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I KILLED A ZEBRA
I KILLED A ZEBRA
: This story is also known as, NUTTY WOMEN COMING UP TO ME and I’M JUST TRYING TO MAKE MY MISERY FUNNY
At least they’re getting more interesting. At first it was only strange women that were drawn to me. I would see them staggering down the street. I would see them smiling at me with their dumb love. Their love stuck on their faces like headlights. I’m friendly so would entertain them. Most of them were nutters. They were the first I noticed staring and smiling at me. Some would approach and stand in front of me to block my way. One day a blonde European woman walked up and stood in front of my wheelchair. She asked my name and what had happened to me? I asked her what she meant? She said, you know, the chair, how did you end up in a wheelchair? Her t-shirt was three sizes too small and the left hem of her miniskirt was tucked into her knickers. She wore pink knickers. She had a hot body but a face like a jaffle-iron. I smiled at her and told her my name was Nil and I was a cannonball artist with a circus. I couldn’t stop smiling as I told her that they put too much powder in the cannon and I overshot the net. I told her that I killed a zebra and injured an elephant as I landed. She knew that I knew she was mad. I knew she knew I was making it up to fuck with her but it felt better than telling the truth. She looked put out. She turned around and walked off. I watched her pink bum walk away from me. At least you can lie to a mad person
I almost died. Time and medicine kept me alive. I spent over a year in two hospitals staring at the TV at five-something dollars a day. I spent over a year staring at the faces of strangers remembering nothing. My girl left me to the hospital and the system. At first I blamed her but at first I was a child. A child in the infancy of understanding. I woke in a hospital not knowing how I got there. I couldn’t tell you when I understood how I got there but the way I see it that’s a good thing. Over a year with other people’s fingers in my body is nothing I want to remember. It took a long time for me to realise that it was my girl’s mother coming in to see me lying in that bed and not her. It took me giving her the option of leaving me for some of my pain to go away. I do remember the day (but not the year, day or date) I understood why she left me. My mobile conversations with her were getting briefer and I was getting less love. She was in her final year of studying something and said ok when I told her she could end our relationship if that was what she wanted
And then I got out of hospital. It seemed all the doctors involved in my rehabilitation were concerned about my being released into the community. They were concerned because of my brain and spinal injuries and the fact that I had no one in Sydney. They had also been told about my disposition to reckless behaviour. Before the accident I’d moved out of North Bondi where I lived with a friend into my girl’s apartment in Darlinghurst. She’d asked me to move in. She only asked me to move in with her because of the sex I gave her. She no longer loved me because I had an accident. We did not have a healthy relationship apart from sex. I woke up in two different hospitals. I saw a nurse the other day. He had worked on the spinal ward in the second hospital I was in. He told me I looked good and strong. He said it was like I was on another planet during my year there. I woke up. I woke in pain not knowing the cause of my pain. I didn’t remember anything. I woke up broken with no one to love. There was no one to love. She broke my heart so I went back to where I remembered
I’ve lived in Bondi ever since I was discharged from the hospital. I am still not discharged from the pain. Everything has seemed hard and futile in life since I woke up alone and was given this wheelchair. The few pleasures I have are all based on solo efforts while before the accident my few pleasures were in how I made others feel. Not much has changed. It’s only that the pleasure I now give is not sexual but emotional, or something. The women who used to love me loved me for my body. Now the love is something else
As I said they’re getting better. I saw the most beautiful woman walking on one leg and a pair of crutches at the Icebergs. She gave me a smile inviting me to talk to her. I gathered the courage to approach her on the second day of seeing her. She was eager to tell me of her injury and ask of mine. I asked her if she was with Chic or Vivien’s? She told me she was with Chic. She asked how I knew she was a model? I told her because she was so beautiful. She surprised me by blushing and thanking me. I wanted to fuck her. I talked and listened for twenty minutes until we could both feel the anxiety of our anticipation. I could tell she was waiting for me to ask her out. I was waiting to ask her out. I am a man so can only imagine the anticipation she felt. Our conversation meandered. I felt it. She didn’t like me like I liked her. I lost my nerve. I didn’t ask her out so the mentioning her boyfriend finally quashed my anticipation. I smiled and kept asking questions and seeming interested in her answers until it was comfortable enough for me to tell her I had to be somewhere else. I pushed my wheelchair away from the water and away from her. She had not seen me in a sexual light. She had seen me as something else
