“Sore? Sore?”
Jed didn’t know what the big deal was. He’d woken up with swollen feet before. It was the worst part of getting old, if old is what you’d call being 45, graced by God, with just enough spring to occasionally feel like a man and an excess of orneriness to makes sure the rest of the world knew the fact.
“Yes, Jill. Sore. Swollen. The hell is wrong with you this morning?” he said, trying his best to move past his wife being what was wrong with his life, the country, the entire world. “Stayed up too late watching commie double-N?”
Any normal morning, that would elicit an eye roll. This morning, however, nothing. Instead, her eyes were locked on his lower extremity, her hand slowly reaching out only to back away at the last moment.
“Sore? Swollen? Your foot’s goddamn gone!”
He looked down and didn’t see anything wrong. He tried to stand, admittedly noticing a lack of balance that wasn’t normal, but attributing it to being woken up by his life-long partner’s hysterics.
“No way. You’re tripping.”
“I’m tripping?” she rubbed her cocoa-at-dawn colored face. “It’s a goddamn stump. It looks like it’s sawed off! Or chewed…,”she started, mesmerized in horror at his foot, before her eyes moved up to his face. She squinted, leaned forward, squaring in on his mouth before he violently retreated, as if compelled by primordial force.
“I’m taking you to the ER now!”
He didn’t complain, although he hadn’t planned on going out. Not this morning. Not on the day after.
Jill fashioned a makeshift tourniquet, his objections be damn. They’d do things her way for the moment, just to have some peace. He’d go to the emergency room and pull a bait-and-switch because he wanted her checked out. She was clearly going crazy. He noticed it at the beginning of political season, but now it had clearly reached new heights.
Benz defeats Nunez! Did the republic just save itself from the abyss… Jed slammed off the TV, not wanting to hear anything else.
“Nice work yesterday getting the vote out, Jill!,” Sam, their next door neighbor yelled on their way out, as Jill helped Jed hobble, then hop, to their pickup. Just the usual smarminess from Sam, as he proudly tapped his pro-Benz sign in his front yard. “How’s it going, Jeb? No hard feeli…” His grin turned to stone shock when he glanced at Jed’s leg.
“Go fuck yourself,” Jed murmured to himself. The only thing wrong this morning was that he lived next to a blue-checkmark prick.
At the ER, he’d expected the typical bullshit of having to wait a full hour to get someone to assist, but one look at him, and the entire staff went into overdrive.
The doctor walked in, fully concentrating on her chart. “Well what do we have h…whoa!” she said, doing a double take and nearly tripping over the nurse’s foot. She leaned forward hard, using her pen to press at Jeb’s lower leg. “Now this is something you don’t see every day. What the fuck happened?”
Stunned by her bluntness, he sputtered, “It’s just a swollen foot. Don’t know what the big deal is. My wife’s being crazy.”
She looked at him incredulously, then glanced at the nurse, who shrugged his shoulder. “Sir, your foot is missing.”
“So I’ve been told, but I know it’s there. I can feel it.” He wigged his toes, sure of the familiar stiffness of its joints, the soft pinpricks of morning numbness in the heel, the overwrought big toe with its nasty, diseased nail.
“There’s nothing there. And it looks like… my god, did an animal …were you mauled?”
“No. And my foot is fine! Is this a joke? Am I being gaslit? This is some Punk’d, MSN edition shit. Where’s the cameras?” He was getting frustrated now, harangued and harassed. It was time to put down his foot, so to speak.
“Sir, we’re going to have to take a better look at this and make sure there’s no risk of infection. How you’re not passed out from blood loss, I don’t know. We’ll figure this out. Maybe your clearly patient wife can clue us in to what happened to your missing foot.” She stretched a plastic smile at him, before turning to her nurse.
They didn’t even bother doing a decent job whispering, the words ‘psych eval’ escaping their lips clear as day. Returning to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We’re going to admit you. Just…don’t worry, you’re in good hands. I know this is a trying time, but things could be worse, right?” She leaned in close. “That’s your pickup in the lot, right. I saw your Benz sticker.” She winked. “At least that psycho Nunez lost last night.”
