost sticky so it holds on to my skin really well and keeps the leg on.

He gave a couple of demonstration kicks.

            – See? It won’t come off. And Michael will probably have something on the same principle. It’s really quite simple but of course it’s all new to you. If you have any questions, ask away. Now, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Michael, how do you feel about becoming an amputee?

            – It’s alright. It was horrible at first when I found out my legs were missing. I couldn’t really get my head around it. I mean, my legs are part of me, so how could they be gone if I’m still here? It didn’t make any sense. Then I sort of got used to the idea of having stumps. And they’re OK. They don’t hurt and they aren’t all scarred and gnarly like some people have.

            – No. Yours are very tidy and well-shaped. What else?

            – Well, I just started to feel like I did before. I was still nervous about the attack. I kept having nightmares but they’ve almost gone now. Sometimes I can wake myself up when I start to have a bad dream. Then I just lay in bed and put my hands over the ends of my stumps like I was protecting them to keep them safe. It’s sounds funny to say it like that. But now it’s like my stumps are part of me. I don’t want anything to happen to them. The stumps are alright but I would still like to be able to walk sometimes.

            – I think you express it very well, Michael. Those are feelings which only a few amputees have, at least at this stage in the process. Many people go into denial and that causes all kinds of problems with their rehabilitation. It’s very good that you’ve accepted your new self already. How about you and your husband, Mrs Wilson? How have you been coping?

            – Well, I got some tablets from the doctor for anxiety and I think they seem to be helping.

            – How long have you been taking them?

            – About two months.

            – And what exactly were you anxious about? The attack or the new Michael?

Mrs Wilson looked at her son and sorted out her thoughts. It was the first time she had been asked to pinpoint the cause of her distress. She drew a deep breath.

            – I couldn’t stand seeing Michael’s stumps. I felt close to panic. No parent wants to see their child hurting and injured, disfigured.

            – No, of course not. We’ve just heard from Michael how he feels about himself now. And you must be accustomed to seeing him now, active and healthy. He’s not in pain and has accepted his new body. Do you think you might be able to deal with life without the tablets? I think you probably could. Why don’t you try taking just half a tablet every day for a couple of weeks and then try leaving them out completely. I’m sure you’ll feel better in yourself for being strong enough again to face life as it is.

            – I see what you mean. I have wondered myself if I need the tablets. After all, Michael is still the same lovely boy.

            – Well, exactly. So do give it a try. It’s not good to take those drugs for a long time. They help you over the rough period but I think you’re over that now.

            – Yes, I agree. I’ll give it a try.

            – Very good. Now, about fitting Michael for his new legs. I dare say any time of day is suitable for you, isn’t it, Michael? You’re not back at school yet?

            – No, I’m off until September.

            – Lucky boy. Well, if you come in again some time next week we can make a start on making the sockets for your first pair of stubby legs. I don’t know if you also want to be present, Mrs Wilson. It takes a few hours without very much to see, but you are welcome to be here. I’d like to emphasize that you are always welcome, and your husband too of course, to come and discuss any queries you have about Michael’s rehab. We’re here to help.

            – That’s very kind of you. Thank you.

            – Well, I think that’s all for today. Let me check the situation next week to see if there’s time for Michael.

He checked a timetable on his phone.

            – Next Tuesday at nine o’clock. How does that sound? We should be finished by lunchtime.

            – That’s fine. We’ll be here.

            – I look forward to seeing you. Well, goodbye Michael, Mrs Wilson.

 

– – – – – -

 

Michael and his mother travelled to the Wembley Industrial Park again in good time for Michael’s Tuesday morning appointment. This time Michael was wearing a T-shirt under his hoodie and underpants under his football shorts. Johnny Taylor was waiting for them in the lobby, chatting to another patient about problems she had been having with her sports foot. She was not Taylor’s patient but was grateful to hear another professional’s opinion. The doors opened and Michael rolled in with his mother following.

            – Good morning, you two! Nice to see you again. I’ve got everything ready and waiting, so if you’d like to come along, we can get started. Same place, Room Seven. Did you have a good weekend?

            – Just the usual, Mr Taylor. Nothing special.

            – How about you, Michael? Did you go out anywhere?

            – No. I was just in my bedroom most of the time.

            – Oh, you should get out in the sunshine while it lasts. Go down to the shops or meet your mates.

            – They don’t want to see me any more.

            – In that case, they weren’t really your mates at all. So you have to get out to make some new ones. Don’t think that because you’re in a wheelchair people don’t want to talk to you. They do. And if you chat with them, they might turn out to be really good friends after a while. But you have to get out there first. Does that make sense?

            – Yeah, I suppose.

            – When I lost my leg, all my mates wanted to come and see it. I was out around town with them on crutches after a couple of weeks at home.

            – How did you lose your leg, if I may ask?

            – You may, Mrs Wilson. I came off my scooter after braking too hard for a red light I hadn’t noticed and skidded under a bus. My leg was run over three times and there wasn’t much left of it.

            – Goodness me. That must have put you off riding for life.

            – Haha! Not at all. I ride a Harley-Davidson now. A big loud American motorbike.

            – Can I see it? I’d love to ride a motorbike.

            – Alright. We can go and see it after we’ve finished in here.

Mrs Wilson wondered how on earth her son would even be able to get onto a motorbike let alone drive it. Her husband had owned a bike when they were courting and she knew how important legs were for both the driver and a pillion rider.

            – OK, here we are. Mrs Wilson, if you’d like to take a seat and Michael, this is what you’re going to be in for the next couple of hours.

He moved a frame holding a harness and a conical corset.

            – I’m going to lift you into it and you’ll have to stay put until we’re finished. Do you need to go the toilet? Sure? OK. You’ll have to pee into a bucket otherwise. Now what I’m going to do is wrap plaster bandages around your stumps and up around your backside to make a mould. Then I can use the mould to make a socket. All will become clear, I hope. So if you can take off your hoodie and shorts, Michael.

Michael rocked from side to side in his wheelchair working the shorts from under his buttocks.

            – Oh!  You’re wearing underwear today. Take them off, too. This usually gets very messy so pull your T-shirt right up. That’s fine. I’m going to lift you into the frame now, OK?

Taylor picked Mick up under his armpits and lowered the boy into the hanging corset. Michael held on to the frame for a little support and his lower body protruded through the corset. Taylor turned the apparatus to face away from Mrs Wilson and fetched a basin half full of warm water and several plaster bandages. He dropped a bandage into the water and waited for a minute until it was soaked before unravelling a couple of feet.

            – Now I am going to wrap your stumps in plaster, one at a time. Try not to move your stumps while the plaster is on, alright?

He started wrapping the bandage around Michael’s right stump.

            – Sorry, Michael. Can you hold your junk and keep it over to the left while I’m doing this bit?

Michael pulled his genitals away from the casting and Taylor continued. Within a few minutes, Michael’s stump and buttocks were covered in white plaster bandages.

            – Now all we have to do is wait for it to dry a bit. It’s alright – you don’t need to hold yourself any more.

Michael had a semi. The casting felt nice and the bandages were warm. It was a bit embarrassing but his mum couldn’t see it. Taylor cleared up bandage wrappers and emptied the water from the bowl. He sat down again next to Michael and looked up at him.

            – Have you thought any more about what sort of stubbies you would like? You know what I mean, don’t you? You could either have the sort with the socket at the top, which is what we’re making now. They have short lengths of steel pylon attached to them ending in little rubberised feet. Or there’s the other sort like black Pringles tubes and the whole thing is one – the socket and the leg are one piece. That sort usually has a round end to it covered in thick rubber but you could also have a sort of foot-shaped end if you wanted.

            – I think the first type is better. Then it’s easier to change the, er, pylons, isn’t it? Do I get to keep the different pylons?

            – Yes, you get to keep them all. If you get fed up with being tall, you can change the pylons yourself and be short again.

            – That’s what I want, then. Maybe when I get used to walking on stubbies, I can have a pair of Pringles tubes as well.

            – Haha! Yes, you could indeed. The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is crutches. It’s perfectly possible to walk on stubbies without crutches but at least while you’re learning, it might be better if you had a short pair of aluminium crutches. You can use them like walking sticks stepping along on the stubbies or swinging both your stubbies forward together and getting along that way. What you do is up to you. Do whatever you feel is easier but if you want to progress to tall legs, you ought to be able to walk on the stubbies as well.

            – Yeah, I understand. Can I have a walking stick instead of the crutches if I just want to walk along?

            – Yes, in fact that’s a good idea. Walking sticks hardly cost anything so it’s easy to have a few handy, different lengths for different stubbies. Just cut them to size and put a ferrule on the end. That’s the rubber bit at the tip. The ferrule is what it’s called.

            – I get it.

            – OK, Michael. It looks like that plaster is dry enough for what I need. Now I’m going to mark out the shape of the socket so just relax and then you can take a break. Won’t take long.

 

They continued their banter. Michael was enjoying himself. He had never had so much attention paid to him before. All sorts of questions about how he felt, what he wanted and stories about what other blokes had done who found themselves suddenly missing their legs. It was interesting stuff and he felt he was being taken seriously. Johnny Taylor was older than he was, obviously, but was not an old man by any means. Michael liked him. He was gentle and explained what he was doing so he could understand. It was a new experience. He had never been listened to before. After a few minutes, Taylor scooted back on his rolling stool and looked at his handiwork.

            – I think that’s about done. I’m going to pull it off now so I need to cut through the band around your waist. It sounds terrible but it can’t cut you, so don’t worry.

Taylor removed the cast and took it over to his workbench.

            – Ready for a break? Shall we have a cup of tea and some biscuits? Mrs Wilson, would you like some tea?

            – That would be very nice, yes please.

Taylor made a short phone call to one of his co-workers who shortly appeared with three mugs of hot water containing tea bags and a packet of Jaffa cakes.

            – Thanks, Blake. How are you doing?

            – Fighting with Bock about a return. Guy’s ankle broke during a marathon.

            – Oh, another one of those. OK, good luck with that.

            – Thanks.

            – Don’t worry, Michael. Your stubbies won’t break. Some people push themselves a bit too far sometimes and their prosthetic feet and legs aren’t designed for it. If they want to run in marathons, we can give them a running leg meant to take the punishment.

            – I don’t suppose I’ll be doing much running, will I?

            – No, Michael, you won’t. But like we said last week, if you’re walking on tall legs when you’re twenty, you’ll have achieved more than a marathon winner in my eyes. And I think you will. Mrs Wilson, are you OK over there?

            – Yes, thank you. I can tell you two are getting on well together. It’s nice to know.

            – Yeah, we’re getting on alright. Right? Right! OK, time for part two. Same rules apply, Michael. Don’t move your stumps while this is under way and if you could move your junk again.

Michael still had a bit of an erection. It was hardly surprising with someone working around his private parts. It felt really good. He was enjoying it, hanging in the corset, watching everything that was going on.

 

Taylor prised the dried and marked plaster cast off Michael’s left stump and took it to join its twin on his workbench. Michael had a full erection and was acutely embarrassed but Taylor seemed not to notice. He brought a sponge and flannel and some warm water and began to wipe the residue of plaster from Michael’s stumps.

            – OK. All set and ready. I’m going to lift you onto the couch so put your clothes back on and then you can hop into your chair, alright? Come and join your mum and me.

Michael did as he was told and rolled up to the round table where his prosthetist and his mother were discussing the benefits of using very short stubbies.

            – The steel parts, the pylons, will be four inches long with the thickness of the feet adding about an extra inch. The idea of these first stubbies is to help Michael become accustomed to having something attached to his stumps because that is what he will have for the rest of his life, assuming he chooses to use artificial legs. It could be that after a couple of years, he would prefer to use a wheelchair, which of course is perfectly acceptable. But for the time being, we’ll train him to use taller and taller stubbies until he can graduate to artificial legs with bending knees and proper feet. Michael, how do you feel about getting your first stubbies?

            – It’s great. I won’t need to walk around on my hands any more.

            – No, you won’t. You won’t be tall and you won’t be fast but you will be walking again. And the only way is up. Now, it’s going to take a couple of weeks to get your sockets made and the other bits ordered in so don’t get impatient. I’ll send you a message when you can come in for a fitting and with any luck, Michael, you’ll be able to walk out of here on your new stubbies pushing your wheelchair. How does that sound?

            – Great! Looking forward to it..

            – Jolly good. Well, that’s all I have for you this time. Thank you for coming in and I’ll see you again in a couple of weeks. If you like, we can go out the back door and I’ll show you my Harley.

            – Ooh yeah! I’d like to see that.

Taylor held the wide rear door open for Mick’s wheelchair. They entered the yard and approached a low-slung bike with cow horn handlebars with a metallic maroon paint job.

            – Cor! I’d love to have a ride on that.

            – You’d need legs, Michael. But don’t worry, artificial legs will do the job. Get yourself walking and I’ll give you a ride if your mum lets you.

He looked at Mrs Wilson and smiled.

            – We’ll have to see about that. We ought to be off now. Goodbye, Mr Taylor.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Mick was impatient. He found some videos of men wearing stubbies and looked at the alien appearance first in amazement and then admiration. He could understand better how he would be able to progress to ever longer pylons as his balance improved. One guy whose stumps were at least as short as his own ended up strolling through a park on full-length artificial legs, holding the hand of his little son. His long steel pylons ending in a pair of tennis shoes looked really cool.

 

The days rolled by. Mick went out every morning to get some exercise in his wheelchair. He had learned to do wheelies with the help of his dad who stood behind him just in case he toppled backwards. Now he could tackle kerbs with no problem. His arms no longer ached after he had wheeled for a few minutes. They must be getting stronger. It would be great if he grew some guns to show off. One day when he came home, he tried doing handstands up against the wall in his bedroom. He had seen a few other young amputees doing the same thing. Some of them could walk on their hands with their stumps up in the air. He wanted to do that, too, and practised quite often.

 

The text message he had been waiting for arrived.

            – equipment ready to try. wednesday 27, 3 pm. welcome! j.taylor

            – Mum! My legs are ready!

            – Oh good. Did he make an appointment?

            – Yeah, on Wednesday at three.

            – Oh dear, that’s when I’ve got the hairdresser. Do you think you could go on your own? You know where it is and how to get there, don’t you?

