They Break Your Legs

 

He only had one more mile to go and then he could turn onto the not-a- county-maintained-road, his road, and the rest of the drive home would be one lane, up hill. He always enjoyed that last bit up the hill. 

He thought about talking to Jill; he thought about them breaking his legs. She would have to take care of him, help with his ‘toiletries’ and all.  Even if his sister agreed to come help out. He needed to be sure she would buy in. He would have to present it to Jill carefully. It was a sale. Like another sale. His job was to close it. 

He wished he’d prepared better as he drove up his steep driveway to the car port. He could work from home. Walter had already agreed. The doctors told him he was a perfect candidate for this kind of surgery. He wanted to be taller and and they could make him taller. Science, go figure. They can do anything these days. Jill was the problem.

Jill was quiet for what seemed like a long time when he was done talking. Cole was pretty sure he had presented the procedure pretty well. He had been unemotional and clear. It was a routine, natural step, an inevitability. Like a pretty girl with an unfortunate nose might have it ‘altered’, might get a ‘new nose’. His Jewish friend told him that on the upper east side it wasn’t even a question for the girls. “When is she getting her new nose?” people would ask. It was a normal, routine procedure. Cole had leaned heavily on those words.

‘They’ll break my legs. Here.” he’d said. “And then I’ll stretch them, a little each day. I’ll be taller. Jill. Honest. Haven’t you always wished I was taller? They can do that now. I’ll be two, maybe 3 inches taller.”

 

Jill knew the tricks of the trade too, he’d practiced with her as he learned. “Sell me these paper towels,” he’d say and she’d be off. Paper towels were child’s play. She loved paper towels. Jill had no idea how people lived without paper towels. Then she’d say, “Sell me this oven mitt.” It made them laugh. They were happy then. She was better at it than he was. For one thing, people liked her. 

On their first date for a coffee in town, Jill said, “People say ‘yes’ to me.”

He fell hard for her in that one moment. What a wonderful thing to be able to say.

“People say ‘no’ to me,” Cole remembered thinking in bed that night twenty years ago. 

He tried a little smile. His cute smile.

“I’ll be with you,” he said, “Here, with you.” He lowered his voice just a 1/2 tone.  “We’ll have quality time together. It’s a chance for us to really be together while I’m recovering. That’s what we need, isn’t it? I’ll read to you. We always liked that.” 

When he had first met Jill, in a fruit stand by the highway, she was beguiling, unafraid; a riddle impossible to solve. Even here, after 20 years, when she was silent, he thought she was communing, whispering to Buddha, whispering to Bodhisattvas, to clouds, listening for their answers. He waited for her to speak. 

“Are those drapes or curtains?”

“Curtains,” said Cole. “Drapes block light. Curtains let in light.” 

“So we bought curtains.”

“Yes. We bought curtains. To let the light in.”

“I guess I want to let the soft light in and keep the bright light out.”

“Life is full of compromises,” said Cole.

“So, just to be clear, they’re going to break your legs,” she said. Still looking at the curtains.

“Yeah. It sounds worse than it is.”

“Honey, I really doubt that.”

“It’s a gamble. My guess is in two  years they’ll have doubled my salary,

“We already have more money than we’ll ever need.” 

It occurred to her that maybe it would only be late afternoons that would be bad. Maybe it was the reds and persimmon in the South Pacific pattern that totally changed the color of the walls. And that orange. The colors seemed garish now in the sun. Circus colors. She wanted a Tahitian feel. The flowers and the sea. Lush and wonderful. A place where you felt peaceful and taken care of. Now it was a sickly shade of pink.

It had been cloudy for a couple weeks. On those cloudy days the colors were just right, but in this direct, afternoon sun, for 3 hours now, everything had changed. 

“They’re pink,” she said.

“What’s pink?”

“The walls.”

Cole glanced at the walls. He was a practical man. She looked for beauty, subjective as it was, there was no compromise when it came to beauty.

The walls did look pink though. 

“Jill, I’m not going to go through some medieval torture. They don’t drop an anvil on my legs.” He smiled.  “Do you think it’s like that scene where Kathy Bates hits James Caan with a sledge hammer? What was the…”

“Misery”

“Right, ‘Misery’…Anyway, this is a safe, medical procedure. They’ve done it hundreds of times. It’s innovative. Developed in Germany. Ten years ago this would have been impossible” 

Bringing Kathy Bates in to this was probably a mistake. 

“I think you’re fine just the way you are,” said Jill standing up. “Stand up. Stand back to back.” 

Jill stood up straight waiting for him. She squinted at the walls. Every soft color in the living room had a pink tinge to it.  

Cole didn’t move.

“Cole, you tower over me.”

“We look like a couple of munchkins.”

Probably shouldn’t have said that. 

“…and I’ve always been very comfortable with that,” he went on. “I think we’re perfect together, but this is about real success. It’s about our success. Our livelihood. Our legacy.”

“Really?” 

“They’re all 6 inches taller than me.”

“Who is?”

“Upper management in America is tall. Very tall. The world is tall. Business is tall. Success is six foot one, minimum. Maybe six foot three. You’ve been to the parties. It’s absolutely no coincidence that everyone, everyone successful there is tall.”

He really had to bring this around. Make it about her happiness. 

“I want to be a success, for you, honey.  Right now, I’m a discriminated against minority.” 

She was about to respond but he cut her off. 

“I’m joking. Obviously.” 

She took a deep breath. Into her diaphragm. Paused another moment. Let it out through her mouth. Took her seat. 

