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TRUTH IS LIKE BELIEF

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TRUTH IS LIKE BELIEF

I can only do one thing at a time. I think. I think and I think. I can only do what’s in my face. I am angry to be trapped within myself but I smile. I can see the humour and the irony in the simple tales of a simple man. She smiled as she walked past me. It was true for a second. I smiled through the agony so she couldn’t see the man inside. It is only true if you believe. I sit here and write what is so real to be absurd. Hard is not a word if you can’t spell. My memory’s no good so this may not be true. Truth is like belief

The sun was halfway through the sky as the doorbell rang. I went to the monitor and saw an old lady standing there. I didn’t recognise her. Her cleavage filled the monitor. I buzzed her into the building but didn’t go to my door. I’d started rolling a cigarette when I heard knocking. I was not wearing a shirt as I opened the door. She was standing there wearing a paisley flowered house-smock. She looked at my torso and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She had short hair but enormous boobs. They hung down to her waist. There were three cans of baked-beans nestled between them. Hi, she said I’m the German’s wife, did you know he died? Yes I know, I said, he tried to grab my balls before he passed. What, she asked? Well, I said, he might have been trying to grab my cock. I guess we’ll never know. He wouldn’t have tried to grab your penis, she said, he was probably just joking. I looked her in the eye as I told her that I’d never known any men who joke like that. I just came to see if you were okay, she said. I heard two cries for help. I heard one cry and then another ten seconds later. I know that you’re in a wheelchair and I thought it might have been you? That’s very kind, I said. Was it you, she asked? No, I said. Did you hear it, she asked? No, I said. I took out my hearing aid to show her before I told her I was deaf so it was kind of her to come and check. I’ll suck your cock for ten dollars, she said. No thanks, I said, I’m fine at the moment. She looked flustered before she turned around and walked away. I watched her enormous buttocks wobbling. I’d bet she hadn’t shaved her pussy in years. She turned around to look at me before she walked out the door. I sat and wondered if her coming was really sweet at all?

As I was about to wheel my chair over the ramp on to the balcony I heard a woman moan a woman’s moan. I stopped dead in my chair, a woman’s moan. I listened to hear more. Three seconds later she moaned again. Then she stopped. Silence. I knew then she wasn’t getting fucked. Something else was making her moan. I was just about to light my cigarette when I heard the phone ringing. I raced back to my bedroom to answer it. I picked up the receiver and heard nothing for three seconds. There was a click before I heard a woman’s thick Indian accent. Mr Bukanin, she asked? There is no Mr Bukanin here, I said, and could you please stop calling this number, I asked? I never buy what you’re trying to sell so just stop calling please. Why, she asked? Just stop calling this number, I said. But why, she asked? I thought about it before I hung up on her. I have tried being rude, I’ve tried being racist and I’ve tried being funny. Once I said, in my thickest Indian accent, dharling you didn’t bring the cardamom for the curry, how can I cook the curry without the cardamom? I rolled the r in cardamom. Carrrrrdamom. She hung up on me that time

Wheeling yourself ‘round (round) in a chair sucks. I was going into the kitchen for some water and had just about got there when the phone rang again. I thought it might have been Mum so I pushed back into my room for the phone. I answered, hello? There was a three second delay. But why, she said? I sighed and hung up again. I had to get ready to go to an appointment. I thought about the German as I got ready. I knew another one that was his friend. German number 2 came up to me one day wearing a pair of too-small neon-pink Speedo’s and told me that number 1 liked boys as well as girls. I know, I said, he gets excited when he sees me. I told him that he’d thrust his hand back and forth as if wanking and spit on the floor. Really, he asked. Yeah, I said, it was gross to see another man sexually excited. I saw the German the next day. He came charging up to me to tell me off. He told me that number 2 told him that I said he wanted to fuck me. I never said that, I told him, and fuck you. How dare you, coming up angry accusing me like that, I said. A reasonable person would ask me if I had said that? Well did you, he asked? No, I said, so fuck you twice. That was the last time I spoke with him before he died

I started the day by making a mistake. I’d arranged a cab to take me to the workshop and actually turned up there early. I was waiting in the front of his shop when I heard Sacred Trickster from the bag under my wheelchair. I pulled out my phone to be asked where I was as she was outside waiting for me. Outside where, I said? I’m outside your apartment, she said. I asked who she was and was told it was the new co-ordinator of the engineering department. I’d never met her before. She asked me if I’d forgotten our appointment today? I said, yes. I apologised and told her I was just down the road getting some medical grade shoes fitted. She asked where so I told her the address. She showed up at his shop. We talked easily. She was lovely and talked to me like a real person. She seemed genuinely interested in hearing my story. I asked her story, even though I’d forget, until silence took over

There was a mother and daughter waiting ahead of me. The mother started asking me questions so I answered her back. The mother would have been in her eighties and was glad to have someone to talk to. We talked as the man busied himself around us. I asked her if she had come far for this appointment? She told me she had been driven from Kenthurst. I asked her if she knew ** ******? My blood stopped pumping as she asked, ohhh, are you Andrew? I told her yes and watched as her penny dropped. ‘Oo, she said, haven’t you come far?’