            – Course I do.

 

Drivers on the Edgware buses had become accustomed to seeing the young guy in the hoodie waiting for a bus at his local stop. Mick signalled to the driver and the bus slowed and carefully pulled in close to the kerb. Mick waited for the ramp to appear and pushed himself up it onto the bus. He paid and the driver waited until he had secured himself by the middle doors. The ride took fifteen minutes through the Victorian suburbs and along exhausted High Streets. The bus turned off for its detour through Wembley Industrial Park and Mick rang the bell. He shouted out his thanks to the driver and rolled down the ramp. He waved to the driver as he wheeled past the cab. Taylor was waiting for him again in the lobby, holding a mug of coffee.

            – Hello Michael. Are you on your own today? I hope your mum’s alright?

            – Yeah, she had to go to the hairdressers. That’s alright, isn’t it?

            – Well, I suppose so. The thing is we should have an adult’s signature on the delivery papers, assuming that is that the sockets fit you. Anyway, we’ll sort that out later. Let’s see if the legs fit. What have you been up to for the past couple of weeks?

            – Well, I’ve been looking at videos of people walking on stubbies.

            – Oh, good. So you know what to expect.

            – Yeah, I think so. And then I’ve been practising a few tricks in the wheelchair and doing handstands at home. I want to be able to walk on my hands with my stumps in the air.

            – Any specific reason?

            – No, it’s just something to do. It’s good exercise. I think my arms are getting stronger. I noticed it seems easier to push myself up the ramp on the bus just lately.

            – Yeah, using a wheelchair will do that. Do you have someone with you when you practise your tricks?

            – Not usually, no.

            – You ought to have a spotter behind you, Michael. You’ll crack your head if the chair tips over backwards.

            – I know. I’m careful.

            – OK, just so you can’t say you haven’t been warned. Right, here we are and here are your test sockets. Take your shorts off. You can keep your pants on. And can you jump onto the higher couch for me?

Taylor took the sockets, a packet of stump socks and two short pylons with square rubber feet to the couch and waited for Michael. He rolled over and leapt up onto the couch.

            – Right. Sit on the edge. Let’s try the right socket first.

He pulled a stump sock from the packet and showed Michael how to put it on his stump. The socket was fixed to an elasticated belt with velcro fasteners. He asked Michael to lift his stump slightly and placed the socket onto the stump. He spread the belt out.

            – To put the belt on, get the strap which goes behind your back and pull it round to your tummy. Hold it there and pull the other shorter strap across and press it into place. And that’s it. It should be fairly tight but not so it cuts off blood supply so don’t go crazy.

He tested the belt by poking a finger between it and Michael’s lower ribs.

            – That seems alright. Can you do the other stump? Put a sock on first. That’s it. And here’s the socket – let me do this. Can you get the belt? Great! All set and ready, apart from the pylons. How do the sockets feel?

            – Really funny. Funny peculiar, I mean. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

            – But they’re not too tight or pinching anywhere?

            – No, nothing like that.

            – OK, let’s attach the pylons and then you can try them out. I’ve made the sockets so it’s fairly easy to change the pylons. You’ll have the same sockets until your stumps change shape and you get a new set but any new pylons will fit them just the same. You screw them together and they’ll lock into place. Like that. That pylon will stay in place now until you press the release button just here and twist it the other way.

He removed the pylon from the socket and handed it to Michael for inspection.

            – The pylon is four inches long and the base is an inch thick so with your stumps, you’ll be standing on eight inch legs. That should be about right for you to start learning on. You’ll have to pay attention to your balance and how you distribute your weight. Don’t worry if you trip or stumble at first. You’ll soon get the hang of it. It might be a good idea to wear gloves if you go outside to practise.

Mick slotted the pylons into his sockets and waggled them up and down.

            – Hold tight and I’ll lift you down. Don’t run off anywhere yet. How does the weight feel on your stumps? Is it painful?

            – No, not painful but the pressure feels strange.

            – Yeah, it does at first. These are all sensations which you’ve never felt before so they’re bound to be strange. The main thing is that nothing hurts. Tell me immediately if something starts to feel bad, OK? It’s important to get the sockets right. Now, hold on to the couch and lift your right leg in front of you. Make like a semicircle with the foot. Good. Try the other leg. Nice job. OK, keep a hand on the couch and try taking a small step. And again. Go on. Good. Michael, you’re walking again!  Congratulations.

Taylor released the brake on Mick’s wheelchair and spun it around.

            – Grab hold of the handles, Michael, and push the chair across the room.

Michael stumbled a little as he turned his body but he gripped the back of the wheelchair to steady himself. He pushed the chair into motion and followed it with short, tottering steps. Taylor followed slowly behind, appraising length of stride, positioning of the feet, rhythm. Michael seemed to be doing OK for a first attempt. He reached the other side of the room and turned around. He looked up at Taylor, grinning.

            – How did I do?

            – Ten out of ten. How do your stumps feel?

            – Alright. Nothing hurts if that’s what you mean.

            – Good. Now, push the chair back to the couch and this time when you take a step, try swinging the stubby out to the side slightly. Remember what we practised when you were on the couch. It helps prevent the rubber foot from catching on the floor.

Mick made the trip back. His first steps were exaggerated but he could feel the difference. The rubber feet cleared the floor with each step.

            – How does that feel? Do you think you could walk without support? Give it a try. Don’t be afraid of it. You haven’t got far to fall if you trip.

Mick stood more erect and stretched his shoulders. He held his hands out slightly to catch himself and leant to the right. He stepped forward with his left stubby and rocked to the left. He could feel that if he tried to take too long a stride, he would get stuck so he kept his steps short and regular. He reached the far wall and waddled around to face back into the room. Taylor took out his phone and set it to record video. He placed it on the floor.

            – Walk towards the phone, Michael. I’m recording you and we’ll have a look at the video together.

Michael strutted back, waving his arms to maintain balance and stopped in front of the phone.

            – Great! I think you’re doing really well. Put your shorts on and if you get into your wheelchair, we can go and have some tea and biscuits.

Michael heaved himself up into his chair. The stubbies pointed forward. He looked at the odd new sight of his square rubber feet and felt immensely proud of himself. He was walking again!

 

They went to the conference room and Taylor switched the screen on. He poured boiling water into two mugs and put them on the table. He found some tea bags and a packet of Jaffa cakes in a cupboard. There was sugar on the table. He sat down by Michael and linked his phone with the screen. He scrolled to the video he had just shot and they watched Michael slowly walking towards the camera with a look of concentration on his face but determinedly making progress. Taylor started it again and slowed it to half speed. He studied the placement of the feet for consistency and regularity.

            – You know, I think you’re a natural.

            – I look funny waving my arms around everywhere.

            – That’s alright – how else can you balance? After a bit more practise, you won’t do it so much. I was going to suggest a pair of cut-off crutches but I don’t think you need them, to be honest. Do you want a pair of short crutches? You know the sort of thing I mean, don’t you?

            – Yeah, I’ve seen them on the other videos. No, I’m alright. I can get a pair later on, can’t I?

            – Sure.

Taylor tore the Jaffa cake packet open and slid four or five onto a paper plate.

            – Help yourself. I was thinking that when you get longer pylons, it might be handy to use a walking stick for a few weeks until you get the hang of it.

            – How long do you think it will be before I get longer ones?

            – Well, since you’re already off to a flying start, I’d say early August. The next ones will be eight inches long and the ones after that, a foot. Four inch increments each time for a few months until you’ve mastered them. After that, longer stubbies can start to pose problems because of their length. They should really have knee joints in them, you see. But we’ll worry about that when the time comes. It won’t be this year, in any event.

            – So when I go back to school, I’ll have legs about a foot long and a walking stick.

            – Yes, I think so. You can decide yourself whether you want to use a walking stick at school. You don’t need to carry it with you everywhere but sometimes they’re good to have handy. They help you get up steps and on slopes, for instance. When we’ve had tea, we can go back to the lab and try you on steps if you like.

            – Alright, we can try that.

            –How do you feel about going back to school?

            – It’s alright, I suppose. I’m going to have to repeat a year because I’ve already missed so much.

            – That’s not so bad. Michael, I know this sounds like something your parents might say but you ought to take school seriously from now on. Because of your injuries, there are lots of jobs you might have chosen to do which are closed to you now. You’re going to have to find a job where you use your brain. Do you see what I’m getting at?

            – Yeah. I’ve thought about that too. I’m not really good at anything, except maths. I always get good grades for that.

            – Really? That’s very good. That can lead to some very good jobs in banking and business. That’s exactly the sort of thing which you could make a real go of. Anyway, shall we go back and see how to get up steps wearing stubbies?

 

It was next to impossible. The steps had a rise of seven inches. Mick’s stubby legs were eight inches long.

            – The only way you’re going to be able to get up those steps is by holding onto the banisters and pulling yourself up. When you get the longer pylons in August, we’ll try again. You’ll probably be able to manage steps a bit better then.

            – It’s OK. I don’t mind. I’ll just have to sit down on steps and pull myself up backwards.

            – That’s one way of doing it. So don’t be despondent. Well, Michael, if you’re happy with your stubbies, I can let you have them. I ought to have your mum or dad’s signature on the delivery paper but one of them can sign next time. So that’s the end of our session today. Are you glad you came?        

            – Yes!  It’s great to be standing up again and walking.

            – Good to hear it. Well, you’re free to leave. Call me if you have any questions or if the stubbies start to hurt, OK?

            – I will.

Mick climbed back into his wheelchair and admired his new feet again. He released the brake and gave a hefty push towards the door. Taylor let him open it himself, watching how he managed.

            – Bye!

 

Mick sat in his chair until he got off the bus at the stop near his home. He lowered himself onto the pavement and pushed his wheelchair. He looked down at his stumps pumping his stubbies along. It was slow but felt grand. He entered his building and took the lift up. He had his keys with him but rang the doorbell. He wanted to show his mum that he was walking again. Mrs Wilson opened the door and was surprised to see her son almost hidden behind the seat of his wheelchair. He was so inconspicuous.

            – What are you doing down there? Come in.

She held the door open, expecting Mick to push the wheelchair ahead and walk in on his hands. Instead, the wheelchair moved steadily forward and Mick stepped inside on his new legs. She cried out in surprise.

            – Oh, you’re walking!

Her surprise was quickly tempered by her horror at seeing the tiny steel legs and rubber feet peeking out from beneath Mick’s football shorts. It looked so… she was unable to conjure a word to describe what it looked like. Mick pushed the wheelchair to the end of the hall, out of the way, and waddled his way around to face his mum who still stood with the door open, watching. Mick spread his arms.

            – Ta-daa! Look at this! Walking again. It feels so good to be walking on two feet again.

Mrs Wilson came to her senses and closed the door.

            – I didn’t think you would be –

            – What? So short? I have to start off short and then work my way up. I thought you knew. Don’t look so shocked, mum. I thought we talked about this.

            – Yes, I know we did but it’s different when you see it for real. Sorry, Mick, I was just not expecting it. Come and have some tea. I’ve got your favourite.

 

Mick’s father arrived home from work a couple of hours later. He kissed his wife and went into the lounge where Mick was sitting on the sofa watching tv. He took in the steel and rubber stubbies immediately.

            – Hello, son. Back on your feet, I see. How do you like them?

            – It’s great. I can get around again without dragging myself.

            – Good show. Talk to you later.

He hung up his jacket and went back to the kitchen where his wife was adding the finishing touches to his evening meal.

            – It’s good to see Mick getting back to normal, isn’t it? Those are his training legs, I suppose you’d call them. I’m well pleased for the boy.

            – They look awful.

            – Look, don’t start that again, Sandra. First it was his stumps you couldn’t stand, now it’s his starter legs. Give the boy a chance.

            – I know. I’m sorry.

            – It’s not easy for Mick either. How do you think he feels having to walk around like that? Do you ever hear him complaining? I’ve not heard one word from him about feeling sorry for himself. This is all just temporary until he can work up to having artificial legs and looking normal again. Try to understand and show a bit of enthusiasm, for god’s sake.

Mick could hear his parents arguing sotto voce although he could not make out the words. He knew what they were talking about and knew how to stop it. He paused the program and slid off the sofa and waddled into the kitchen.

            – Have we got any Coke, mum?

            – There’s some in the fridge, I think.

Mick went over and open the fridge door. The drinks were on the top shelf. He reached up and his shorts hems rose with him, revealing the black carbon sockets and the steel pylons. He took out a can.

            – How are your legs feeling, Mick? You like having them on or would you rather be in the chair?

            – These are great! It feels so good to be walking again and the doctor said that I’ll have another four inches in August before I go back to school.

He popped the can open and rocked back to the lounge.

            – See? Where’s the problem? There is no problem, Sandra, so buck up. I know you don’t like it – who would? – but Mick seems very pleased with himself. Doesn’t he?

Mrs Wilson put her husband’s supper in front of him and went to her bedroom for a good cry.

 

Mick became accustomed to walking around on his very short stubbies. His stride was only a few inches and it took him much longer to cover any distance. But he enjoyed the feeling. The sockets gripped his stumps firmly and provided a reassuring sensation. It was fun being so short again. When he wore a loose hoodie, it looked almost like he had no legs at all. Best of all, he liked the steel pylons with the thick rubber pads acting as feet. They looked so unusual and mechanical, they made him feel like a cyborg. He imagined wearing rubber pads instead of artificial feet even when he had longer stubbies. Maybe he could even wear them on his artificial legs. That would be stunning. All dressed up in a hoodie and jeans with just rubber squares for feet. Yes, that was what he would do.

 

He went outside for a walk around the block every morning. He wore gloves even on hot, sunny days. He did not fall often but it was easy to stumble on the uneven pavement and he tried to avoid grazing his knuckles. As Dr Taylor had said, he did not have far to fall, a fact which gave Mick extra confidence. He sometimes met one of their neighbours. They always stopped to chat to ask about how he was doing and one or two asked about his prosthetics. People were interested, not repulsed. That boosted his mood, too. When he thought about going back to school, maybe he would not be teased or bullied because of his disability. He expected to be called a gimp and a spastic. He was old enough and mature enough to know that kids could be spiteful bastards at times. He would just have to put up with it and notch it up to jealousy.

