At age eight Andrea Miles lost her first finger. Being the rustic and outdoor type, her parents had gifted her with a hatchet, among other presents, for her birthday. She had asked for it so she could help with making firewood when they went camping.
The shining blade and how the weight felt in her hand immediately enthralled her. She went to the backyard, happily making tinder out of small branches that had broken off of their Hawthorne tree. She chopped more and more, getting into a rhythm, when a miscalculated chop with the hatchet accomplished the severing in a grand gush of rusty red. Doctors were surprised at how abruptly pale, rubbery death had taken the digit. Though reattached quickly, the blood vessels would not accept new flow, fighting the reanimation with all their might. Once more the finger was taken off. A tiny surgical saw accomplished the feat this time—as cleanly as Andy had done herself, but not as fast.
Bill, her doting father, was unable to turn her eyes from the spectacle. She was fixated. The anesthetic and the gnawing rev of the blade brought her to the grey edge of unconsciousness.
Andy was serene as she observed all. The stray thought, I’m leaking, came to her as she watched her blood flow into layer upon layer of gauze. Her doll-like frame shivered with relief as the doctor began to sew and the stream was dammed.
Doting on the perfection of stitches filling the space that once was home to her pointer finger, she answered only in her mind her father’s, “All done, Andy,” followed by a muttered, “Thank God.”
“Andy?” he asked again.
Yes? What? Let’s go home.
“Andy?” he said. This time his voice was loud with worry.
She turned to him, a frown crinkling her face. As she opened her mouth to yell, she realized she hadn’t yet spoken aloud. Her expression softened to a smile, “I’m all right, Daddy. Can we go home?”
This brought smiles and laughter from the adults. Andy’s father made the usual comments required under such situations, trying to fill the silence.
“Quite the scare young lady. Yes, let’s not do that again, all right?”
The deep throaty tones became more and more distant as Andy rested her altered hand on the window and stared once again at the stitches, nearly lost in the puffy traumatized flesh. She barely thought of her fight with Angela earlier over Barbie dolls. The incident couldn’t have seemed less important.
Later in her life, Andy would see that morning as the beginning of her curse. It was the first whack of life’s ruler, part of a lesson she should have memorized sooner.
* * *
Now Andrea, age 23, sits with the timid man who could barely control his stomach when he raised his eyes to her. She couldn’t blame him. She realized how monstrous she’d become. The blonde doe-eyed child, with dark tanned skin, now laid in a rest home, a mere torso. Gone were the legs that men used to admire, the arms she embraced them with.
She had invited the reporter, so that she could share her story and bring some the darkness into the light. It wasn’t the most pleasing of subjects to fill a Sunday afternoon with, but here they were, just after lunch, discussing her past.
She had puzzled a long while on how to begin her tale. Upon realizing that any beginning would be arbitrary, she had relayed the loss of her first finger. She noted a whiteness settling in on the face of Arthur Kingston as she spoke. He was probably in his thirties. He charmed her with his bowed eyes and nervous stutter. Andrea knew well enough that none of this timidity would come across in his writing. She had read many clippings by many writers before choosing him. She was quite satisfied. The fact he’d merely blanched at the description of the sawing through an extremity proved he was tough. Arthur would stay till the end.
“You see, Mr. Kingston, I didn’t realize at that moment the true reason for my father’s talkative nature. Later on I would come to recognize verbosity as a cover for another subject you really don’t want to discuss. My dad had a hunch he knew the true reason the hatchet slipped that evening. He just didn’t want to believe he did.”
“Why? What did he know?”
“Well he didn’t really know anything at that moment. But the second and third incidents confirmed his fears.”
* * *
The sun was slowly rising turning the blackness to ice grey. Winter had settled upon the grassland. Deciduous trees slumped with the weight of icicles. Snow covered the browned lawns bringing a beautiful purity to the cold sleeping farms. Ponds smoothed to skating rinks. Andy was out there skating with the rest of the neighborhood’s children—laughing, shrieking motley of twenty kids. At twelve years old, she rested in the middle of the age range.
Andy hadn’t yet filled out her tall frame and felt more like an exaggerated stick than a young woman. Andy’s boyishness had been further exaggerated by the short haircut her mother had given her. She watched Lisa doing figure-eights and twirling her sister, Angela, with grace. Andy decided to see if she could steal some time with her old friend Angie. So she set out wobbling on her new skates.