I pushed my wheelchair back home. I went out on to the balcony lit a cigarette and smoked it. The cigarette relaxed me. I stubbed it out and pushed my wheelchair up over the ledge back into the lounge. I put the brakes on and transferred onto the couch. I switched the television remote on. I flicked around the channels looking for something. There was nothing on. I found an infomercial for a women’s bra. It was showing how it could transform a woman’s ordinary bust into something extraordinary. It was showing before and after photos. Both busts looked good to me. My eyes narrowed on her cleavage. It looked ample. The woman on the ad looked so pleased with her new figure. Her eyes gleamed. Her eyes were full of self-love. I pulled my pants down and start stroking it. She kept changing from her front to her profile and stroking down the side of her breast. I kept getting bigger looking at her cleavage and the smile stuck to her face. She looked so pleased with herself that my erection eventually started to shrink. It reminded me of a woman I once had. She was so delirious with lust that I could never fuck her. She wanted me so bad. Her hands were all over me so fast that it always killed my desire. I changed the channels until I found another ad for an item of clothing (they were big knickers) that sucked in and hid the fat around the mid-section of another woman. I started to harden until the camera focused on her face. She loved herself more than she normally would now that she was sucked in and hidden. Her body looked big in all the right places. She was looking at herself in front of a tall mirror. Her smile stole it from her big bum and big boobs. Her smile reminded me of fakery and I went down. I went down because I thought about it. I was just looking
I look for love in the eyes of every woman I see. Every woman I meet wants to find things out about me. They talk and flirt while peeling the skin from my flesh. They all want to know the person inside. They see through my exterior and talk. They all seem to like the person inside. I don’t like the person inside. Everybody’s looking for a friend. Everybody wants a friend but me
Andrew Stuart Buchanan
ADAM ATE THAT APPLE
ADAM ATE THAT APPLE
My dad told me not to worry about it. He told me it’s the world’s oldest profession. He was right. Ever since Adam ate that apple we’ve been chasing her. Every man pays for it in some way. It could be buying dinners or rings. For some men it just comes down to cash. I never had to pay for it before the accident. It was the opposite. Women chased me. From the age of sixteen I’ve always had a woman after me. I had three different women ask me to move in with them. I did. I was a non-professional gigolo. Now I sit in my wheelchair wondering what women are thinking when they stare. They stare at me but I no longer know why. I wink and flirt but none of them want me… the good ones that is. The bad ones want me. There’s been a succession of the bad ones. By the bad ones I mean the broken ones. But you’re sitting half-deaf in a wheelchair, I hear you say. Well by broken I mean emotionally broken. But aren’t you emotionally broken yourself, I hear you ask? Well ok, I mean a succession of wrong women. I have a silver bearded and bilingual neighbour who told me I was crazy for turning any woman down in my position (no legs, no memory, no job, no money, no hope). He was right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I can tell by looking a woman in the eye if it’s going to work. I can tell by looking at a woman’s body if it’s going to be worth the effort. The feminists and angry women are shouting SEXIST PIG!!!! I can hear them. Angry women and feminists don’t live in the real world. They say it’s a man’s world but it’s the woman who chooses. Most women haven’t figured that out. The feminists haven’t figured that out.
I keep meeting women who want to be my friend. They keep giving me their phone numbers. I want to fuck all of them, even the ugly ones. Everybody wants a friend but me. I’m not a misanthrope but I don’t need people the way they do. I’d be happy with one person if they were the right person. I have a phone and wallet full of people’s names and phone numbers I’ve forgotten. When I say people I mean women I’ve forgotten. I should be more careful. My mother tells me off. She tells me that I’m too picky and also tells me that by going for looks alone I am missing out on some really special women. She is right and I am wrong but I am happy and wrong. I keep meeting nutters. I keep meeting the strangest women. They’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s the wheelchair or maybe they can just smell my pain. There was a beautiful woman just the other week. She stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way. I smiled at her and she burst into tears. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t say why she was crying. She just stood crying while I sat wondering. I sat wondering if she was crying with me, for me or over me? Again I know I shouldn’t be so picky. Maybe if I got to know her and cuddled her she’d stop crying but I didn’t want to find out. I’ve cried enough of my own tears.
