on your head, then fine, he could go with that one—that was certainly a special need. He loved the little shit and would do anything for him and all of that, but sometimes it just got to be too much—too much work, too much hassle, too much struggle, too much stress. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Dave, it wasn’t fair to Cheryl, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to that poor kid. Larry would probably never get to experience any of the things that normal kids experience—things like driving, dating, college, sex. Jesus—sex! The poor little bastard would probably never get to experience anything even remotely close to sex. The closest he’d come is watching monkeys at the zoo jerking off on one another. He’d always be a second rate individual, a prisoner to his own mental handicap. He’d have to go through the rest of his life wondering why God made him special and why he couldn’t do things that other people could…like why he couldn’t just hop on a plane without a legal guardian…why he couldn’t belly up to a bar and order a cold beer…why instead of having his own car and driving to work in the morning, he had to sit on a bus with all the degenerates and scum of the earth. It just wasn’t fair. Why him? Why Larry? Why not some other person’s kid?
Dave sighed as he grabbed the newspaper and flipped it to the Local Boulder page. It seemed there was a big accident last night up around Nederland—two kids drove their car out onto the ice of the Barker reservoir. Idiots. What were they thinking? Didn’t they know that ice was too thin?
He tossed the Local page aside and fished out the Sports section, checking to see if the Broncos had won. As he read through the scores, the banging of dishes seemed to be getting louder and louder, each sharp clang causing him to flinch and gnash his teeth. He set down the paper and looked up at Cheryl, examining her swollen, sweat-streaked face; from her double chin to her droopy eyelids and the wild tangle of dirty blond hair that made her look like a refugee of some viral outbreak. What happened to her? Was this the same girl he knew in college? That tall, sexy pre-law student who would ditch all her classes and drive five hours just so she could be on the sidelines, cheering for him as he finished his runs. The one with those cherry-red, sand dollar shaped nipples and an ass so tight that it made him quiver. The one he would take to the motel after the races, and squeeze and kiss and fuck all night long. No, it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be his Cheryl. This couldn’t be the same girl he knew back then. This woman was fifteen years older and a hundred pounds heavier with a series of moles on the fat of her neck. Her butt was a beanbag and her thighs were sofa cushions and she looked like one of those mythical trolls he’d read about in Larry’s storybooks—the ones with the big elf like ears and frumpy bodies who lived under bridges and terrorized kids. How was he supposed to make love to that? How was he supposed to get an erection? And Viagra? Please. What the hell was she talking about? He didn’t need any god damn Viagra. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get hard. She needed to lose a couple hundred pounds first then maybe she could talk about Viagra. And what the hell was she thinking anyway? Another baby? Was she fucking crazy? Larry was more than they could handle. Hell, it took a superhuman effort just to get the little shit to school on time.
Dave sighed and glanced under the table, looking at the sorry excuse for an appendage attached to his hip. He propped his foot on the chair beside him and rolled his pant leg up to his knee. Christ, look at this thing. It was all scrawny, twisted, and contorted. It looked more like a piece of rotted driftwood than an actual human leg. There was a long, red scar running from his thigh to his shin bone from where the doctors cut him open and gave him a new knee—some damn, metal contraption they said
Dave sighed as he grabbed the newspaper and flipped it to the Local Boulder page. It seemed there was a big accident last night up around Nederland—two kids drove their car out onto the ice of the Barker reservoir. Idiots. What were they thinking? Didn’t they know that ice was too thin?
He tossed the Local page aside and fished out the Sports section, checking to see if the Broncos had won. As he read through the scores, the banging of dishes seemed to be getting louder and louder, each sharp clang causing him to flinch and gnash his teeth. He set down the paper and looked up at Cheryl, examining her swollen, sweat-streaked face; from her double chin to her droopy eyelids and the wild tangle of dirty blond hair that made her look like a refugee of some viral outbreak. What happened to her? Was this the same girl he knew in college? That tall, sexy pre-law student who would ditch all her classes and drive five hours just so she could be on the sidelines, cheering for him as he finished his runs. The one with those cherry-red, sand dollar shaped nipples and an ass so tight that it made him quiver. The one he would take to the motel after the races, and squeeze and kiss and fuck all night long. No, it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be his Cheryl. This couldn’t be the same girl he knew back then. This woman was fifteen years older and a hundred pounds heavier with a series of moles on the fat of her neck. Her butt was a beanbag and her thighs were sofa cushions and she looked like one of those mythical trolls he’d read about in Larry’s storybooks—the ones with the big elf like ears and frumpy bodies who lived under bridges and terrorized kids. How was he supposed to make love to that? How was he supposed to get an erection? And Viagra? Please. What the hell was she talking about? He didn’t need any god damn Viagra. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get hard. She needed to lose a couple hundred pounds first then maybe she could talk about Viagra. And what the hell was she thinking anyway? Another baby? Was she fucking crazy? Larry was more than they could handle. Hell, it took a superhuman effort just to get the little shit to school on time.
Dave sighed and glanced under the table, looking at the sorry excuse for an appendage attached to his hip. He propped his foot on the chair beside him and rolled his pant leg up to his knee. Christ, look at this thing. It was all scrawny, twisted, and contorted. It looked more like a piece of rotted driftwood than an actual human leg. There was a long, red scar running from his thigh to his shin bone from where the doctors cut him open and gave him a new knee—some damn, metal contraption they said
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