 

Sandra Wilson resigned herself to tolerating the intolerable and decided to face up to reality. She weaned herself off the tranks and talked more with Mick about his stump care and prosthetics. Mick showed her a couple of videos of similar users of stubby legs and how they had progressed and she understood the necessity of the shockingly short stubbies. It would only be for a few weeks until he got a taller pair. Mick had already decided that he liked his minimalist stubbies so much that he would use them even after he had full-length legs. It was fun to think of being able to change his height at his whim. He could be six foot six if he wanted or, what was the word – inconspicuous. He imagined a scenario where he was getting married. No-one but his bride knew that he was a double amputee because they had kept it a secret and on his wedding day, he turned up at the church wearing the ultra-short stubbies. That would be a laugh.

 

In late July, Mick got a message from Bayliss Prosthetics. Dr Taylor wanted to meet him to discuss his transition to taller legs. He told his parents later in the day and Mrs Wilson promised to accompany him this time. She was becoming interested in the scheduled progress envisioned for Michael’s prosthetics and wanted to know when he would be standing tall again.

 

Mick celebrated his fifteenth birthday on August the first. His father withdrew five hundred pounds from the account which had been set up to receive monthly compensation fees from his attackers or their guardians and handed it to his son.

            – Congratulations, son. This is your money so spend it wisely. As my dad always told me, don’t drink it all at once.

 

Mick and his mum paid a visit to Bayliss on the appointed day. Mick had no possibility of stepping onto the bus so simply grabbed hold of the poles and pulled himself aboard.

            – No wheelchair today, I see. You OK?

            – Fine, thanks.

            – Good lad.

Mick waddled along beside his mother. It was slow progress but he felt good. They had to wait for a few minutes in the lobby and made themselves comfortable in the armchairs. Mick’s stubbies pointed out in front of him, not even reaching the edge of the seat. Johnny Taylor came to meet them.

            – Hello! Good to see you. Come with me, please, and we can get started.

Taylor led the way. Mick’s regular footsteps pounded a beat on the hollow-sounding floor. They entered Room Seven and Taylor indicated the corner table, where there was a pot of coffee and a plate of biscuits on offer.

            – It’s been a couple of months. How have you been getting on?

            – Well, I’ve been walking outside quite a lot. I go for a walk around the block every day and wear the stubbies at home all the time.   

            – So you haven’t needed to hand-walk at all?

            – No. I haven’t done that since I got these.

            – Really? That is a surprise. So you really like using the stubbies?

            – Yeah, of course I do.

            – Good. I want to see you walking, Michael, so if you could go across to the bars, I’ll set up my phone and we can analyse your gait. How have you been, Mrs Wilson?

            – I took your advice and somehow I’m able to keep up with what’s going on a lot better.

            – Well, that’s good to hear. Now, excuse me. Let’s see to Michael.

He crossed to the parallel bars where Mick stood waiting.

            – Go on, show me.

Mick kicked his stumps into action and walked to the end of the bars with his hands in his hoodie pockets and worked himself around. He waddled along the bars with a grin on his face.

            – Is that OK?

            – Jolly good. Right, sit down and I’ll swap out your pylons.

Taylor fetched a couple of eight inch steel rods from his workbench and sat cross-legged in front of Mick. He reached across to Mick’s prostheses and detached the short pylons. Mick rested, leaning back on his hands, watching the process. Taylor removed the rubber feet from the four inch pylons and inspected them. They were good enough for another couple of months. He knelt on his natural knee and attached them to the eight inch pylons which he fitted in turn to Mick’s sockets.

            – All set and ready. Jump up and show us what you can do. Hold on to the bars, alright?

Mick angled his body as he had done before when he rose onto his stubbies and found that the new ones would require a different approach. He held on to the bars and pulled himself up. He tried balancing on the longer stubbies and sensed the loss of control. He would have to concentrate much more on balancing himself. He took a tentative step forward and noticed he no longer needed to lean so much to kick his legs. He tried rocking his body from side to side and the legs moved forward, about as much as his short stubbies had. He noticed his new height and was pleased with it. Gradually he tried taking longer steps and found that the longer pylons obeyed his attempts. He swung his stumps out and forced them forward. The stubby legs followed. He strides were suddenly longer. He would be able to walk faster. He turned at the end of the parallel bars and walked back along them. Turning again, he let go of the bars and walked out from the end and into the wide space of Taylor’s workshop. He walked across to the wall, spun himself round and walked across to where his mother sat, frowning but watching.

            – Howdya like that? Not bad, eh?

            – Not bad at all. Do they hurt you, Michael?

            – Nope. These are just right. Wait till my mates see these at school. They’ll go ape.

Taylor came and sat down. Mick pulled himself up into an armchair and looked at the tremendous length of his pylons. Now they stuck out a good distance from his shorts and he would be able to show off his legs more.

            – That was very impressive, Michael. You have a brilliant sense of balance. I was going to offer you a pair of crutches to help you acclimatise to the new stubbies but you obviously don’t need them. Would you like a walking stick or two, just in case? We can make one right now if you want to try walking with a stick? Yeah?

            – Well, maybe it might be better. It’s OK walking around in here where the floor’s even but it might be a good idea outside on the pavement.

            – That’s what I was thinking. Do you want one or two?

            – Let’s try just one at first. It might be enough.

            – I agree. Stand up and I’ll measure your height.

Taylor took a retractible rule from his pocket and measured the distance from Mick’s wrist to the floor. He found a walking stick in the store room and sawed it to a suitable length at his work bench. He took a suitable ferrule from a drawer and held the short walking stick out to Michael.

            – Here you go. Give it a try. Go across to the steps, Michael. See if you can manage those now with the longer legs.

 

It was much easier to lift his feet onto the next step. He still had to hold on to something to balance and found that the walking stick provided the support he needed. Grasping the banister and pushing himself with the stick, he mounted the stairs and held his arms out wide in a gesture of triumph.

            – Try coming down the slope, Michael. Take very short steps and use the walking stick.

Michael waddled down the slope and turned around immediately. He tried going back up but fell onto his side and lay on his back. He sat up and tried to rise onto his feet. He could no longer get his feet under him as he had learned to do with his very short stubbies.

            – Turn onto your belly, Michael, and push yourself up with your hands. I’m sorry to tell you that you have just run into the biggest difficulty you’re going to face from now on.

            – You mean getting up?

            – Yes, exactly that. Even if you’re brilliant at walking on prosthetic legs, getting up from a seat or from the floor after you’ve fallen will always be quite a challenge. But it’s good to practise now on shorter legs, so don’t worry about it. Can you get up, or do you need some help?

Michael struggled with positioning his long stubbies for a while and was satisfied with their position. He raised himself with his hands and was almost successful in regaining his balance. He would have to put some effort into it. He gave a good push using his arm muscles and teetered on his stubbies. He took a step back to steady himself and leant down to pick up his foot-long walking stick.

            – Leave the slope for now, Michael. Lots of time for that. Come and sit down over here. I wanted to talk to you about some of the things you can do at home to help Michael. You live in a council flat, don’t you? I suppose that means you aren’t really allowed to make any large alterations without permission, doesn’t it? I was thinking about having your bathroom adapted for use by Michael. How have you been managing so far on the toilet and showering, Michael?

            – We don’t have a shower. We have a bath instead.

            – And how do you get into it?

            – My dad lifts me in.

            – And out again, I suppose.

            – Yeah.

            – Well, there are various things like stools with rubber feet which go inside the bath which you can use as a step and a seat and similar things like small step ladders to help you get in. I can give you a brochure with examples of what’s available. I mention this because Michael might like a little more privacy in the bathroom in the near future. How about the toilet when you need to sit down? Do you need help with that?

            – Well, I’ve been able to pull myself up onto the seat. I haven’t fallen in yet.

            – Glad to hear it. I was thinking that some support bars either side of the toilet would be a big help. Is there room to add something each side of the bowl?

            – I think there might be. You’d have to talk to my husband about that sort of thing, though. I do know what you mean, though. Would you like support bars like that, Mick?

            – Well, they would make it a bit easier.

            – Alright. We’ll talk to dad about it.

            – And the other thing was that the short steps will allow Michael to reach the basin and taps properly without his prostheses. You’ll soon be shaving regularly, I reckon. It would be good if you could do something like that without also having to concentrate on balancing. And the last thing I wanted to ask today is do you have a full-length mirror, in your hallway, for example? It would be useful if Michael could see himself walking and how his legs move. I expect all your mirrors are at head height, aren’t they?

            – Yes, they are. I’ll look into getting a long mirror.

            – You can buy packs of half a dozen mirrors about a foot square. A row of them from floor to ceiling would be useful and they’re not expensive.

            – No. I think I know what you mean. I’m sure we could put some extra mirrors up.

            – I expect your flat is carpeted, isn’t it? How have you been managing to walk on carpet with the short stubbies, Michael?

            – OK really. The carpet makes it a bit more difficult to walk and balance but it’s softer if I trip.

            – Do you often fall over?

            – No, not very often.

            – It’ll be more and more of a problem as your legs get longer. The taller you are, the harder you fall. Well, there’s not much I can advise in this case. I usually tell new amputees to take up their mats and anything they can trip on if possible. A hard floor is safer, strange though it may seem. But I can’t recommend that you take up your carpets, Mrs Wilson, so don’t worry. Try to make sure there’s nothing on the floor which Michael could trip over accidentally. Even a pair of slippers could bring him down. He has absolutely no way of correcting his stance as you can if he trips on something.

            – I’ll have to bear that in mind and talk to my husband. He has a bad habit of kicking his slippers off.

            – Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to be careful and bear it in mind. It’s more and more important as Michael gets taller. How does it feel being a bit taller, Michael?

            – It’s great. I can feel how I have to relearn how to balance on the feet but it’s not too much. I can see why we only get an extra four inches. It makes quite a difference but it’s not too much to handle.

            – Good. So are you happy to leave wearing the longer stubbies or shall I change them back to the short ones?

            – No! I mean, yes I’m happy to wear these! Can I have the short pylons back, though?

            – Yes, they’re yours to keep. How do you find the feet? Are they too small or too big?

            – I think they’re about right. I do sometimes feel like I might be a bit unsteady, like on a carpet, but I can manage it.

            – We could give you a pair of artificial feet you could put tennis shoes on if you want but I think you’ll agree that it would look a little odd. And the feet make walking even more difficult, strange as it may seem. But it’s something to think about. You have my number, so if you want to try a pair of feet, I can put an order in. What size were you?

            – Eight.

            – Yes, eight is a good size even later on. It’s not too long. You might have had big feet, something like a thirteen, but if you stick to an eight as you get taller – and I mean when you have proper artificial legs with a knee – you’ll avoid a lot of problems. Well, that’s all I have for you today. It was good to see you again and I hope you enjoy going back to school next month, Michael. I expect your next visit will be November or early December. You’ll be taller by Christmas, so that’s something to look forward to.

They stood up and shook hands. Mick noticed immediately that his new stubbies were the perfect length for getting into and out of armchairs. Mrs Wilson put Mick’s previous pylons into her handbag and the pair departed.

            – How do you like being a bit taller, then?

            – It’s nice. I can feel I need to try harder to keep my balance, though. But I suppose I’ll get used to it.

Mick used the grotesque short walking stick to his advantage when encountering kerbs, otherwise he carried it horizontally in one hand. He thought about what it might be like to use a walking stick all the time. You could get some nice ones, black with silver handles on them. But first he’d have to be taller.

 

Back home, Mrs Wilson immediately put the kettle on to boil for tea. Mick sat on a wooden kitchen chair. It was a nuisance not being able to scoot the chair closer to the table but it was alright this time. He looked at his new pylons and gripped the right one. It was very solid and secure.

            – I think I’ll go out after this and practise on the stairs.

            – Be careful, then. I don’t want you falling down and hurting yourself. Take the walking stick, just in case.

            – Yeah, I will. It looks funny, doesn’t it? Just a little short walking stick. But it feels nice to hold.

Mick went out onto the landing and held on to the banister with one hand and the stick with the other. He lowered his right pylon onto the lower step and gripped the banister more firmly as he moved his left pylon. It was a little precarious. Mick’s legs were only about a foot long including the stumps and the steps had an eight inch rise. Going down was far easier than climbing up. He really needed to use his arms to pull himself up. It was a strenuous business ascending the whole flight. It was easy to see what the problem was. He was unable to get enough leverage to the rubber feet. Maybe foot long pylons would do the trick. But he persevered and stopped after about half an hour when his stumps began to ache.

 

Mick’s dad was pleased to see him standing taller.

            – That looks a whole lot better. I bet it feels good too being a bit taller, doesn’t it? Good show, Mick.

 

The slightly longer stride encouraged Mick to get out and walk more. He caught the bus a couple of times to Brent shopping mall where he could walk around without being recognised by anyone. People stared at the diminutive figure with short steel legs but Mick paid no attention to them. He bought a pair of convertible cargo pants with his birthday money. The legs had zippers halfway down so they could turn into shorts. They were just the right length to cover his rubber feet. He would wear them when he went back to school.

 

– – – – – -

 

The long summer holidays were over. Mick had a new backpack over his hoodie and his new black shorts. His stubbies were hidden from view but he knew he would be pulling his shorts up a hundred times to show his fake legs to his classmates. He caught the bus as usual and stood with the other standing passengers. He was so short that seated passengers who might have relinquished their seats did not notice him. He didn’t mind. He rocked into the playground and sat down on a bench. He was the centre of attention but no-one dared come near. And he did not know who was going to be in his class this year so he couldn’t talk to anyone. Presently his teacher Miss Sanderson, who taught Year Seven, walked across to him and said Hello.

            – It’s good to see you again, Michael. I hope you’re set and ready to rejoin the class. I’m sorry you have to repeat the year but you’ve missed so much that we thought it would be for the best. I wanted to ask you about something. Everyone will be very curious to know about what happened to you and about your new legs, so would you like to make a short presentation in front of the class to explain? Then everyone will know and they won’t be bothering you with questions all week. What do you think?

            – I could do that, I suppose. I’m used to talking to the neighbours about it.