Like a newborn colt, she teetered and shimmied across the Anne Hollindale Park’s pond. So focused was she on the target of her destination, she didn’t take note of the three high school guys racing and heading straight for her.
The first impact knocked her down. The second and third seemed to bite into her right hand like cruel hard jaws clamping down through flesh. There were several sounds like crushing ice; she prayed that was all it was.
When her head cleared, Andy raised her arm to show the group of skaters now gathered embarrassingly close to her that she was all right; it was just a little scratch. What she held up for their view instead was a limp, mangled meaty mash hanging tenuously off her wrist.
She let out a gasp and noticed for the first time the red pool in front of her. Andy was as frozen as the pond. The other skaters seemed similarly unable to move. First to crack was Richie, a tall, muscular boy from the set that had hit her.
“Andy, look at me.”
He took her chin and turned it toward him so she met his eyes.
“We’re going to take you to a hospital and give your parents a call. I’m going to pick you up and carry you over to my truck. Just hold on tight to me. That’s all you have to do. Okay?”
She could only nod. She’d been rendered mute by the shock.
With that he swept her up, and she looped her good arm around his neck. At the hospital the verdict was a virtual replay of years before.
The doctors murmured seriously with her parents. As she watched the tears surface in her mother’s eyes, and begin their long journey down her cheeks. She heard a few scattered words: Too late….no options left…amputate. And such was the ending to her right hand.
* * *
“I had a hook designed for me and got along fine for a time. But it wasn’t much help after I lost my arm totally.” She smiled a wry, truthful smile.
Arthur took a deep filling breath as he waited to see if his interviewee would continue. She was silent and observing.
“No.I can’t imagine so. Miss Miles.”
“Andrea, please.”
He flashed a quick smile, “Andrea, then…did the doctors offer a reason for not being able to save your hand? It would seem in most instances that the injury would have been dealt with in another way.”
“If they did, they never told me. I think they had no answers though. My body just didn’t respond. When a part left me – that was that. It wouldn’t be brought back.”
Arthur nodded. For the first time truly looked at the woman he interviewed. He realized she must have been beautiful at one time. Blonde hair flowing around a soft featured, oval face. Her brown eyes sparkling. He could easily imagine many a man being charmed by her hint of a Southern accent. A warm smile crept upon his face.
“How long was it between this incident and when you lost your arm?”
“A little over two years. I was just 14. I’d had enough time to feel comfortable in my skin again. Takes a while for others to get over seeing their neighbor suddenly look so different. I believe I was the only woman in that town to ever have a hook! I used to go to this tiny lunch deli and order a shake, when I was finished I would crush the glass sometimes — just to give ‘em a show.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips with the memory. Arthur found himself laughing, too, imagining the smileless expression on her face and the look of shock on the rest of the customers. He could almost hear the hushing of parents as their children let out gasps of delighted surprise.
“Some of the townsfolk eventually grew civil towards me and friends came back into my life. Most were scared. Kids called me Andy the Ampy. But I grew up and moved on. I didn’t let the loss of my arm keep me from going to college. That brings me to the crash that took my other arm and my legs, and why you are here.”
* * *
Angela grew to be a beauty and was beloved by the boys. Like many insecure girls, she compensated with an overly adventurous and bubbly personality. She was a party girl soaking in the booze and attention of men. Andy and Angela were seniors now at the Kingston University. Andy was studying creative writing, while Angela was wrapping up her business degree. They had both been extremely busy with the demands of papers, tests, and part time jobs.
Two weeks ago Angela invited Andy to a party being thrown by Craig, Lisa’s boyfriend, Andy had reluctantly agreed to the invitation since it was a chance to catch up with her friend.
They had returned from Christmas vacation the week before. During the vacation, Angela had asked for sometime alone with Andy’s mother and father. From the retreat of her bedroom, Andy could hear the raised voices, but she couldn’t make out the specific words. Angela had come to her room, red-eyed from crying, and given her a hug. They had solemnly said goodbye with out any discussion about what had happened.
They still had not brought into the open what had been said. Her parents had not been shed any light on the matter either. The silence in the car was a little awkward. Andy drummed her fingernails absently on the armrest of her seat.
“Could you not do that?” Angela said.
“What?” Andy was shocked out of her revelry. Angela nodded at Andy’s hands. “Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t even realize I was doing it.”
“That’s ok. I’m just tense. For some reason it was getting to me.”
Andy nervously dug her fingernails into her palm.
