Obsolescence

I go home for the holidays. My brother and sister-in-law, Tina, will also be there. Rather than barging in, I knock loudly on the door. The door swings open and my girthy mother fills the entrance. I notice she is missing a leg.

“Son!” she says, holding out her arms.

“Good God, Mom. When did that happen?”

“Oh, it was a few days ago. I don’t know exactly how it happened. One minute I was driving. The next minute it just … fell off.” I notice she has also covered a fading black eye with thick makeup. Stitches run just below her hairline.

“Were you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just a little banged up is all.”

I go inside and discard my bags at the foot of the stairs. I greet my brother and Tina, both of them sitting on the couch, already drunk.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’ll be along shortly,” Mother says.

I stand around the living room, making small talk with everyone, demonstrating the new pants I’ve created. I hear my father at the top of the stairs. He’s coming down backward, clutching the banister with his right hand. He reaches the bottom and says, “I guess we’re gonna have to get that thing all moved around now, eh?”

When he turns around, I realize he is missing his left arm.

“Not you too?” I say.

“Oh sure, just a couple days before your mother. Wouldn’t you know it, I was trying to staple some documents, something I should never do with my left hand, and the whole damn arm just went kerplop. My own goddamn fault, I guess.”

“Maybe so but your whole arm shouldn’t have fallen off. Have you been to the doctor?”

“Of course, but he just gave me some pills and told me I shouldn’t drink so much.”

I stand there, completely puzzled.

“Is anybody else hungry?” Mother asks.

“I’ll help you get everything ready,” Tina volunteers.

Mother hops toward the kitchen. She’s pretty adept on just the one leg. Tina follows her.

After about a half-hour, my brother, father and I go into the dining room. We begin eating but Tina isn’t sitting down.

“Okay. What’s wrong with you?” I ask, tired of the absurdity. “Your ass fall off?”

“Well, yes …” she says. “I was going to use the restroom and, splash, it fell right into the commode.”

“Did it hurt?” I ask.

“Well, not yet. But I can only sit on soft things.”

The rest of the dinner is consumed in silence. Once finished, I offer to do the dishes.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that,” Mother says.

“I insist.”

“Let one of us get them.”

“You can’t be standing over a sink and Dad, he could barely cut his pork chops. For the love of God, let me do the dishes!”

Just as I’m reaching under the sink to get the detergent, Mother flings herself from her chair, groping for the cabinet door. Under the sink are their missing limbs and buttocks.

“Why are these under here?” I ask, angry. “You people need to get these put back on.”

“Oh, come on, now,” my father says. “We don’t really need them anyway.”

“Were you just going to throw them out?”

“Well, yes,” my mother says. “There’s no sense in hanging on to them.”

I suddenly find their defeatist attitudes overwhelmingly depressing. I have to get out of the house. I charge from the kitchen, grabbing my bags and darting out the front door. They all follow me, standing on the front porch as I get in my car. I start backing the car up and they all shout “Wait!” just before I feel the bump. I look in the rearview mirror. I have, of course, run over my brother’s head.

“Let’s see them live without that,” I think before pulling away.