Hearing something like that might make some people feel proud of how far they’ve come and what they’ve achieved but it just made me feel bad to hear it. It made me wonder as to what she’d said about me? She had probably told people that I was written off. They were told I had a brain injury too severe to recover from

The man making my shoes was a Survivor. He was a Jewish man who survived the nazis. It put things into perspective. It shrouded the things I’ve survived. He asked questions about my injury. I told him I fell at work on a building site. He asked if that made me a carpenter? I told him I was a bricklayer’s labourer. I told him all I remember. I told him I fell through a hole on my first day at a new job. He asked my level of injury. I told him I was T12 L1 and incomplete (incomplete means I didn’t completely sever the spinal cord, not that I’m incomplete as a person). I told him of my brain injury to excuse myself from any embarrassment. He was making big black boots with laces and holes on the shoe and brackets on the top. He gave me a pair from his shop to try on. He listened and dropped little pieces of knowledge as he measured me. Whoa, he said; you’re a big boy as he handed a boot to me. He asked me if I was able to put them on myself? I told him I could. I lifted my leg up and put it on my knee, reached down and started to untie the laces of the shoe I was wearing. I un-Velcro-d my orthotics and pushed it and the shoe off. I put the orthotic inside and started to put the boot on. As I started to lace the top brackets I laughed as thought of Arnold. I thought of the scene where the camera focuses on him lacing up his boots getting ready to go rescue Jenny. My chest bounced on my knees until he asked me what I was laughing at? I told him I was just laughing

He started talking. I started listening. He told us of the atrocities he had survived. I have not suffered like him. Nobody has. We each suffer our own pain. He and I could both still laugh and did. As I was leaving somebody waiting out front asked me what we were laughing about? I told them I couldn’t remember

He shook my hand as I left and gave me a signed copy of his book of poems and etchings from the holocaust. The poems were written in rhyming stanza with some assonance. There were also etchings of the things he’d survived. One page was an etching filled with swastikas. He knew hard times. He gave me the book because he knew that I knew hard times

I called the car service and a man came and picked me up. My back was sore from sitting in my wheelchair all day and I was desperate for a cigarette. He talked and talked and I was glad to listen. He arrived at my house, took my wheelchair out of his car and started putting the wheels back on. I wheeled the chair inside to the refrigerator to get a beer

The phone rang so I went to answer it. I picked it up and heard nothing for three seconds. But why, she asked? I hung up again. The doorbell rang. I went to the intercom and saw her. She was wearing a different colour smock. It was more open across the chest. More of her cleavage was showing. I buzzed her in and went to open the front door. She knocked before I got there. She looked flustered as she filled the doorjamb. She put her left hand on her enormous tit and said, I heard somebody shouting. I heard them shout three times. Was it you, I know you’re in a wheelchair? It wasn’t me, I said. Oh, she said, I know that you’re in a wheelchair and I thought you might have needed help. It wasn’t me; I said again, I just got back from the holocaust. Don’t say that, she said, I’m German. Ok, I said. How about I suck your cock now, she asked? I asked, did you know that you’ve got three cans of baked-beans between your tits? Yeah, she said, they’re for later. She asked me if I would take my shirt off. Later, I said, much much later.

The phone started ringing so I told her I’d have to get it. I slammed the door on her and wheeled in to the room to get the phone when it stopped. The American answering machine man had started to say, hello… when I picked it up. I said hello again. There was nobody there. Three seconds passed before I heard a chirp. It was the same Indian again. But why, she asked? You don’t get it do you, I asked her? I will never know why