Women. I thought I knew them before the accident that almost killed me. I did know them as I was then. I don’t know women as I am now. A Female Friend told me off a while ago. She is a mother of two and took the tone of a mother of two as she told me. She told me off as I told her of the women who’ve turned me down since being in a wheelchair. I said that heaps of women had flirted with me so I’d asked them out but none wanted to get to know me. I’m always asking women out after they’ve flirted with me to be told they’ve got a husband or boyfriend at home. I asked Female Friend if they were flirting with me at all or was I misreading signals? I told her I thought that they were. Female Friend took that mother tone as she almost screamed, they’re not flirting with you; they’re probably just impressed and want to get to know you. Impressed with and want to get to know what, I asked, the wheelchair, the hearing aids or the buggered brain? Andy, she said again like a mother, they’d be impressed because you’re pushing yourself up hills and not giving up. I told her I’d rather they were unimpressed and still wanted to fuck me. She said, well they’re not are they? She is wiser than me. My mum always says, don’t you know mothers know everything? Female Friend knew it. Mothers do know everything.
I still need sex as much as I always have. Not being able to get it has turned me into a wanker. I wank like a horny boy. I wank four or five times a week. My spinal injury has affected my legs bum dick and mind. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp. Some nights as I lay wanking my cock goes limp from thinking too much. The animal in me pauses as it peers out of the woods. I start to question why I’m doing it? I wonder why I’m laying on a bed with a box of Kleenex waiting to come on to sheets of 2-ply. It’s really my mind that goes limp. Just last week my mind took over as my Macintosh was connected to Melons Tube. The first image made me swell. I fell in love with the girl on my screen. Somehow my love of the girl on the screen was killed. I lay watching busty teen sex videos while my erection faded. At first I didn’t know why my erection was shrinking. The images turned me on. It was only after the pitch of my lust was quietened that I could hear what my mind was saying. My mind was reminding me of the excitement of a woman’s breath on the side of my neck. My mind was reminding me of cuddling a woman until she falls asleep snoring. My mind was reminding me of waking up and still being in love. My mind is at war with my heart and my soul. My mind is at war with love. I miss love. I still need love as much as I always have. My body needs love as much as my mind.
They’ve agreed to pay for two visits to a sex worker specialising in spinal injuries. I looked at her website. The photo on her page made her look like she works in a fish and chip shop. She looked old weathered but happy. I rang my case manager and told them I would rather have my penis lowered into a deep-fat fryer than put it in that dirty old thing. It took a lot of ringing around before they found me a younger version. She’s a hot Asian. The photo on her site makes her look like an engineering student. I rang her on a Wednesday afternoon. She picked up so I introduced myself and told her the name of my insurance company. She told me she’d heard of me and the complications related to my injury. A friend had given me a list of things to ask her. I launched into them. I asked her if I could expect penetration out of an encounter? I told her I’ve only managed a three quarter hard since the accident. I told her that might be because I haven’t been turned on properly or that it could be because of damage to the spinal cord. I asked if I would be allowed to penetrate her or not? She paused a second before she answered. She said timidly that she couldn’t really talk as she was actually on the bus. I laughed and asked her again, come on tell me what can I expect and am I allowed to fuck you? She laughed and I laughed again. It made me happy to think I could still relate to the opposite sex but sad to think that I now had to pay for it.
I still can’t decide wether I should go through with it. It feels dirty having to pay for sex. It also feels dirty laying on my bed with a hand on it with 2-ply at the ready. They say money can’t buy love. Money can’t buy love but money can make it feel like it.
Andrew Stuart Buchanan
NOTES FROM THE EDGE 