            – OK, good. Well, I’ll make a brief introduction and then you can come to the front and answer their questions. You don’t need to answer anything that seems too personal, alright? See you in class, Michael.

 

He had been preparing himself to answers loads of questions anyway. Maybe it would be a good idea to get them all out of the way at once. He was confident enough to stand up in front of the class. They were all a year younger than him, anyway. Juniors.

 

            – Good morning, Year Seven. Welcome back to school. I hope you have all had a lovely holiday and looking forward to the new term. Find yourselves a desk and sit down and I’ll take the register. John and Mark! Don’t sit together! Mark, come up and sit here, please, where I can keep an eye on you.

Miss Sanderson went through the register and the kids answered to their names.

            – Now, before we get started, I want to introduce our new classmate Michael Wilson. He was badly hurt this spring and missed out on a lot of work so he’s joining us to catch up. Michael, would you like to come up to the front?

Mick slid off his chair and stumped up to the front of the class and spun round on a stubby to face the class. He put his hands behind his back and looked at Miss Sanderson.

            – Thank you, Michael. Now, will you tell us what happened after you were hurt? You were taken to hospital and what happened there?

            – My legs were amputated. The doctors couldn’t do anything to save them so they cut them off across my thighs and sewed them all up again.

            – So now you have short legs but no feet?

            – That’s right. I have two stumps instead of long legs.

            – But you can walk again. Do you have artificial legs?

            – Yes, I have two artificial legs which are just steel rods at the moment. And I have rubber feet. And after a few months, I will have longer rods to learn to walk on, so I’ll gradually get taller and taller until I’m walking on long legs again.

            – That sounds very interesting. Do your legs hurt you?

            – No, they don’t hurt any more but they were very sore at first. But it’s alright now.

            – Good. Thank you, Michael. Does anyone have anything they’d like to ask Michael? Robert, go ahead.

            – How does the steel rods stay on your legs?

            – I wear a belt, or two belts, which are stuck onto the legs, and it goes around my waist and holds on with velcro so that’s what keeps my legs on.

            – David?

            – How tall are you going to be?

            – I don’t know yet. Every time I get new steel rods, which are really called pylons, they’re four inches longer than the old ones. Right now the pylons are eight inches so the next ones will be twelve inches. And I will have those before Christmas, I hope.

            – Jeanette?

            – Is it difficult to walk, Michael?

            – I have to be careful to keep my balance but I soon got used to doing that. So it’s not really difficult if I’m careful.

            – Does anyone else have a question for Michael? Alright, thank you. You can take your seat again, Michael.

The class watched him as he swaggered back to his desk in the third row. He lifted his backside up onto the chair and his stubbies pointed forward. He looked around at his immediate neighbours and grinned at them. The boys grinned back.

            – Now, get out your English exercise books. Put your hand up if you don’t have it. Mark, will you hand out a sheet of paper to them, please. We’re going to talk about adjectives and adverbs. What makes them similar and what makes them different.

 

The class settled down and listened to Miss Sanderson’s explanation. They had started on adjectives before the holidays so it was an easy start to the new term. Mick remembered something about adverbs from last year but now he found it more interesting. And he understood it much better. Half an hour into the lesson, he realised he was actually enjoying it.

 

At break, they all went out into the playground for twenty minutes. The boys from his class all wanted to see his artificial legs and the steel pylons. Mick refused to take his stubbies off to show them his stumps.

            – You’ll see them when we have PE anyway. It takes too long to take the stubbies off and put them back on.

            – What’s stubbies?

            – That’s what you call these short artificial legs like what I’m wearing. They’re short, so they call them stubbies.

            – I think it looks cool. I wish I had little steel stubbies and all.

The boys all agreed that it was super cool to have steel legs and Michael automatically became the new alpha they all looked up to, even though he was the shortest.

 

The boys got a chance to check out Mick’s stumps in the afternoon. They had a ninety minute session of PE. The teacher, Jack Biddle, called the boys into the changing room and told them to change for athletics. Mick did as he was told and stripped. He removed his stubbies and pulled the stump socks off. The other lads came over quickly to see leg stumps for the first time close up. They were impressed by his short semispherical stumps and more developed genitals. Mick put his football gear on and his stumps disappeared from view.

            – Right, lads. Into the gym, quick as you can and start warming up.

The class jogged into the gym and began jumping up and down or running in place. Mick arrived last, hand-walking on his backside and started stretching his arms. Biddle trotted into the room and sized up his class. And then he noticed Mick.

            – What’s your name, son?

            – Wilson, sir.

            – Well, Wilson. I didn’t realise you were disabled but since you’re here, you can join in as much as you can, alright?

            – Yes sir.

            – Good lad.

Biddle had the boys running around in a circle, jumping up and down on the spot and other exercises requiring legs. He brought a few basketballs from the store room and rolled the balls across the floor.

            – Everyone sit in a ring facing the centre. Grab a ball if there’s one near you. You’ll throw the ball to the boy on your right and then catch the ball coming from the left before you pass that on. I want to see the balls passing around the circle. Get it? Start!

This was one exercise Mick could do. Biddle kept an eye on him, sizing him up. Maybe it would be possible to work sitting volleyball into the schedule. And he could join in on the monthly swimming trip to the local pool. Mick caught all the balls but fell over backwards once when he passed it along. He pushed himself upright in time to catch the next ball. Biddle was impressed. There was nothing wrong with the boy’s initiative.

 

Half an hour later, Biddle called an end to the PT and told the boys to shower and dress. They all jogged back and stripped naked. Mick joined them last of all, hand-walking into the shower and tolerating the cool water pooling around his backside. He was the first one to dry himself though and the first one dressed. He pulled himself up, stepped into his black shorts and stood waiting for the others with his hands on his hips, steel legs slightly splayed.

 

– – – – – -

 

The term progressed with a short break at the end of October. Mick had made a few good friends and was invited to their homes to play various video games and the like. His initial appearance was always met with shock and astonishment by the parents, none of whom had been forewarned by their offspring that the friend was a double amputee but they soon realised that the legless boy was friendly and polite and a good influence on their own little terror. He was a welcome guest.

 

Mick had become accustomed to his eight inch pylons. He walked with a regular cadence, rocking his trunk from side to side slightly. He had checked his gait in the new full-length mirror in their hallway at home and he liked the way he moved. It looked sort of adult, a grown-up’s style of walking. He was waiting to hear from Dr Taylor about getting his next pair of pylons. That would mean another couple of weeks getting used to a new way of walking. He looked forward to it.

 

A message informing him of his appointment arrived in the last week of November. He was expected for a fitting on the first Saturday morning in December, nine o’clock.

 

One of the boys in his class turned up one Monday with his arm in a plaster cast. He had been messing around on a swing and fell off it. Almost the entire class signed the clean white plaster turning it into a garish mess. Mick wrote his name with a thick black marker and had the idea of adding stubby feet to the legs of the K. It looked cool. He would always write it like that. It would be his trademark.

 

The class had been swimming twice since they returned from summer holiday. They piled into a hired coach and went to the public swimming pool in Hendon. All of the children could swim already. The instructor wanted them to learn the breaststroke. She jumped into the pool and demonstrated how to spread the thighs and bring them together. The kids squatted around the edge of the pool watching her. She swam toward the edge of the pool, dunked her head underwater to settle her long hair and popped up exactly opposite Mick’s leg stumps. She screamed in surprise and fell back into the water. Everyone who noticed laughed, even Miss Sanderson who quickly turned her back to hide her mirth. Regaining her composure, the instructor stood a distance away from the edge and asked the children to jump in and start practising. Mick stood on his hands on the edge of the pool, stumps in the air, and dropped into the water. He had little success in spreading his thighs but found that his arms were quite enough to move through the water quickly. He was much lighter than he had been the last time he had swum. It felt great to feel so free in the water. His missing legs were no hindrance, on the contrary. The instructor watched his arms as he reached the far side of the pool and flipped upside down with a flash of stump to start the return trip. She was impressed. The boy showed genuine talent. She would have a word with Sanderson later. With a bit of encouragement, he might be a suitable candidate to represent the school.

 

After three quarters of an hour, the session was over. The children queued up to climb the steps to exit the pool. Mick held onto the edge and pulled himself out of the water, landing on his backside and, without stopping, hand-walked to the showers and back to the changing room. It was the most fun he had had in a long time. He might well come swimming again in his free time. It was easier than going for a run, after all.

 

The day of his appointment dawned. His dad offered to accompany him this time. He had not met the prosthetist yet and he knew from what Mick had mentioned, he needed to have an adult’s signature on his papers. At a quarter to nine, they climbed into his dad’s old Fiat and reached Bayliss with two minutes to spare. The place was officially closed for the weekend but Taylor realised it was inconvenient for Michael to beg more time off school and arranged to do a little overtime. There were no other patients. Taylor stood waiting behind the automatic doors, now manually operated, and watched Michael approaching with his father. He unlocked the door and slid it aside.

            – Hello Michael. Mr Wilson, is it? Good to meet you. I have everything ready, so let’s get on with it. How’s school, Michael?

            – Great! I’m in a new class and they’re much better friends than where I was last year. And I’ve been asked if I would like to practise my swimming so I can take part in the Middlesex schools sports thingy.

            – That’s fantastic, well done. You enjoy swimming, do you?

            – Sure. It’s the only place where not having legs is a bonus.

            – Is that so? I’ve never thought about that. Right. I have a surprise for you. Sort of an early Christmas present. Sit on the lower couch and I’ll fetch your new pylons.

Mr Wilson sat down in an armchair facing into the room so he could watch what was going on. Mick pulled himself onto the couch and sat with his stubbies pointing in front of him, craning to see what Taylor was up to. He returned with two steel pylons, just as he had last time. He held them up in front of Mick.

            – See anything special? You were expecting twelve inch pylons, weren’t you? Well, I’ve been thinking that you adapt so quickly to the new lengths that I made these a bit longer. These are fifteen inches, Michael. Your legs will be around twenty inches long. But they come with a caveat. Your legs have been fairly short until now. You had a walking stick if I remember correctly. Have you used it?

            – I took it with me when I went outside for about three weeks and after that, I didn’t really need it.

            – That’s what I thought. This time, the pylons are so much longer than the old ones that I want you to have a pair of crutches, alright? These are going to be more difficult to balance on at first so I want you to have a bit of extra support. You can drop the crutches after a few weeks if you don’t need them, OK?

            – OK.

            – How would you like a new pair of feet? Those are beginning to get a bit worn, although they might last another you couple of months.

            – I think they’re OK for a while yet. They’re sort of worn with the way I walk, if you know what I mean.

            – I do and in future, we can make new feet which are shaped to suit your tread pattern so you don’t need to wear them in. But let’s get these pylons swapped around and you can try out the new ones.

Taylor unscrewed the rubber feet and released the pylons from Mick’s sockets. He screwed the fifteen inch long pylons into the sockets and reattached the feet. Mick looked at his new legs which seemed to go on for ever.

            – Right. Climb down and try them out. Hold onto the couch before you go anywhere, alright?

Mick slid off and was surprised at how soon his feet hit the floor. He looked down at his familiar feet seemingly so distant and grinned. He looked round at his father who gave him a thumbs-up. Taylor returned with a pair of short crutches.

            – Let’s get these adjusted properly and you can go for a walk. Put your hands down by your sides.

Taylor adjusted the crutches to suit Mick’s new height and arm length and handed them to him.

            – I want you to use the crutches as you walk. Left crutch, right leg. Right crutch, left leg. It’s not difficult. Let’s see you do it. Go on, give it a try.

Mick adjusted his stance and shrugged the crutches into an appropriate position. He stepped forward on the very long pylons and used the crutches to steady himself. Mr Wilson looked on with concern. Mick seemed to kick the steel pylons forward and lean onto them. It was not at all like the way Mick had rocked into the clinic half an hour earlier. The boy was clearly struggling. Mick rocked himself back and forth as he turned at the end of the room, slapping the crutches down into better positions. He thought his new legs were now more like peg legs than stubbies. True, they had rubber feet attached but he reconsidered and imagined two peg legs. He swung his stubby legs out to the side and continued across the room, finding his rhythm. He was wearing peg legs and it felt grand. Taylor watched him make four crossings and asked him to take a seat on the low couch.

            – You seemed to get the hang of it halfway through. Did you? What were you thinking of?

            – Well, it seemed like I wasn’t wearing little short stubbies any more. It was more like I had a pair of peg legs and I had to move them differently. And it seemed to work. I think these new legs will help me walk on artificial legs much better.

            – Yup. That’s the idea. The old ones were to teach you to balance. These new ones are to teach you to walk. Long stubbies are a transition between the two. The next pair you get will have knee joints. They will be your first artificial legs. We’ll fit them on the same principle as your stubbies. You’ll have a short pylon for your thigh, then a knee mechanism which we still have to talk about, another pylon for your lower leg and some kind of foot.

            – I want to have the same kind of foot as this, always. I want my feet to look artificial.

            – Really? Well, we can do that, no problem. So that’s what you have to look forward to. Next time, artificial legs with knees. And that’s why I want you to have crutches now so you can get used to them before you get your prostheses. Alright?

            – Yes, thanks. I get it.

Mr Wilson signed a form acknowledging acceptance of the new equipment and left the clinic with his somewhat taller son alternating his gait between crutch tip and rubber foot. Suddenly, Mick changed tack and started propelling himself forward with both rubber feet together and then both crutches.

            – Ha! This is the way it should be.

            – That looks more efficient for sure but aren’t you supposed to be practising walking?

            – Yeah. Don’t fret it, dad. Let’s just get to the car. This is a pretty good way to walk. You should try it sometime.

            – No thanks, mate. I’ll leave that to you.

They glanced at each other and grinned. His dad never said anything negative about his stumps or the attack. He was a cool guy.

 

Mick swung himself all the way to the car and then found the next problem. His new stubbies were too long to fit inside. His dad pulled the seat back as far as it would go and Mick managed to shove his pylons in. His crutches rested between them.

            – Home, James!

            – Ha! Where did you hear that?

            – I dunno, Some tv programme, I suppose.

            – Put your belt on. I don’t want you to get hurt.

            – Ha! Too late for that.

            – You can fucking well say that again.

His dad swore so rarely that it was genuinely funny. They laughed and his dad rapped Mick’s thighs.