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

POLAR BEAR PISS STINKS

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Yesterday was International Day of Disability. I was the headline act in a group showing of artists. There were three of us. They showed mine, the art of a polar bear with only one paw (I mean it was missing three) and the art of an aardvark with no snout or ears. I didn’t want to go. I knew there was something rotten in Denmark. Not only was there something rotten, there was no Denmark. The flyer for the showing said there would be a breakfast and a lunch provided. I couldn’t be ****** turning up for breakfast and was about to go to the gym when I received a phone call from the person who’d organised the exhibition asking where I was? I asked if it was actually necessary for me to be there? I was told it would be beneficial if I were. I rang a car. When the driver turned up I tried to make conversation. He ignored me so I started taking to myself. He eventually told me to shut the hell up so I pulled my pant leg up and started pissing on the floor of his car. He shouted, HEY, and called me a dirty-rotten-dog cunt. He’d already undone his seatbelt before he’d pulled up a distance from the curb. He flung his door open, opened the backdoor and pulled my wheelchair out and threw it to the ground. The wheelchair bounced on the asphalt. I said, Hey! He went to the boot and got the wheels out and threw them to the ground. I said, Hey watch it! I asked him to bring my wheelchair closer so I could assemble it. He said, no go suck a fart, and walked back to the driver’s side. I thought about being petulant and refusing to get out of the car but thought better. He was a hot head. He was obviously capable of anything.

I pulled my legs out of the car and transferred down to the road. I sat on my bum and assembled my wheelchair while cursing the driver as he drove away. I shook my fist at him, gave the bird, and used my arms to get into it. I wheeled my chair up onto the footpath and into the building. The building was right downtown. The flyer for the exhibition said it was on the thirteenth floor. I should have known better and gone straight home. I wheeled to the lift and pushed the button to go up. When the lift finally arrived I pushed my chair into it and looked at the buttons but couldn’t find one for the thirteenth floor. They stopped at twelve. I studied the buttons for a good thirty seconds hoping I‘d overlooked it. I couldn’t find it. A woman walked up to the lift like a power walker. She was all arms and legs. I said, hey. She looked at me and said, straw’s cheaper and grass is free. I asked her if she had any. She said, any what? I said, grass. She rolled her eyes before she said, all you cripples are the same. I said, possibly, but could you please tell me how to get to the thirteenth floor? She rolled her eyes again before leaning into the lift. Her arm shot out around the door and she pressed the button marked one and then the button marked three. Both of the buttons back-lit and she sighed as her hand went to her hip. By the way, I said, I’m not a cripple I’m disabled. What’s the difference, she asked? I said, the spelling. She yawned. I asked if she was going up and wanted to get in with me? We were on the ground floor and there wasn’t a basement. She said she would rather wait till the lift was free. I asked her if she meant till the lift was free of me? She said, exactly. I wished I’d saved some of my piss to throw on her.

There was a piece of A4 paper taped to the inside of the lift. Someone had written Art For Arts Sake in crayon on it. I wondered why there weren’t any signs on the outside of the building. The door opened and I saw my fellow contributors. The polar bear was sitting in a corner being guarded by four keepers wearing faded blue overalls and the aardvark was standing in the other corner with its head down. The polar bear and the aardvark were both virgins. They stunk of the innocence of virginity. I could tell and I was jealous. It really is something to have then have-not. Ignorance is bliss. I have only had sex once since the accident. I thought of how my girlfriend left me as I lay in a hospital bed and my face burned. The way she left me turned me into a person I didn’t want to be. The way she left me made me desperate and unsure of myself. I was sexually desirable to her before the wheelchair and brain injury. As far as I could see it I would never have anyone find me sexually desirable again. That bitch. The polar bear and the aardvark had never been seen as sexually desirable to anything. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. How can you miss something you’ve never had? I wheeled up to the polar bear and the aardvark and introduced myself. The polar bear was wearing a tuxedo jacket, no pants and a pair of cheap black sunglasses. The polar bear was trying to hard. I asked it if there were any peeled grapes to eat? It showed me its teeth. I was frightened but I laughed. The aardvark squealed at me that men in wheelchairs shouldn’t make fun of polar bears. I asked the aardvark what the smell was? The aardvark cried a single tear of blood and gulped air.

The polar bear’s art was three pointed wooden stakes set in a triangle formation. The stakes sat on two red milk crates on top of each other. It had three fish heads stuck on each of the stakes. I liked it. The heads looked like Atlantic salmon. The stakes had pierced through both eyes of the fish heads and the eyes appeared to be bleeding a clear, gelatinous substance. It looked like petroleum jelly. The bear snarled at me as I entered the room. I looked at the wall and saw my photo up there. I smiled at the bear and asked it how it was? It showed me its teeth then shuffled on its bum and tore my piece of art off the wall with its teeth. It turned to look at me before sitting on it. It rolled onto it’s left side and started pissing on my work. Polar bear piss isn’t like human piss. It’s a dark orange and smells like a rusty ship. The piss collected in the middle of the canvas before running down over the sides. I wanted to punch the bear but was scared of it. Even though it only had one paw it definitely still had its teeth. I wheeled up to the bear and said, thank you sir for doing that. The bear snarled then rolled onto its right hand side and started poohing on my canvas. The polar bear’s pooh was bright orange and circular. It looked like big cumquats. Five or six turds dropped out of its backside. It sat up and started squishing the turds onto my canvas with its bum. I asked it if it wasn’t afraid of getting shit stuck to its fur? The polar bear showed me its teeth again.