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered in response, loud enough to make sure she could hear. “And that’s my wife’s truck. She’s the crazy one.” The doctor did a grimace-grin and left, leaving Jed to his increasingly despondent thoughts.
It felt like his whole life needed a recount at the moment, that the world was trying to vote him out and steal away his very core.
Once admitted, he spent most of the time in his room alone. He couldn’t stand Jill being around, her persistent questioning, her denying what was right in front of her. His foot was there!
He zoned out, dreaming about how it was all slipping away.
Stuck in a hospital bed, the need to escape filled his soul. To run. In high school, which, by god, didn’t seem like a quarter of a century past, he’d been a runner. An athlete. The world was in front of him and all he had to do was move fast enough to pace it. He was the type of boy America promised: smart, athletic, good-looking, and on the right side of right.
All of it, stolen away. Despite his wins, the scholarships he deserved didn’t come his way. Discrimination, he was sure of it. He’d deserved better. He’d worked his ass off for it, but instead of lapping life, he’d barely moved a quarter of a mile.
Finding his way afterwards had taken more than he could ever handle. Marriage, kids…the harder he worked, the more rocks filled his shoe.
Walking the walk. Standing strong. We’ll fix America together. That’s why Nunez’s pitch had resonated. She promised real change, to tell it like it is. To walk the path for the common man. No, to walk the path with them. I clear the vines, you buy the shoes!, she’d joked. No handouts, no unfair head starts.
Just one foot in front of the next.
“Oh my god!” the nurse screamed, dropping her tray of pills. “Your hand.”
“What now!” he asked in frustration, noticing his fuck-you digit felt sore.
The nurse rushed out. He outstretched his hand, and for a moment felt repulsed by the stub in the middle. When he blinked, everything returned to normal.
Just nerves. Too much work. Stress from a changing, senseless world.
He heard the door close.
“Please, just leave me alone,” he whined at the shadowy figure at the door, its back to him. “You people are thieves. I refuse to pay for all of this needless poking and prodding when where’s nothing wrong with me!”
“That’s right. You tell ’em,” the figure said, its voice feminine and strong. She turned and emerged into the light. Recognition caused him to shake the cobwebs, sure that he was seeing wrong.
“Nunez? Vera Nunez?” He’d seen hundreds, thousands of her ads, had watched her, studied her, recited her words. He knew her.
“That’s right, Jed. I wanted to come out and meet my supporters personally, and thank them for all of their hard work.” She extended her hand to shake his. When he did, she pulled it close, licking it with one long stroke.
An attractive woman, sure she was. But decorum still applied, and for all her faults, Jill had earned his loyalty. “Um, my wife…”
“Is a filthy commie, isn’t she? It’s a shame, I tell ya.”
Nunez sat on the edge of his bed, her lips suddenly a hard, fertile shade of red. Smeared, as with grease.
“Listen, I just wanted to let you know that whatever they tell you,” she pointed back towards the door, “Don’t you dare listen. They’re not like us. Understand? They’re crooks.
The words were a tonic, exactly what Jed wanted and needed to hear. He slowly nodded, his head light but the air heavy.
“Good. All of this,” she pointed to his foot, his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just a transaction.”
Dark confusion swirled in his mind. “Transaction?”
She nodded, and for a moment, a horrible shadow cast over her face, illuminating with a black spotlight the blank socket of her eye. “You pledged your support to me, just as I did to…well…we won’t say who. It’s just politics, baby. When we win, we reap the rewards. We get stronger, touch heights even the angels fear to tread. But when we lose–and I’m not admitting we did–but when it happens there’s a price to pay. There’s a reason they call politics the eternal grinder.”
He nodded, understanding her words in the basest way possible, the way an animal understands its hunger, the way the mechanisms of survival are inherent to the germ.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she repeated, her words as sweet as hemlock. “Next time, we’ll make sure our voices are truly heard.”
Heard. Yes. Next time we’ll make them hear us, through force if necessary. Jed pondered her words and understood, tongue caught between his teeth like a seasoned steak.