– Let’s get out of here. Bloody place gives me the creeps. 

 

Mick’s new long legs fascinated his classmates. Never had anyone grown so much over a single weekend. Mick had his crutches with him but was already becoming used to taking short steps and finding his altered balance. He was now walking on something like two foot long stilts controlled by his short stumps. He leant on his crutches and dared anyone to call him a spaz. He crutched into the classroom when the bell went, not trying to walk, just swinging his steel legs along. He dropped his crutches and lowered himself onto his seat. The stubbies extended quite a way. He was seated when Miss Sanderson entered the room. It was customary for everyone to stand when a teacher entered but Mick had special dispensation to remain seated unless he was already on his feet.

 

At break time, Mick left his crutches behind and held onto the arm of his new best friend, Ali. Ali had undergone a growth spurt almost as impressive as Mick’s over the past year. And his moustache had started to become visible. Mick and Ali had a year’s difference between them but teased each other about their facial hair. Mick’s moustache was darkening and he might be able to have something to show if he stopped shaving it. He had no idea what his parents would say if a fifteen year old went to school with a moustache. Ali had no such problems. He was expected to be as hirsute as nature intended and shaved only his cheeks and neck. Ali was a good faithful friend and was always at Mick’s side, looking up to his big friend who had such painful disability. His own family had been through many mutilations and sufferings. It was in his nature to assist his good friend. Ali’s moustache grew thick and curled around his mouth. It was glossy and beautiful and Mick was jealous. His own mid-brown whiskers were straight and sparse. He swiped a hand over them to try to keep them in control. Strictly speaking, male students were not permitted to display facial hair but the headmaster was permissive and allowed any growth which looked promising and suited the young man’s face. He remembered his time in the navy when everyone let their beards grow. Some men understood they would not succeed, others had to be urged to shave and some sported magnificent bushes. He regretted having to shave his own horseshoe stache when he was promoted to headmaster from physics teacher. He heard through the grapevine about Ali’s and Michael’s mutual competition and let them get on with it.

 

Mick got into the habit of travelling to Hendon Swimming Baths every Saturday morning. The pool was usually almost empty before midday and he became friendly with one of the lifeguards who gave him some useful pointers about various strokes. Ali came with him a couple of times but did not swim. He had never learned and seemed to regard it as something extremely exotic. But he watched his friend with pleasure, happy to see such a terribly crippled man able to enjoy exercise for once. Mick spent about an hour in the pool until he began to feel fatigued. He hauled himself out, thanked his bodyguard friend who watched the double amputee youth walk on his backside back to the changing rooms. A few minutes later, the familiar short figure in hoodie and black shorts waved Goodbye and received a Thumbs up in return.   

 

– – – – – – – -

 

Easter approached. Michael had an appointment at Bayliss Prosthetics on Easter Saturday. Taylor asked him to bring along his eight inch pylons. His father drove him. Taylor welcomed them and indicated that they should first sit and discuss Mick’s progress and future aims. Taylor poured coffee and offered the ubiquitous Jaffa cakes.

            – How are things at school, Michael?

            – It’s alright. We’re getting to the stuff I missed out on last year so it’s all new to me. But some of it I already know anyway.

            – Mick spends a lot of time watching YouTube videos, you see. Quite often he asks questions about all manner of things which my generation never heard about in school. Geology and climatology and political history. That sort of thing.

            – I just come across interesting links when I’m searching for something else and end up watching them. And I hear about all sorts of stuff I never heard of before.

            – Yeah, I know. Same thing with me. I watch quite a few recordings of conferences from around the world and usually end up watching some patient who has returned to his former work on prosthetic legs or with a pair of hooks. And then that leads to something else and before you know it, it’s time for bed.

            – Ha! Yeah, that’s happens to me too.

            – But it’s good to know you’ve been getting on at school, Michael. Have you kept up with the swimming?

            – Every Saturday morning. One of the bodyguards coaches me.

            – That’s great! I think swimming is just about the best exercise you can get, not being able to go for a jog. Now, I want to talk to you about your next pair of legs. I already have something prepared – assuming you brought the eight inch pylons with you.

            – Yup. They’re in my bag.

            – Good show. I want to evaluate your gait before we make any more progress. Do you always use the crutches or is today a special occasion?

            – I usually don’t use them but I carry them with me to school. They don’t get in the way and they don’t weigh anything so I don’t mind having them.

            – Right. So most of the time, you walk on those legs without crutches.

            – Yeah, most of the time.

            – Good. Now, I think you might well be ready for your first pair of legs with knees. It’s quite a different way of walking compared with stubbies because there are two movements you have to control with your stumps instead of just one. You need to control the length of your stride like up till now and then you need to control the lower part of the legs, below the knee, to make sure it’s in the right position for you to put your weight on. Otherwise the knee will collapse and you’ll be on the ground. Do you think you’re ready for a knee?

Mick looked at Dr Taylor for a moment and saw that he was serious. He had learned to walk on the tall stubbies alone, at least most of the time. He used the crutches when there were steps or if the ground was uneven or if they were walking on grass.

            – I think so. I’m not sure. I still use my crutches if I’m afraid I might trip.

            – Good. That’s why you have them. So are you willing to give artificial legs a try? You’re not going to be much taller this time and you will have to learn a new way of getting around, alright? I’m going to give you a new pair of feet, too. Those are just about worn out, so it’s about time. Come over to the couch and we’ll get started. Bring the eight inch pylons, will you?

Mick eased himself out of his chair and glanced at his father, who winked at him. He strode across to the couch and pulled himself up to sit with almost the entirety of his stubbies extending over the edge. He pulled his shorts up to his crotch and looked at what Dr Taylor was up to.

            – Now, I’m going to put the fifteen inchers to one side and replace them with ten inchers, OK? Then comes the new knee joint which is almost three inches and then the eight inchers with the new feet at the end, making an extra eleven inches. More or less. I’m also going to put tungsten weights at your ankles to give a bit more heft so you have more control when you swing your legs. They screw on and you can take them off if you want so don’t worry about that. And the knees have a lock you can engage if you want them to remain rigid but don’t try using it unless you also have your crutches with you, do you understand? It’s important. We’re getting to the stage now where you’re tall enough that you can do yourself some damage if you topple over.

            – Yeah, I’ve learned that.

            – Have you fallen very often?

            – Only a couple of times when I was trying to run and tripped.

            – How often do you try to run?

            – Most days. I’m pretty good at it. Do you want to see?

            – No, I don’t. Have a care, Michael. We’re trying to get you walking first. The athletics can come later.

Mr Wilson was following their conversation and chuckled. His boy would be out playing football with his schoolmates if he had half a chance.

 

Taylor assembled Mick’s new legs. The sockets on his stumps could stay in place. He slotted the eight inch pylons into them and locked them with four screws. Next, he fitted a knee mechanism to which was already attached a ten inch pylon. He held up the new feet for Mick to inspect. They actually looked like boots. Maybe a little shorter. They were steel and had several perforations for lightness.

            – They look like the bonnet of a Volkswagen Beetle.

            – Yes, I suppose they do. I want you on feet with a larger area at first because they’ll help with balance. We can switch back to the square ones later, alright? I’ll put an order in for a new pair for you. These have seen better days.

He screwed the new feet into the end of the pylons and then attached two semi-cylindrical halves of a tungsten weight to each pylon just above the feet.

            – These weights should help you swing your feet forward a bit better but you can take them off if you don’t like them.

Mick looked at his new knees and the novel feet hanging below them.

            – OK, all set for a trial run. Hold onto the couch and get to your feet. Make sure your legs are straight before you put any weight on them or else they’ll buckle. Now I’m going to carry you across to the parallel bars, so hold on.

Taylor managed Michael’s much reduced weight despite his artificial leg and Mick stood at one end of the bars supporting himself with his hands. His new knees felt sturdy and he released his grip for a few seconds. He looked around and thought he might be an inch or two taller than before.

            – I want you to practise kicking your right foot forward. First you need to release the pressure on it, so lean to the left a little and try swinging the right leg. That’s it. I want you to try swinging the foot so it hits the ground on its heel, alright? That locks the knee so when you walk forward it won’t buckle. Give it a try. Don’t let go of the bars. Step forward. Great. Lean forwards over the right leg and do the same with the left. Bit of a kick, heel on the floor, good. Well, that’s all you need to do, Michael. It’s one thing to walk along the parallel bars and another to walk along the street. Do you promise to use your crutches again?

            – Yeah, I think I’ll have to.

            – Good show. They’ll need adjusting. Hang on for a minute.

He fetched Mick’s crutches from where they were leaning against the wall by Mr Wilson and told Mick to hold on to them. They were obviously too short. Mick’s new knees had increased his height by two inches. He adjusted them and held on to them.

            – I want you to kick your stumps forward so the heels hit the ground and then step forward over the heels. Can you imagine that in your mind?

            – Sure.

            – The only thing is that now you have a knee which will swing backwards and forwards if you don’t control it. So that’s the picture you always have to think of in your mind – kicking your stump so it swings the leg and the heel hits the ground. That’s all there is to it. Give it a try. Don’t let go of the bars.

Michael settled his weight on the artificial legs. He swung his right leg back and forth until he found the moment he could arrest the motion. He pulled himself forward over the right leg and kicked the left stump. The leg swung forward and the heel hit the ground. He glanced at Dr Taylor who nodded. Now the right stump. And the left stump. It was surprisingly awkward. Trying to get the lower leg to swing forward was really difficult.

            – It’s hard at first, Michael. Keep at it and you’ll find the rhythm. You’ve already got half of it right. Just keep at it.

Mick kept at it. Twenty minutes flew by as he concentrated on how the new feet moved, making sure the leg was straight before he put his weight on it. He moved back and forth along the parallel bars. Taylor occasionally made minuscule adjustments to a knee or ankle. Mick made five error-free circuits and Taylor stopped him.

            – You seem to be getting the idea. How do your stumps feel? Are they getting sore?

            – Not really but my glutes are.

            – OK. Do you think you could manage a couple of rounds with the crutches?

            – Sure.

Taylor handed them over. Mick settled his weight again and found a comfortable angle for the crutches. He set off across the lab concentrating mainly on his legs, occasionally lifting his head. He could sense that being more upright was a help. He reached the wall, made a seven-point turn and walked back.

            – You’re doing well, Michael. You have the movements correct. With a little more practice, you’ll be able to speed up a bit. Do you want to take a break? Come and sit down with your dad.

Mick crutched over to the circle of chairs and handed the crutches to his father. He put his hands behind him and fell backwards onto the chair. His feet flew up and then the knees bent, dropping the metal feet to the floor.

            – You could practise sitting down by disengaging one knee first and lowering yourself at an angle. So what do you think? Do you want your stubbies back?

            – No! I’m getting the hang of it. At least I think so.

            – Yes, I do too. I wanted to have a word with you about how we progress from here. I think we’ll give it six months before the next appointment and we’ll check your sockets at that time. Are they still a good fit?

            – Yeah. I only wear one stump sock and that’s enough.

            – Good. Let me know if you feel that you’re outgrowing the sockets. It wouldn’t take long to rustle up a new pair. Now, the legs you’re wearing are about as basic as they come but the knee joint is very sturdy and reliable and it won’t let you down if you position your feet correctly. But you’re going to take some tumbles, so it might be a good idea to wear gloves to protect your hands, OK? Your legs are about two thirds as long as your natural legs would be and I imagine that you’ll need two more stages of longer pylons before you’re ready for full-length legs. Have you seen any prostheses that you’d like to use in future?

            – Well, there are some cool designs but I haven’t thought about getting some because I was still on stubbies.

            – Yes, perfectly understandable. We have lots of time to start looking for alternatives, if you want them. Right. I want you to walk as much as you can over the next few weeks and always have your crutches with you, at home too. You can try mounting stairs – keep one leg rigid and pull yourself up with the handrail or with your crutches. And come down one step at a time. Put both feet together on each step before you go down to the next one. It’s slow but safer that way. Do you have a lot of stairs at school?

            – No, it’s all on one level.

            – That’s lucky. How do you feel about leaving with those legs? You have the four inch and the fifteen inch pylons still, don’t you? If you prefer to use them for a day or two for any reason, you know how to change them, don’t you? Just make sure they’re attached securely to the sockets. And don’t forget that you can also lock those knees if you want them to stay rigid. Well, that’s all for this time. Mr Wilson, will you sign the delivery papers? Good, thanks. Let’s go and enjoy the rest of the weekend.

Michael had seen the problems double amputees had rising from a chair and was prepared for a struggle. He straightened his right leg with his hands and pushed himself up. He fell back and tried again.

            – Try twisting around to face the chair on your way up, Michael.

Mick succeeded on the sixth attempt. His father handed him his crutches.

            – That needs a bit more practice, I think.

            – Keep at it, Michael. You’re already doing very well.

Taylor switched off the lights and locked the door. They left the building together. Taylor mounted his motorcycle and roared away from the clinic as Michael organised his prostheses to fit into the front passenger seat of his dad’s car.

            – You OK, Mick? That looked like hard work.

            – It was. I feel exhausted. And all the muscles around my bum are sore.

            – I dare say they are. You have to use the muscles you have to work the legs now which you didn’t have to do before. But you’ll soon get used to it and the muscles will tone up. Just like your arms have. Have you noticed your biceps lately? You’re getting an impressive pair of guns there, mate.

            – Win some, lose some.

            – Swings and roundabouts.

            – Fifty-fifty.

            – Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

They glanced at each other and burst into laughter.

 

Mick had another battle getting out of the car. He slid sideways and positioned his legs with his hands. He gripped the door frame, ducked his head and tried pushing himself erect. His dad handed him his crutches. He jerked his pelvis to make sure the knees were locked and flicked his right stump to move the leg. He leaned forward onto it and flicked his left stump. He walked carefully towards the entrance of the flats where his dad stood waiting, holding the door for him. His boy was still a little on the short side, he thought, but he looked a whole lot better these days on the longer legs. The crutches clacked past him and they went upstairs to their home. The first thing his dad did was find some black electrician’s tape to silence the crutches.

            – There’s something unpleasant about that sound. And now you can sneak around without making a noise instead of that clack-clack all the time.