The aardvark seemed happy to see me. It walked up to me and started talking. It pointed to its art. It had glued a dozen or so pieces of different broken plates together for one piece. Another was made up of vacuum cleaner heads. There were nine of them. They were all pointing with the inlets of the heads outwards. They looked like a beehive. The aardvark had also set up four mannequin heads. The heads had black Afro wigs and were dressed in whorish makeup. There was a big hole in the ears of each and they were tied together using bloodied tampons. I told it I liked its art. I lied. It talked small talk with me for about two and a half minutes. It sounded nasally. It sounded like it was holding the nose that was no longer there. The aardvark came up closer and told me that it was horny. It asked me if I could do with a blowjob? I said definitely, who from? It said, from me. I said, on second thoughts I’m okay. The aardvark leaned in and whispered, you don’t look like you’re gay. I scratched my head while thinking of what to say in response. I said, I didn’t say I was gay I said I was okay. Oh great, it said. I’m glad you’re not a fag. Where shall I give it to you? Do you want to pull your pants down here or are you bashful? If you’re shy I’ll lead you to the toilets. No I said; I would love a blowjob but just not from you. Is it because I don’t have a nose, it asked? Not really but kind of, I replied. The aardvark said to me, you know that you’re in a wheelchair and you wear hearing aides don’t you? I said, of course. And you think you can afford to be picky, it asked? I can’t afford anything, I replied.

I was bored of talking to the aardvark so I looked around for the lunch. I saw four long trestle tables in the corner so wheeled my chair up to them. I saw a pile of laminated sheets of A4 on the first. I grabbed the one off the top. It mentioned all three artists. My name was the first on the list. I wondered why I was mentioned first? There was a pile of Styrofoam plates so I picked one off the top and headed towards the middle table. There was one plate with a pile of cheeses on it, one plate with a pile of water crackers and a plate with Christmas mince tarts on it. I thought it was strange to have Christmas mince tarts before Christmas but grabbed one anyway. There was a bread and butter knife next to the cheese. I grabbed it and took a big chunk of cheddar. The cheese was warm and crumbled against the knife’s edge. I kept looking around for people but there was only myself the bear and the aardvark. I wondered why there wasn’t a sign outside the building as I kept hacking away at the cheddar. The water crackers were stale and soft. I ate all the cheddar cheese while wondering if it would constipate me? I hoped it would. Nobody likes watery poohs. I turned around and saw the polar bear staring at me. I waved at it. It showed me its teeth again. I wondered why the bear instinctively didn’t like me? What had I ever done to it? It reminded me of a neighbour. She was an owl who had given birth to a titmouse. Every time I looked at the titmouse she looked like she would cry. I never found out what it was about me that made her so sad. I could never understand why I brought her to tears so easily.

It didn’t feel bad. It felt uncomfortable. The woman who had arranged the event kept coming up to talk to me. I didn’t want to be there. There was nobody there. Not one single person came inside to look at the art. I asked her why there was no sign outside to let the passing suits know there was a showing inside? Is that what you would have done, she asked? I told her I don’t know what I would have done. I told her I probably couldn’t have been bothered to do anything. All of you cripples are the same, she said. That’s the second time I’ve heard that today, I told her. Don’t you agree with the statement, she asked? No I don’t, I said. I’m sitting in a wheelchair, the bear doesn’t have any legs and the aardvark can’t even smell it’s own shit. Can you smell your own shit, she asked? That’s all I can smell, I replied. And where are all the people, I asked? What people, she questioned? Exactly, I said. It’s like having a box of condoms in a monastery. What do you mean, she asked? Well, I said, it’s like having lots of condoms but nobody to fuck. That would make a great title for our next exhibition, she said, nobody to fuck. There won’t be a next exhibition, I deadpanned, and if there is it won’t include me. You should call it watery poohs, I said as I smiled at her. Do you think people will come then, she asked? I don’t know, I replied, all you people are the same anyway.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan