A World Without Arms

I've never known a world without arms, and so I've also never known a world without pity. A world without people pointedly looking at the space where my arms should be, and then looking up, and then in a matter of seconds both of us realizing the unquestionable strain of friendship we'll have, if we'll have one all.

I don't expect you to feel pity for me, though, because if I've learned anything over the eleven years of my rather nullifying existence, it's that everyone is pretty knowledgeable when it comes to stuff like this. 

To them, it's just another horrible thing in the world, like car accidents, or disease. It's just another thing that happens to some people.

That's why everyone expects a certain route for people like me - to go on to inspire people through Ted Talks, books, and YouTube channels. To be featured in Netflix series on people making it work.

Because obviously there's no other route for people like me.

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I'm getting my prosthetic arm today. I don't know how I feel - I guess I should be feeling excited, but a different feeling is rising in my stomach, one of untested anxiousness, of uncertainty, of a first.

"Excited?" my mom says from the driver's seat, looking back at me through the mirror. Next to her is my dad.

I smile softly. "Yeah."

She must sense something in my attitude, because she says," Anything wrong?"

I clear my throat. I wish I could conjure up some excitement, but it's like making a pizza out of thin air. It can't be done.

"No," I say. "Just - just a bit anxious, I guess."

She smiles compassionately. "A pretty big day, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

My dad is looking down at his phone, probably at NFL highlights on YouTube. I wouldn't be surprised - novelties like movies and sports feel more real to my dad than his actual reality. Than his son with no arms.

We sit in silence in the car for a couple more minutes. I stare out the window, dreaming.

"So what's your plan?" my mom musters. I can see the prosthetist's building in the distance.

I think. "Once I get my arm? I don't know... Hey, mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we get ice cream?"

She looks down at her watch. We still have about thirty minutes.

"I guess we can grab a small cup, sure."

We park in the small parking lot and buy what we always buy - vanilla with sprinkles. We sit in the corner, and as my dad watches the game in the car, my mom and I sit there, her spoon-feeding me as if I'm a child. I look up, letting the chilly wind whirl through my hair.

I have big dreams, yes, but I also know I can make them work. 

I know.

I know.