            – Thanks, dad. It drives me nuts too.

            – Wait till your knees start squeaking.

Mick went into his room and turned his laptop on. He wanted to watch some YouTube videos of guys walking with the same kind of legs that he had. It was amazing how much extra information you could get from them when you knew exactly what you were looking for.

 

Mick practised walking with crutches most of Easter Sunday. He stayed near the flats so he could get home easily. He had the Allen key with him which was necessary to lock the knees. His new legs were only very slightly longer than the previous pair of long stubbies so he should be able to walk on them fine if the knees were rigid. He looked around for a place to sit while he locked his knees and spotted the kids’ rusting old climbing frame at the side of the building. He crutched over to it and sat on a steel bar. He made the adjustments to his knees and pulled himself to his feet. Both legs were now rigid. He rocked to the left and swung his right leg forward. And he was off. He had no need of the crutches. He walked stiff-legged around the small playground. It was much easier to walk like that than with the knees operational. It was a dilemma. The new knees were very tiring to walk on but he had decided that he wanted to be walking on artificial legs as soon as possible. Taylor had said the aim was to succeed by the time he was twenty. He was coming up to sixteen and was almost there already. He lurched back to the frame and released the knee locks. He pulled himself up again and looked at his crutches. Maybe he could walk a bit without them. He took a step forward and another. So far so good. He could do it if he made sure the leg was straight before he leaned onto it. After about five yards he stopped and decided not to push his luck. He stood upright in order to turn his legs to face in the opposite direction and walked carefully back to the jungle jim. It was not far but he had proven that it could be done. He felt a lot more confident. He went back inside and removed the thigh pylons from his sockets and replaced them with the fifteen inch pylons. Then he transferred the new feet and spent the rest of the day on long stubbies. He would practise on the legs again the next day, a Bank Holiday. Enough was enough.

 

Next morning after breakfast, his dad asked him if he would like to come with him to Brent shopping mall. Mick said he would and his father said that the offer was conditional. He would have to wear his new legs with crutches rather than the stubbies he was currently wearing. Mick stumped to his bedroom to change the legs and feet again. His dad came in to watch the process and had a close look at the knee mechanism and the steel foot shell.

            – Are you going to be alright walking around the mall? I don’t want you to make yourself sore.

            – I think it’ll be OK. My stumps are fine. I’m just using muscles again for the first time in a while and that’s why they feel a bit sore.

            – OK, well if you have the Allen key with you, you can set the knees to be stiff and crutch along like that.

            – I put the Allen key thing on my keychain so I always have it.

            – Good idea. Are you going to wear your black shorts?

            – Yeah. Why?

            – I just wondered. You don’t mind showing off your legs, do you?

            – Not any more. I used to be a bit shy about people staring at my stubbies but I got used to that. They still stare, some of them, but I don’t care any more.

            – People will always be curious about you, Mick. The best way to deal with it is either by explaining your artificial legs to them or saying that you’d rather not talk about such a painful experience. That should shut most people up.

            – I know. I don’t mind explaining. My whole class has seen me and my stumps when we go swimming and they don’t seem to be bothered now one way or the other.    

            – Good. Right, if you’re ready, we can make tracks. Sandra! We’re off. We’ll eat out, so don’t make lunch for us.

            – Alright! See you.

            – Come on then. I’ll lift you up this one time.

He pulled his son to his artificial feet and handed him his crutches. He looked at the boy, leaning on elbow crutches with two narrow steel pylons terminating in black steel feet and felt great pride. They made their way downstairs and drove to Brent.

 

Mick had the same trouble getting out the car as before. Car seats were not designed for double leg amputees and neither were the doors. His dad stood by as Mick pulled and pushed his body and pylons and struggled to position the crutches so they would perform a useful function. Eventually, Mick pushed himself up on a rigid leg and splayed his legs for balance as he settled his forearms into the crutches. He nudged the car door shut and the pair set off toward the shopping centre. Mick had been using his long pylons since yesterday and was still used to the movement he used to walk on them. He unconsciously tried the same method with his artificial legs and suddenly realised that he had found the way to do it. Kick the stump and the leg flew forward and the knee locked just as the foot hit the floor. Kick, ker-chunk! Kick, ker-chunk. Kick, ker-chunk. He lifted the crutches off the ground and used them to balance with. Kick, ker-chunk. Ha! He had it off pat and realised why the stubbies were such a useful precursor to full-length legs. His father noticed a difference in the rhythm of Mick’s steps and looked down at his legs. The few inches of pylon with the feet which he could see were marching along regularly.

            – You’re walking, Mick! You’ve done it, mate!

            – Yeah! It just sort of happened. I wasn’t paying attention to it and it just sort of fell into place.

            – Great! I knew you could do it. Do you want me to carry the crutches?

            – Er, OK, you can take them. Or shall we put them back in the car?

            – No, better not. You never know.

The floor inside the mall was even smoother and easier to walk on that the asphalt outside. Mick looked around at the attractive shops and boutiques. His dad indicated a trendy clothes store.

            – Do you want a decent pair of jeans, Mike? Your mum can take the hems up a bit. You’d look snazzy in a pair of black jeans. Shall we go and try some on?

            – Cool! Yeah, that would be good.

            – Let’s see if they’ve got anything over there.

They walked into a Jack and Jones and an assistant was immediately on their case.

            – Pair of black jeans, skinny legs, waist thirty, legs twenty inches.

The assistant looked confused for a moment.

            – I’m sorry but we don’t carry sizes like that but the jeans can be altered. We have a free customisation service but it takes a week.

            – It’s alright, son. My wife can do it. Can you fetch us a couple of pairs and my boy can try them on.

            – Yup. If you go over to the changing cabins, I’ll bring them over there.

They went and found an empty booth. Mick slid down onto the low bench and removed his shorts. The assistant returned with two pairs of black jeans of different brands and told them to call him if they needed any help.

            – You don’t mind wearing skinny jeans, do you? I know they’re not your style but I thought that they might be easier to wear with your legs. You know, you have a lot of room in those shorts because they have normal legs.

            – Yeah, I see your point. Can you shove them up my legs, dad? I can probably pull them on myself.

One of the skinny pairs was less elastic than the other and Mick chose that.

            – Mum will shorten the legs this evening if I can persuade her and you’ll be able to wear them to school if you want.

            – Great!  Thanks, dad.

            – Well, I thought if you’re walking on legs again, you might as well have trousers to match. There’s no need to display your prostheses to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Unless you want to. It’s up to you. But at least you have the choice.

            – Yeah. These can be my school trousers.

They paid and went upstairs to browse through a DIY shop. His dad wanted some drills and found them easily enough.

            – Have a look at the bits and pieces and tell me if there’s anything which might make your life a bit easier.

            – I can tell you now that I’d like some hooks on my bedroom wall to hang my crutches on so they’re not on the floor all the time.

            – OK, see if you can find a pair. Here, you’d better take your crutches.

            – Yeah, good idea. I’m not very good at shuffling yet.

            – Ha! That’s what I thought. See you in a bit. Wait by the cash desk if you can’t find me.

 

Mick found some long straight hooks which he could put his crutches on last thing at night. He picked up four and went to the front of the store. He could see his father looking at power drills. He had recently heard the old cliché that men drooled over DIY stuff like women did over clothes but it seemed to be true. It was a lot more fun looking at tools and all the other equipment. His father saw him and came over.

            – Did you find anything?

            – I could hang my crutches on these instead of leaving them on the floor.

            – True. Give them here and I’ll pay for them. What’s next? Shall we have a coffee somewhere and plan what to do next? It’s only eleven, too early for lunch.

They found an Italian-style bistro and Mick sat down in the quasi-terrace outside. His dad brought him a tall glass of frothy coffee and a portion of vanilla ice cream. They sat watching the other shoppers for a moment.

            – How are your stumps holding out?

            – They’re OK. My bum doesn’t ache as much as yesterday.

            – No, well, we haven’t walked as far as yesterday yet. You don’t mind me asking, do you?

            – Of course not. Mum never asks anything. I’m glad you do.

            – Your mum was very ill last year, Mick. Mentally, I mean. She was in a bad place. She was able to keep functioning somehow because she took tranks but the thing that helped most was seeing you make such a good recovery. Once she got her hope back, she slowly made a recovery.

            – I didn’t know she was so ill.

            – No. It’s not the sort of thing you ought need to worry about. You had your own problems, as I recall. But the shock of what happened is the main reason that your mum doesn’t like to talk about your stumps or your new legs. You shouldn’t think she doesn’t care. She cares too much. She loves you very much.

            – I see. Yes, I understand.

            – How do you like this coffee? Shall we have another one?

            – Alright.

His dad caught the eye of the barista, lifted his glass and gestured ‘two’. The young man nodded and shortly brought them two fresh coffees. He removed the dirty glassware.

            – The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is your wheelchair. You haven’t used it for a while, have you? Not that I’ve seen, anyway.

            – No. Is it in the way?

            – Not so much in the way, but your mum and I were thinking that we could put it into storage. I’d like to know your opinion first, though.

            – Hmm, well, it might be useful if my stumps get sore for some reason.

            – Yeah, obviously you’d use it then. But do you think that you’ll be using it even occasionally in the near future? You’ve made the transition to stubbies and now artificial legs, it seems to me.

            – I’d rather be on legs than in the chair. I mean my stubbies too.

            – Sure. Shall I put the wheelchair away, then? I mean, if you wanted it, I’d collect it straight away so don’t worry about that.

            – Alright. You can put it into storage.

            – Good show. Now, what shall we have for lunch? Hamburgers or steaks? Chinese or kebabs?

            – Oh, Chinese would be great!

            – Chinese it is. Are you hungry now or shall we wander round a bit more first?

            – Don’t you mind walking with me? I don’t go very fast.

            – Michael, I will always be proud to walk with you. Regardless of speed. Shall we go upstairs one floor and look around up there? I’ve never been up there.

            – OK. Let’s go and see what they have.

Mick used the back of the chair to get himself to his feet. His dad carried his crutches in one hand and they strode along to the lift. The shops on the second floor were less fashionable and more specialised. There was a toy shop, a cobbler, a gift shop.

            – That reminds me. You still have lots of shoes, don’t you? Are you going to want them or shall we throw them out? I mean, you’ll need some artificial feet before you can wear shoes again.

            – Well, let me keep my tennis shoes because they’re nearly brand new and they don’t really go out of style. But the others, they can go. I can’t imagine wearing flip-flops again.

            – OK, we can recycle the good ones. Right, have we seen everything? Let’s go and get some lunch.

They found a special Sunday lunch offer and ate their fill of the most popular Szechuan cuisine. It was a challenge trying to eat with chopsticks.

            – This has been fun. We’ll have to do this again.

            – Thanks, dad. I’ve enjoyed myself.

            – Shall we go and see what your mum’s been up to? Come on, let’s go.

 

The school half term holiday coincided with Easter so there was no rush the next morning to get up and ready. Mick felt too lazy to change his long legs for stubbies and turned up for breakfast in his pants and T-shirt. His full set of prosthetics was on full view. His mother kissed him and stood back to look at her bleary-eyed son. A nice face with its furry upper lip, handsome arms and trim figure and then the shocking, dreadful steel poles and the grotesque steel feet extending from the short black sockets hiding what remained of Mick’s legs. The T-shirt hid the elastic belts holding the artificial legs to her son’s body. It was too pitiful. She wondered if she would ever accept her boy’s maimed body. Mick noticed her studying him.

            – What are you looking at? What’s up?

            – Nothing. I was just thinking. Sit down, Mick, and I’ll get your breakfast.

 

Mick continued to practise walking on his new legs. Tuesday was the last day he took crutches with him. He walked around the block, almost half a mile, and gradually became more confident on his legs. He would be able to go back to school the following week wearing them. His mum had altered the skinny jeans so they had a small turn-up at the hem and his steel feet poked out a few inches. His pylons were hidden. Mick was still a little short for his age but might well be a few inches taller by his sixteenth birthday in August.

 

His schoolmates were surprised to see him turn up wearing long trousers and walking just like a normal person. It was true that he looked a bit robotic, a bit mechanical, but everyone wanted to see his new legs and he repeatedly pulled up a jeans leg as far as it would go to show them a knee joint.

 

The PE teacher Biddle asked him if he would be prepared to represent the school in the Middlesex colleges’ swimming gala in November. He could be entered in the freestyle race if he wished. It seemed the most appropriate class for a legless competitor. Biddle warned him that he would have to put in some more practice and training. Mick asked if he could think about it and discuss it with his parents. Biddle agreed.

 

Mick’s gait improved during the term but he still found it difficult to get up from a seated position. The knees needed to be in a certain position to support his weight. If the chair had a high back, he could hold on to it to push himself up but stools and low armchairs always presented a problem. Mick began to suspect that the problem lay not in his lack of experience with the legs but in their mechanical characteristics and that getting up would always be awkward. He inured himself to the fact and stopped blaming himself for having difficulties. He had seen videos of guys getting up more easily but they had expensive microchipped knees. Getting up from the floor was also an awkward business. It was easiest if he had something to grab on to in order to pull himself erect. He had fallen several times at school but he always had his friends around to help him back to his feet.

 

The long summer holiday approached once more. Mick received a message from Bayliss inviting him to come for an appraisal and possible update to his legs. Taylor had already manufactured new lower pylons which needed simply to be exchanged with the ones Mick was currently using. Mick noticed the date of his appointment, August the first. It was his sixteenth birthday.

 

Mick asked his parents if he could buy an electric scooter. Students were forbidden from bringing them to school, mainly for reasons relating to accident insurance and liability, but with the holidays coming, it would be fun to be able to cruise around. He had tried out his friend’s scooter and found it easy enough to use with rigid legs. He could control it by leaning his torso from side to side. His parents were a little wary but trusted in his judgment and his father withdrew three hundred pounds from the compensation account, a sufficient amount to purchase a decent model. Mick would have personal access to the account when he reached legal adulthood at eighteen. It already held a respectable amount and might suffice as a down-payment on an adapted apartment when Mick wanted to move out and become independent.