“Are you mad at me?” Andy asked.
“Huh? No.” She shot a nervous look at Andy. Then she focused a little too intently on the road. “Why do you ask?
“Well you have kind of been avoiding getting together with me since we got back from the Christmas break.”
“No it’s not you, it’s…” she stopped and chewed nervously on her lip.
“What?”
“I…I can’t really say,” Angela said.
“You can tell me anything. What is it?”
“Not this. Just leave it alone,” Angela snapped.
Andy sighed. She mused on the times they had spent together throughout their life: the games, the sleepovers, and the disagreements. She had thought Angela loved her and her family. She had a treasured picture of her mom and dad with her and Angela. She could see the smiles, the way her mother’s arms were around Andy and her chin resting on Andy’s head. Andy’s father had taken a similar pose with Angela.
Then she realized that Angela wasn’t smiling in the picture. The dominos fell into place. The looks that her father always gave Angela. How he always insisted on a hug from her when she’d leave from a visit. Angela had always slept in the guest bedroom when she’d spend the night. Though she had limited experience with men, certainly nothing compared the amount some girls had, Andy had an icky feeling even trying to consider what may have taken place between Angela and her father.
“It was my dad, wasn’t it?” Andy said
The look of fright and worry that flashed across Angela’s face said it all.
“What are you talking about?” Angela said, fighting to keep up the façade.
“I am so sorry. I don’t know what he did, but I’m sorry.”
“Andy stop it.”
But Andy wouldn’t be silenced. “If you want to tell someone I wouldn’t be mad at you.”
The tears began to flow. The drops further obscured Angela’s vision of the dimly lit country highway. When the dog ran across the road, the yell from Andy had frightened Angela into over correcting.
The car crossed into the oncoming lane and collided with a truck. This sent them spiraling and flipping. The car ended up slamming into a tree. Angela found herself bruised and cut, but it had been the passenger side of the car that had caved in from the force of the wreck. She screamed when she saw Andy.
Blood flowed. Andy’s right arm had been fully ripped off in the crash. Her legs seemed impossibly meshed with the metal of the hood and dashboard area.
Angela frantically called for help on her cell. But in the end Andy would lose both her legs and her arm. The same familiar puzzlement would be in the eyes of her doctors. Andy had risen above any sense of horror this time around and met her circumstances with a sigh.
* * *
“That was a year ago. Until today I have never told anyone about what my father had done,” Andrea said. “I guess I was weak. I would not have begrudged any of the girls that my father assaulted, if they had come forth and told their stories and put him away. I just couldn’t bring myself to strike the blow.”
Arthur nodded. “I guess that is understandable.”
“But as you can see I paid in my own way.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Arthur answered.
“After the crash, I realized that Angela had been at every event where I got hurt. I think within her was a rage and hurt so deep, a will to hurt that which my father loved, that was so powerful that it became a kind of curse. Bit by bit, I have been paying for what my father had done. I think it is time that the world becomes aware of what he has done.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” he asked.
“You have a story. Go finish it. He needs to be confronted. He needs to atone. Call whatever contact you have in the police department and go to him. Now. Today.”
Arthur agreed. After getting the necessary information from her, he bid Andrea goodbye. He was dialing on his cell phone, making arrangements as he left.
Andrea summoned the aid as he left. The kind, attentive young woman quickly responded and asked how she could help.
“Could you please take the letter out of the book and set it in the reading stand for me?”
The aid happily fulfilled this request, and left Andy to reread the letter. She’d read it so many times she had it memorized, but still she couldn’t stay away from reading it again and again.
“Dear Andrea,
I am so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused. I can’t ask for forgiveness from you or anyone else. I know I’ve done wrong, and it pains me to see the price you’ve paid because of this.
I wanted to let you know that on Sunday night, I plan to take my life. I want to make sure I have everything settled so that there are no troubles or worries for you. I figure I will enjoy one more peaceful Sunday and spend it in contemplation. At sunset I’ll leave this life.
I hope that you will then be able to get the peace you deserve.
I love you.
Dad.”
Andrea smiled as she thought of Arthur and the police interrupting the planned exit from this life. The quiet would become a storm as the sickness and pain he’d inflicted was shown to the world. Oh yes. There would be anger, tears, media frenzy, a trial, lost years in a cell. He would know justice; his victims would find a kind of peace.
A quick, painless death on a lovely fall Sunday evening? No…You don’t get off that easy, you bastard, she thought.