“Cole. You’re a strong man. And you’re a handsome devil. I wouldn’t have married you if you weren’t passionate and committed to, you know, doing good in the world, would I? People admire you. You’re happy here. You enjoy your work, and….and you have a gorgeous ass wife who loves you. No one thinks you’re short, but you. ”

As she said it, she knew that not much of that was true anymore. Well, none of it. Jill looked at her husband, as you might a used car. A petulant used car.

“I’m short.”

“You’re not.”  

“I am.”

“Dammit, Cole, short people have to buy their clothes in the children’s department….We should have gotten drapes.”

She wanted to be comforted. To be held. She’d made a real blunder with the colors. The room looked to her like a designer mistake. Her mistake.  Why couldn’t he just he put his arms around her for a fucking minute ?

“I don’t remember the last time you touched me,” she said.

“I’ve already paid the first installment,” he said. “We can start the procedure as soon as we’re back from Hawaii.” 

“Nope.”

“How about in the spring then. Would the spring be better for you?”

“So you’ve already started this without talking to me? How am I supposed to take care of you. They’re going to BREAK YOUR LEGS, Cole. You didn’t even think to…”

“You’re right. I should have talked to you right from the beginning. We both need time to adjust. You’re absolutely right. So clearly, Spring would be better. I can see that now.”

“I’m not going to be your servant, Cole. How could you do this without consulting me?  It affects me as much as you. How could you even do this?”

She’s imaging it. That was good, thought Cole.

“I hear you, Jill. You won’t have to lift a finger. My sister offered to stay with us. She agreed to live in the laundry room and look after me. This isn’t going to change your life at all, except to make it better. Sarah can do all the heavy lifting. She can cook for us. She loves to cook. I’m going to pay her. It’s handled.”

“My laundry room?”

”It’s actually quite a large room if we move some things around.”

“It’s my little room.”

“It’ll fit a single bed.”

Jill stared at him.

“I love that room. It’s my art room.”

Cole tapped his fingertips together lightly. 

“You like Sarah.”

“I like Sarah in St. Louis. I don’t like her in my laundry room.” 

She straightened herself in the chair.

“How long is the recovery?”

That was good. Making it a reality. She was convincing herself. He was moving toward the close now. Gently. Let her do all the work and just reel her in. 

“Only a few months where I’d need a little help. “

“Help with what?”

“Scooting me up in bed in the mornings. Five minutes of scooting.”

“That doesn’t sound…”

“We’ll be spending quality time together. That’s the real story here. I turn the key myself.”

“What key?”

“There’s a key.” 

“To what?”

Jill looked at him. Sitting on that couch. Even his pale face was tinged in pink. Or was it?

“Just a normal key, right here,” he pointed at a spot about half way up his calf. “It sticks out and you… It looks like a skate key. You turn it just one notch each time. The femur gets longer.”

Jill looked out the window. The sun was just on top of the ridge, filtering through all the trees now. A redwing blackbird sat on a branch above the marsh and made that sound they make. Like a spring tightening. The pink was fading, wasn’t it? It was hard to tell.  

“I turn it one notch, 3 times a day. I’ll be getting taller like this much,” He put his thumb and forefinger out in front her, not quite touching, “every time I turn the key. A little stretch. Maybe a 32nd of an inch each time. The bone fills in behind it. Little stretch. Bone fills in. Turn the key. Bone fills in. Pretty soon, Bob’s your uncle. Five inches taller.”

“Sounds very painful.”

 “I’m pretty good with pain.”

“No, you’re not.”

All colors affect all the colors around it. And it’s all about the light. It all hinges on the sun. How did she forget the sun? After all, it’s the fucking sun.

It had looked great on cloudy Tuesday. Great on cloudy Wednesday. Even better  on cloudy Thursday. Sky clears today and bam, PINK. 

“Your brain is blind,” she said quietly. “It’s totally dark inside your brain..” Your brain turns electrical umm impulses into colors. It’s all connected to nothing. There is no reality. Everything is a controlled hallucination.” She had read something like that, but maybe she had it wrong. 

“Honey, are you ok?” asked Cole. 

They sat in silence. 

The sun slipped down behind the ridge and the walls were white again. It was beautiful. Perfect. If it could just stay like this. The South Pacific print looked vibrant. A great calm folded itself around her. She  closed her eyes and whispered with her angels. It was perfect now. This is how she’d imagined it. 

The first maybe 10 years they’d been together came rushing back to her, in this light. The feverish love they had for each other. He’d saved her and she knew she’d saved him. They were lovable, if only to each other. 

She got to her feet and was walking now.  Cole could feel her slip away with every step.  

“I’ll buy a bikini at the airport,” she said, almost out loud. 

Airports sell stuff like that don’t they? They used to. She could trade in her ticket. Maybe she’d meet a young guy on the beach who wanted to eat lobster and coconuts and snorkel with her and feel her up in the warm waves. Maybe she could rent a car. 

She heard once that car rentals were expensive in Hawaii but maybe that was a long time ago. Cole would go to the mountains. She’d camp on the beach. In a blue tent. She’d buy a blue tent that glowed blue in the mornings. Will they let you camp on the beach in a blue tent? Do people still do that? People used to do that. 

She knew that Cole was standing now. Watching her go. 

“The main thing is the real quality time we’ll have together. We’ll be alone together. Be close again. Just you and me.”

“And your sister.”

“Quiet as a mouse,” said Cole. “You won’t even know she’s here.”

No. 

She found her passport in the drawer by the door. The tickets were stuck on the bulletin board with a surprisingly strong magnet. She pried it off and took her ticket and put the magnet back on his. It snapped into place. She liked magnets very much. They reminded her of something. Something sexy and permanent. Something inevitable. 

2025