 

Mick went with his father to a showroom in Cricklewood to choose a scooter. The one he had his eye on had broad fat tyres which were good for stability, a seat and a new solid state battery, lighter and more energy dense than the usual lithium batteries. It had a range of nearly three hundred miles per charge. Mick picked a black and chrome version and a salesman handed over a large cardboard box to his father. Mick paid with cash and they left. The box just about fit into the car’s boot.

 

Two hours later, the scooter was assembled and charging in their hallway. It would take up slightly less room than the wheelchair in Mick’s room and serve much the same purpose, although it had the potential to be much more fun. Mick thought about riding it wearing his fifteen inch stubbies. He could try both kinds of legs to see which were more suited to it. But today, he would test his tall legs. He was impatient for the battery to charge but would have to wait until after lunch for a ride.

 

It was great fun. He had to be careful when mounting the scooter. He put his rigid right leg onto the footplate and stepped forward while accelerating. The footplate was wide enough for both steel feet and he found that having one foot behind the other was the most suitable stance. The fat tyres smoothed out bumps from cracks and debris. Mick was careful not to go too fast while he was still learning how the scooter behaved. He tried sitting on the small seat but preferred to stand. It felt safer somehow. All in all, he was very pleased with his purchase. It would improve his mobility, looked cool and let him travel independently further than in his wheelchair.

 

Mick used the bus for his trips to the swimming pool. He went on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for a couple of hours. The bodyguard he had befriended was usually there, keeping an eye on his progress and often asking other swimmers to keep to the other side of the pool. Mick found the breaststroke to be his most effective style and concentrated on that, remembering that he might be representing his school later in the year. He was not so loyal to his school that he wanted to succeed but because he would love to beat the others in the freestyle, a legless cripple besting everyone else with their legs and feet.

 

It was his birthday. August the first and he was sixteen. He could buy alcoholic drinks and tobacco products and if he moved to Scotland he could vote. He had been buying alcoholic drinks since he was fourteen and was not impressed with smoking so those aspects of his approaching coming of age were not significant. In spite of that, his dad asked if he wanted to invite some of his schoolmates round for a bit of a party over the weekend. They would still be at home but promised to keep out of the way. They could stream their music and play it as loud as the neighbours could stand and they could have cider and lager to drink but no marijuana or strong liquor. Mick went round to his friend’s homes on his scooter inviting them over, explaining to their parents, promising them that his own parents would be keeping an eye out so things would not get out of control. In the end he had affirmatives from six boys and four girls, including two who fancied him because of his lovely eyes and mouth.

 

His dad bought a stash of weak lager and cider, plus a few fruity cocktail drinks, four percent proof. It was all in the back of the car and they continued to Bayliss Prosthetics. Taylor would be free in twenty minutes so they sat down to wait with another young man about his own age and his father. The young man was wearing a heavy metal T-shirt and tried to keep his arms out of sight. It was obvious that both his hands had been amputated. Mick felt sorry for him and made a display of putting both feet alternately on the edge of the table, pulling up his trouser leg and making a completely unnecessary adjustment to his knee joints. The pair sitting opposite watched while pretending not to look. It was unusual to meet another amputee. Mick had not yet met enough to be comfortable discussing their situations. He was trying to communicate to the handless guy that he was not alone in his loss. He was relieved that he had lost his legs and not his hands. The handless boy was glad to be able to get around and do most things with the hooks he was shortly going to collect. The fathers exchanged indecipherable looks of resignation and wished they were somewhere else, a thousand miles away.

 

Dr Taylor stuck his head around the door and invited Mick and his father along to the lab.

            – How are you? Congratulations on your birthday, Michael. Many happy returns. I thought perhaps you might enjoy a surprise present so I scheduled this appointment for today. I hope I’m not messing with any other plans you might have.

            – No, I wasn’t doing anything special.

            – Good. Well, I can see you’ve mastered your legs. Have you had any serious problems with them?

            – No, it took a few weeks to get used to them and I used the crutches a lot but things seemed to get easier after that and I haven’t used the crutches for a couple of weeks. The only thing I have trouble with is getting up from a chair.

            – Yes, I dare say. Unfortunately, it’s one of those things that all double leg amputees struggle with to some degree. You will find your own preferred method eventually but it’s simply something everyone has to battle through. Sit down on the taller couch please, Michael. I have a new pair of pylons for your lower legs so I need to remove the old ones and swap the feet over.

            – Did you order another pair of the rubber feet?

            – Oh, thanks for reminding me. Yes, I did. You can have them right now.

            – Could you put them onto the new pylons instead of the steel feet?

            – I could, I suppose. Are you going to walk on such small feet?

            – We’ll see, won’t we?

            – Ha! Alright. We can try them. You’re going to be another three inches taller. How do you like that?

            – Great! I’m practically as tall now as I would have been otherwise.

            – Yes, you’re getting there. You’re about two years ahead of where I thought we’d be. If you weren’t such an expert on your legs, you might have had these new pylons for your eighteenth. I remember you saying you wanted to be six foot by your twentieth.

            – Six foot two.

            – You can be seven foot if you can handle it.

            – OK. Maybe I’ll try it later on.

            – I think you could easily manage six three. You’d cut quite a figure on two very long prostheses. Right. Hold your trousers up and I’ll attach your new shins.

            – While I’m here, is there any chance of getting a new walking stick? The other ones are a bit short.

            – Sure. I’ll give you one. Your crutches can be adjusted easily enough for these new legs. You know how to do it yourself, don’t you?

            – Yup.

            – There you are. Try those for size. Remember the feet are smaller.

            – I will.

Mick stood up and found his balance on eight square inches. He stepped out and crossed to the parallel bars. Taylor went to the other end and crouched.

            – Come on, Michael. Let’s see what you can do.

Mick strode forward with even steps. The rubber feet cleared the floor with each step. The knee mechanism engaged reliably and Mick swung himself around on his arms in front of Taylor. He walked back along the bar and continued as far as the opposite wall and rocked himself around to face back into the room. He made a wide circular trek and stopped near Taylor, who was standing again.

            – Howzat?

            – Brilliant. You can have those as soon as I get a signature. Mr Wilson, would you sign these delivery papers, please? Next time, Michael, we’ll give you an extra three inches to the thigh and you’ll be as tall as any other average guy your age.

            – When will that be?

            – What do you reckon? How soon can you master that new leg length? Shall we say four months? Come and show me what you can do in the New Year, alright? Do you ever use your stubbies, by the way?

            – Yeah but not very often. I have a scooter, you know, an electric one, and I sometimes wear the eight inchers with it. It makes it more stable.

            – Yes, a lower centre of balance will do that. They’re good fun, aren’t they? I had a ride on one a couple of weeks ago but I’m not going to trade in my Harley for one.

            – That’s what I want when I’m older. A Harley.

His father pricked up his ears. He had not heard Michael talking about getting a motorcycle before.

            – Harleys are very heavy and very expensive for a young man. Why don’t you start off with a two-fifty first?

            – So you think I’ll be able to ride a motorcycle?

            – Why wouldn’t you? It’ll need conversion to hand operation but that’s easy enough. Stick to the scooter for now, Mick. There’s a time for everything.

            – Gotcha. Thanks, Dr Taylor.

            – You’re welcome. That’s all I have for you today. I hope you enjoy the extra inches, Michael. Get in touch if there’s anything I can help you with. See you next year. And happy birthday!

            – Thanks very much. Can you take these bits, dad?

            – I’ve got them. Thanks very much, Dr Taylor.

Mick took his new walking stick and they strode out. The boy was missing from the waiting room but the father sat morosely reading a tattered magazine. He looked at the Wilsons and nodded a wordless farewell. A teenager with a walking stick! He had never seen anything more pitiful in his life.

 

Mick pushed his way back to his dad’s car balancing carefully on the tiny rubber feet now poking out an extra three inches below the cuffs of his jeans. The stick was handy. He quite liked using one. When he had his final legs, he intended getting a really handsome stick from somewhere and carrying it everywhere. He might be a young man but there was no shame in carrying a stylish walking stick and anyone who noticed his little square feet would understand why.

 

Back at home, Mrs Wilson had been busy making preparations for Mick’s birthday celebrations. She glanced up from icing a sponge cake she had made as Mick strode in.

            – Look at you, taller again! Don’t come in here. It’s messy and I don’t want you in the way. Oh Jack, did you have to get so much drink? They’re only kids! They’re not allowed to drink, most of them.

            – No, they aren’t. But I am. I’ll let you have one as well, if you like.

            – Haven’t got time. Go in the lounge and sit down. Just keep out of the kitchen for half an hour.

            – Alright. We’re not allowed to make a cuppa, Mick. We’ll have to have a beer instead. Come on, sit down and we’ll test some of these.

He opened two of the light lagers and handed one to Mick.

            – Happy birthday, son. May all your wishes come true.

            – Thanks, dad. Cheers.

 

Mrs Wilson added the finished touch by scattering cocoa powder through a paper stencil onto the top of the cake. It read simply sixteen in numerals but it added a kind of professional touch, she thought. She put the cake in the fridge next to a pile of sandwiches and starting clearing away the debris. Her men would not be wanting coffee now they had beer so she made a cup of instant and sat down for five minutes before she started making a lasagne for lunch.

 

            – How do your legs feel, Mick? Can you sense the difference in height in your stumps? Or does it sort of feel the same?

            – Well, it’s feels pretty much the same now as when we went out this morning but I have to sort of remember that the lower legs are longer, so they move slightly differently. I’ve noticed though that the longer my legs get, the easier it is to get used to the new ones. I’m glad I’ve got these. I’m gonna be as tall as a lot of my classmates now and next time I get new legs, I’ll probably be taller.

            – Were you serious about wanting to be seven foot tall?

            – Ha! Not so I’d walk about like that in public but I don’t see why I couldn’t try them out. You can’t believe how difficult it would be to balance on such long legs but just imagine if I could – it would be fantastic.   

            – It would look amazing, especially if you were just wearing shorts and people could see your pylons. I reckon it might be possible to design a sort of converter you could put in between the knee and the pylons with the same connectors, and the connector bit might be, say, four inches long. If your final legs make you six foot tall, one converter would make you six four and having them both you’d be six eight. That should be tall enough for anyone. Do you think you could manage that?

            – I don’t see why not. It just needs a bit of practice.

            – Why don’t you talk to Dr Taylor about making them? I don’t suppose they’d be difficult or expensive to make.

Mick leant back and sipped from his can of beer. He imagined himself six foot four, dressed in a smart outfit with only stubby feet hinting at the fact that the man was legless. Walking around a city centre with a friend or two, working his long prosthetic legs as if they were natural and feeling more and more determined to make the vision into reality.

 

Mrs Wilson’s lasagne was very tasty. Mick went into his room after lunch and watched a few YouTube videos. His father snoozed on the sofa. Mrs Wilson sat down for a couple of hours’ respite before Mick’s friends began to arrive. She had planned that they could have the lounge to themselves and intended moving the furniture back against the walls as far as possible to let them have room for dancing or whatever. She had bought a three litre box of Chilean red wine for herself and her husband who had promised to stay out of the way of the kids as they moved between the lounge and Mick’s room.

 

Mick finished his beer and went to change his legs. He had the old steel feet on his eight inch pylons and swapped them out for the new two inch square feet. He screwed the short pylons into his sockets and put on his black shorts. He did not intend to drink so much that he could not walk but it might be better to feel safe on the stubbies. The footless new legs with a knee joint halfway along their length leaned against the wall, resting against his crutches.

 

Guests had been invited to arrive at about six o’clock. One or two, who needed to travel on public transport, arrived a few minutes early and were embarrassed to be the first. They handed over birthday gifts, the best they could think of for a legless boy. Julie gave him a pair of thick woollen mittens which she had knitted herself and then embroidered an M onto each. Peter gave him a beanie, similarly with an M on the front. Mick had not really expected to get gifts from his friends and classmates. I was enough that they liked him and wanted to celebrate his birthday with him, especially as he was the oldest in the class and the others had only just turned fifteen.

 

Mick had told his parents that he would answer the door. His mother counted how many people arrived, anxious in case the youngsters needed more food. She would take a trayful of sandwiches out when everyone had arrived and make a quick judgment on the situation. She trusted Mick to let them know if things were getting out of hand or if someone seemed to be the worse for drink.

 

Some of the boys wanted to see Mick’s prosthetics. How did he get dressed in the morning? What was it like to have little stumps? Did he still have his bollocks? Could they look at his stumps close up? Did it still feel like he had his whole legs? The more alcohol consumed, the more brazen the comments and questions. Alcohol went quickly to the heads of fifteen year olds, and the noise level grew steadily. Mick had taken his stubbies off altogether and was hand walking on his arse in his boxers. Until Julie said she wanted to dance with him. He took her to his bedroom where she sat on the edge of his bed and watched him attach the steel feet to his latest, longest prosthetic legs and then the legs to his sockets. She helped pull him up and was surprised that he was taller than she was. They walked back into the lounge hand in hand and picked out a dance tune from the list streaming from the tv. Julie held on to Mick and they rocked back and forth holding on to each other. Mick had always liked Julie. She was pretty and this evening she smelt nice. She had borrowed a dab of her mum’s Chanel Number Five. Julie wanted Mick for herself. He had lovely eyes and she liked his sparse moustache and his lovely smile and nice teeth. She did not care that he was legless. It was an interesting characteristic of the man she wanted to marry and she was determined that nothing would get in her way, not other girls, not artificial legs, nothing. Mick held her carefully, conscious of her budding breasts and that gentlemen needed to control their hands. The song finished and Mick collapsed back onto the sofa. Julie thanked him for the dance and went to sit with the girls again.

 

Mrs Wilson made an appearance about once an hour to clear away empty cans and check that everyone was still awake and breathing. She was feeling merry herself. It was the first time in years that she had been alone in the same room for so long with her husband and was rediscovering what a sexy man he was. They had a pleasant evening relaxing in the kitchen, drinking a drop too much wine, joking and giggling like the teenagers.

 

By eleven, most of the guests had left. The girls went home first, in small groups. Julie stayed until last. She lived two streets away and could easily get home. The boys soon realised that it was pointless staying when they had no audience and left singly or in pairs. Some called out their thanks to the Wilsons in the kitchen. Julie approached Mick, still on the sofa, and said she ought to get home. Mick tried pushing himself to his feet twice but gave up.

            – Can you help me please, Julie?

He held out his arms and Julie leant back. Mick managed to lock one of his knees and rose to his full height, five foot eight.

            – Thanks. Would you like me to see you home?

            – Yes please. It’s dark and cold. It would be nicer if you’re with me.

            – OK. I’ll just tell my mum that I’m going out. Hang on a minute.

 

His parents were enjoying a mug of something and some left-over sandwiches.

            – I’m going to take Julie home. She only lives on Thomson Avenue so I won’t be long.

            – Are you going out like that in shorts, Mick?

            – Well, I can’t be bothered to change and no-one will see me at this time of night.

            – Alright. Don’t hang about too long.

Mick took his new long walking stick and opened the door for Julie. They went downstairs in the lift and out to the street where they were the only people in sight. Julie put her arm into Mick’s and they walked slowly back to her home, Mick mostly silent, Julie telling him the most interesting gossip she had heard from the other girls. She had a lovely voice and a nice laugh. Mick was happy to know someone like her. She never mentioned his legs and only looked him in the eyes instead of staring at his legs. They reached her home and she rang the doorbell.

            – I forgot my key.

It was not true but she could see light through the living room curtains and knew her parents would still be awake. He father opened the door.

            – Sorry, daddy. I forgot my key. Michael brought me home. It’s his birthday.

            – Oh, so you’re the young man. Well, thank you for escorting Julie back. That was kind of you. Would you like to come inside for a moment? We are just about to have some cocoa.

            – Well, yes, thank you. That would be nice.

Mick gripped the door frame and pushed himself up with the walking stick. Julie’s father stood back and noticed that not only was the young man carrying a cane, he also had inch thick metal legs extending from a pair of shorts. Mick stepped into the hall so the front door could be closed and waited to be invited further.

            – Your mum is in the lounge. We were just about ready for a nightcap. Would you like some cocoa, Michael?

            – Yes please. That would be nice.

            – Come and meet my wife. Janet, this is Michael who had the birthday today. He brought Julie home.

            – That was good of y… Oh god! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting… Sit down, please. Julie dear, did you have a good time?

Mick sat on a dining chair from which he would more easily regain his feet. Julie came and stood beside him.

            – This is Michael and he’s my best friend from school. He doesn’t have legs but he’s the best swimmer. Aren’t you, Michael? And he’s sixteen today.

Mrs Penn looked at Michael and saw a slightly anxious face with lovely brown eyes and long eyelashes. She smiled at him and he forced himself to smile back. He could see where Julie got her pretty features from.

            – Happy birthday, Michael. Have you had a good day?

            – Yes, thank you. The best present was these new legs. I’m three inches taller today than I was yesterday.

            – Really? That’s extraordinary. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you lose your legs?

            – I lost them in a fire two years ago. And ever since then I’ve been learning to walk on taller and taller artificial legs. I’m sorry you have to see them like this. I should have put some long trousers on but I didn’t expect to be coming inside.

            – Don’t worry about that, Michael. You are a very impressive young man.

Michael was a little embarrassed by Mrs Penn’s obvious flirting. She always seemed to be looking right into his eyes.

            – I’ll get that cocoa, shall I? Do you want some, Julie?

            – Yes please.

She pulled another dining chair next to Mick and sat beside him.

            – We had such a nice time tonight. There was tons of sandwiches which Mrs Wilson had made and a lovely cake. And we danced, didn’t we? It was a really lovely evening, Michael. Thank you for inviting me. I had a wonderful time.

Mick smiled at her and bowed his head. He had no idea how to respond to such copious praise.

            – I’m glad you liked it. I’m glad you could come too. We’ll have to do it again next year.

Mrs Penn laughed.

            – Julie has a birthday coming up in October. Her sixteenth. I can hardly believe it. But shall we start making plans, Julie love? We could have a party here.

            – I don’t know yet, mum. We could go out somewhere, to a hotel or something.

            – We could indeed. I hope you have some money in your piggy bank.

            – Oh, mum!

            – We’ll have to see. Will Michael be joining us?

            – If Michael’s not coming, I won’t go either.

            – Oh, Michael. You seem to have made quite an impression. But that’s lovely.

 

They drank their cocoa and Mick said he should be getting back home. Mr Penn offered to drive him.

            – No thanks. I’ll be alright. It’s not very far.

            – Well, if you’re sure. Good night, Michael. It was good to meet you. See you again.

Mick wished everyone good night and rocked his way home, twirling his walking stick. He was in a very good mood. Quite unexpectedly, he seemed to have a new girlfriend, the prettiest girl in the class.

 

The summer was hot and dry. Mick and Julie spent a lot of time together. Both were welcome guests in the other’s home. Julie became quite used to the procedures Mick had to endure in order to walk and understood how his prosthetics functioned. She was not at all squeamish about seeing his stumps, nor was she reluctant to be with Mick when he was wearing a pair of shorts, exposing the full length of his tubular legs with the tiny square rubber feet. They visited Brent mall, window shopping and eating a pizza or hamburgers for lunch. Julie accompanied him when Mick went swimming. She loved it when they walked arm in arm, not only because it was romantic but because her support gave Mick more confidence on his legs. She loved the mechanical sounds his legs made. They were uniquely a part of Mick and she loved all of him. Both their fathers had given them a stern but friendly talk about the risks involved in playing around. Mick said he knew all about that and would not think about things like that until they were older. Julie was more nonchalant.

            – Do you think I don’t know that? And if Mick were ever to try anything, I can put a stop to it immediately. He has no legs! He can hardly chase after me, can he? Stop worrying.

They were both aware of the rising passion between them, accompanied by the silent screams of frustration at being so young, too young, so much in love.

 

The new term started. Mick’s mother had shortened a smart pair of long dark grey trousers for Mick’s return to school. He insisted on using the small rubber feet with his long prostheses. On the first morning, their teacher quietened the class and explained that from now on, students should think about specialising in the subjects which interested them with a view to further study later at university or a vocational college. Mick chose maths and science. Not because it was necessarily easy, but because it was interesting and he understood it. Julie wanted to concentrate on English literature and history. They were together far less during school hours as a result which made the weekends more of a pleasure.

 

Mick’s PE teacher, Biddle, asked Mick if he was prepared to represent the school in the November inter-school swimming gala. He said he would be pleased to take part in the freestyle race. Biddle was delighted. The legless cripple he had initially dismissed already had a reputation for being a fast swimmer. With two strong swimmers taking part, the school might do well this year.

 

Julie’s father had a chat with Mick about his studies. They had just enjoyed a Sunday roast together. Julie was helping her mother wash the dishes. He was impressed that Mick enjoyed maths. He was an accountant for a building society and wondered if Mick would be interested in following a similar path. Mick had been recommended accountancy before. It was a regular job at any large company following a couple of year’s study. If he was interested when he left school, Mr Penn could put in a good word or two on his behalf and perhaps Mick would be able to split his time between study and work until he was taken on as a permanent member of staff. Mick promised to think about it and thanked Mr Penn for the opportunity. Penn was naturally keen to see that the severely handicapped young man who was wooing his daughter had a reliable and regular income. If the couple ended up together, it would be for the best. The women finished their chores in the kitchen and rejoined the menfolk. Career talk ended.

 

The swimming gala in Stratford rolled around and the freestyle race promised to be the crowning glory of the whole competition. The current tally was such that Mick’s school needed at least silver and bronze positions in this last race to win overall. After the penultimate race had finished, the adjudicators waited for a couple of minutes to allow the turbulence to settle and then announced the participants in the final freestyle competition. Michael Wilson would swim in lane four. Seven competitors marched out to take their places, the eighth hand walked on his backside, propelling his stumps forward and generating a huge cheer from everyone present. Mick’s mother and Julie’s parents were among the spectators. It was the first time the Penns had seen their daughter’s boyfriend without his prosthetic legs and were shocked to see how very short Mick’s stumps were. How could he manage to walk on his artificial legs at all? Their admiration for the boy notched up a couple of degrees. Mick joined the other competitors and leaned forward from a sitting position near the edge of the pool. When the start signal sounded, he would simply drop into the water.

 

Four lengths of the pool. Turning was the most difficult aspect. Everyone else could give themselves a little extra speed by pushing off with their legs. Mick had to rely on the power in his arms. They were off! Mick dropped into the pool and immediately struck out. He found his rhythm and was in third place after the first length. On the return, he changed his stroke, remaining in third place. His schoolmate was fourth. The third length began to show one or two of the other competitors slowing but Mick powered forward and reached the end of the pool in second place. The final length was decisive. He forced himself to keep pace with the swimmer marginally ahead of him and finished in second place. His team mate was in third position. The crowd went wild with cheering and Biddle punched the air. The school had won the overall top position. Mick pulled himself out of the pool and slid along on his stumps. He raised his arms and waved at the crowd. The winner shook his hand, in no doubt which of them was the star of the show and who the cheering was for. The participants went back to the changing room where they showered and dressed themselves. Mick donned his long legs. The three winners were called back to receive their medals and they strode out together holding on to each other’s shoulders with Mick in the middle. His team mate helped him up onto the podium and moved along to the third place platform. The winner bent down to receive his gold medal around his neck. Mick could not lean forward without losing his balance and accepted the silver medal in his hands and dropped it over his neck. The crowd cheered again. The school’s anthem was played with a few uncertain voices singing the words and the gala was over. The crowd slowly dispersed and the school’s team members piled into their coach and were driven to the nearby shopping mall for pizzas. It was a spectacular victory for the school which had never won the swimming gala before and for the good-looking legless boy who had shocked and surprised everyone.

 

Julie suggested that the two families spend a shared Christmas. On Christmas Day, the Wilsons could dine at the Penns’ house. On Boxing Day, the Penns would visit the Wilsons. It meant about half the work for the housewives who agreed to the arrangement. Julie and Mick were pleased that they would be together the whole holiday. They bought each other presents. Cargo shorts for Mick and a silk scarf for Julie. Mick changed into his new shorts and swapped his legs for mid-length stubbies. The Penns had not seen him, nor anyone else, using stubbies before and were astonished to see Mick’s steel legs reaching only as far as the hem of his shorts, It was easier for Mick to get around and he wore them for the rest of the day.

 

The parents got on well together. Mrs Wilson was especially pleased to meet Mrs Penn, who she found good-natured and elegant. The men talked about motorbikes and cars and compared notes on investment funds. Mick and Julie were playing a video game in Mick’s room and their laughter assured the adults that everything was well. It was a pleasant Christmas.

 

– – – – – -

 

Julie and Mick spent as much of their time together as possible. Neither had made sexual advances to the other although both were looking forward to discovering the other’s body. Mutual respect kept their passion in check. All good things come to those who wait.

 

Mick left school at eighteen after sitting his final exams. After a couple of months, he started a vocational course recommended by Mr Penn. If his progress looked promising, Penn intended arranging a placement at his workplace. Mick found the coursework easy and logical enough and realised that accountancy required patience and attention to detail above all. It was kind of interesting learning about how businesses worked and how their finances were handled. Julie had started a university course, training to become a librarian.

 

On Julie’s nineteenth birthday, Mick proposed. She accepted by saying “Of course!”  The rings were modest but beautiful. Mrs Wilson had advised Mick in his selection. She was delighted and hugely relieved that Mick had found a life partner despite his considerable disability, especially one as clever and charming as Julie. The marriage would have to wait until they had both completed their studies and, preferably, when they were both in employment.

 

Mick had a third pair of sockets made. He would probably not grow more after the age of twenty and his stumps were stable enough for more robust, permanent sockets. He asked for cosmetic covers to be made which he could slip over the pylons to mimic the bulk of natural legs. He did not mind the odd silhouette he presented when wearing long trousers. The narrow pylons caused the trouser legs to hang oddly. His new covers would let him resemble a man with two normal legs. He stood six feet two inches tall, having learned to operate thirty-five inch long artificial legs with his short stumps. Instead of artificial feet and shoes, he continued to walk on two inch square rubber pads. He carried an ebony black walking stick with a chrome crook handle and leant on it when standing. It was a striking pose, the more so for being footless.

 

Julie announced that she had been taking the Pill for a few months.

            – Make love to me, Michael.

Mick’s leglessness provided opportunities for otherwise impossible positions and methods of penetration. Julie was a virgin and bravely accepted the sudden pain and subsequent discomfort. Mick realised and was as gentle as possible. He yearned to wrap his thighs around Julie and grip her tight between his legs. Instead his short stumps flailed against Julie’s crotch, soft, warm and hairy stumps exciting her where she was most sensitive. In turn, Julie caressed and played with his stumps. It was intensely erotic for both of them. After trying to hold back in his excitement, he finally succumbed and ejaculated a stream of semen which shot onto the floor. He panted and laughed in relief. So much more fun than wanking. The only wet spot was of Julie’s making and she changed position and slept with her legless Adonis asleep on her belly, his warm hands resting on her breasts.

 

They completed their studies. Julie landed a job not directly related to her studies in the British Museum and travelled into town every day by Tube. Mick was offered and accepted a job in accountancy at Mr Penn’s workplace, but not in the same department. With some financial assistance from both parents and Mick’s compensation account, they were able to make a down payment on a compact but functional bungalow in Lower Barnet. At a pinch, Mick could walk home from the station and Julie could get a seat for her commute. Mick got into the habit of shedding his prosthetic legs completely when he got home. Julie enjoyed seeing her future husband relaxing in shorts, legless, handsome, hers.

 

They married the next year, in May. Mick remembered his old fantasy about walking down the aisle wearing his shortest stubbies to shock and amaze the throng of friends and relatives. In actuality, he wore a smart new suit and his cosmeses with tiny square rubber feet and the wedding was held in a registrar’s office. There were uncles and aunts and people from college and uni at the reception. Julie and Mick danced the first dance, when many of those present noticed for the first time that the groom was disabled somehow. But he could waltz well enough. Julie was a clever girl and must know what she was doing, marrying such a man.

 

She did. Later in the day, they caught the sleeper train to Cornwall and spent their four day honeymoon in Truro. After checking into their hotel, Julie let her hair down and shook out the last shreds of confetti. She looked at Michael and smiled.

            – Make love to me, Michael. Leave your legs on.

 

I N C O N S P I C U O U S