Amps Unonymous

By David Davies

There are people in this world who want to be amputees. They long to lose a leg or an arm or other body parts. Although they often know amputees personally they seek them out and are fully aware of the inconveniences amputees live with, and although they usually know the problems amputees have with prostheses, sore stumps, and phantom pain, these would-be amputees are not deterred in the least.

It's a strange state of mind: obsessive, somewhat psychotic. elusive, depressive, and highly resistant to attempts to root it out. This state of mind has thus far stumped psychoanalysts, psychiatrists and both amateur and professional psychologists. It has produced a small cluster of explanatory literature which is primarily anecdotal and explains nothing. The British have a great word for this kind of obsessiveness: maggot.

Such a would-be amputee was Raymond Wadsworth of Chicago, and that maggot had gnawed from within from the beginning of Raymond's life but, like all would-be amputees, the maggot was his dearest friend whom he kept hidden, not allowing even the slightest clue to betray its existence. Not, that is, until at age 22 he chanced upon a gay magazine in which he found the following classified ad:

Voluntary amputees

We have a club just for you, and we're looking for qualified people to set up local chapters. If you are not a voluntary amputee but wish to become one, this organization can help you find the means, can advise you on the economics involved, can guide you to sympathetic prosthetists. Amputee or not, if you're interested, contact Peter, Amps Unonymous

That's when Raymond's maggot first caught a glimpse of the outside world. Overwhelming was the discovery that there were not only people like himself abroad in the world but some of them had actually acted upon the desire and accomplished an amputation.

A phone number accompanied the ad and it was some sort of miracle! the area code was the same as his. To his intense satisfaction he realized they were somewhere in Chicago at this very moment. Alive! Available!

It didn't take him long to grab the phone and start dialing. He got an answering machine on the first ring and left a message for Peter to call him.

Making the call restored some of his equilibrium, and he read the ad three more times, being puzzled with each reading by the word "unonymous." But he shrugged it off: It was just a typo and obviously they meant Amps Anonymous. Another kind of AA.

In Raymond Wadsworth's world, in his circle of life, his maggot was totally invisible and his sexual orientation was not readily apparent. In other words he seemed to be a relatively normal young man, although not an ordinary one. He had his own attractive house in one of he "good" suburbs, while his mother lived in the center of the fray in a lavish condo not far from the Drake Hotel.

Recently graduated from an Ivy League university with a degree in linguistics, Raymond was doing special comparative studies in Indo-European and Finno-Ugric phonology at the University of Chicago. He could afford this sort of scholarly indulgence as his late father had left him and his mother very well fixed. His commutation to the university was accomplished in a vintage Porsche.

An only son, Raymond was, of course, spoiled, but not to the naked eye. The spoilage showed only under certain kinds of duress, namely anything creating frustration resulting from denial. Standing in line at the post office or bank did not perturb him, nor did discovering that what he wanted to buy was out of stock, but if something came between him and what he truly had his heart set on, all hell could and usually did break loose. This unfortunate trait cost him the friendship of two lovers, as well as numerous other lesser individuals.

Other than this personality quirk created by an over-indulgent mother and father, Raymond was an attractive, exceptionally brilliant young man almost completely without affectation. His fast mind, however, contributed to his being highly impatient with much of the slow world. This "Peter" of the ad had not called back immediately, and that miffed Raymond.

As it happened, Peter did not call back until late the next day, inviting Raymond to a meeting of the group at eight o'clock one evening the following week, said meeting to be held in a bar called Peg Leg Sal. As to Peter, Raymond was struck with two observances: the voice, which was falsetto high like a bad counter-tenor, and the fact that he seemed to be talking in shorthand. Peg Leg Sal, located in a part of the city Raymond couldn't recall ever having seen, was a place he'd never heard of because once you heard a name like that there was little likelihood you'd ever forget it.

During that long week of waiting Raymond must have fantasized a couple of dozen times what the meeting would be like, what the members would be like, what Peg Leg Sal's would be like. Several times that week he curbed a desire to get in his Porsche and find the place and simply drive past. When the day and evening did arrive, he took off in a mild frenzy of expectation and arrived about ten minutes before eight.

The area in which Peg Leg Sal's found itself was slum and the interior of the bar was, he told himself, exactly what one would expect to find in such a locale. It was dirty and had the typical smell of stale beer, unswept floors, long-dead cigarette smoke and a melange of other odors that made him suspect his lungs would rot if left there very long.

There was a bank of four garishly self-illuminated pinball machines against one wall and operating at one of them was a man of gigantic proportions. It wasn't until Raymond looked back at him a second time that he then noticed that the man was standing on his right leg and that the massive pant-clothed residual of his left leg was resting on top of one corner of the pinball machine. Not a crutch in sight.

Raymond stared at the stump because he was impressed with its thickness and because the sight of it gave him a warm infusion of sexual pleasure. In fact Raymond was impressed with the man's overall bulk. He was enormous! Shifting gear to fast judgment, Raymond decided the man was six-six and weighed over three hundred pounds.

Approaching him Raymond said, "Are you " but he was interrupted.

"Peter," said the bulk without looking up from the pinball machine. "We don't have last names here. You're Raymond. You phoned. Ray OK?" In person his voice was comic and not remotely like a counter-tenor: It was tiny, tinny and distorted like a cheap small radio.

"Yeah," Raymond answered, trying to ignore the angry shot of adrenalin he received, and continued with a veiled hint of sarcasm, "just call me Ray." Raymond hated this nickname.

"Others'll be along," Peter said and, having curtly dismissed Ray, continued caroming steel balls.

Raymond, tingling with the seeds of rage but denying their germination, went over to the bar and sat down and watched a bartender on crutches thump his way down to him. The man had two legs but he walked as if they were made of two-by-fours. "Wat'll ya have? My stumps are killing me thass why I'm usin crutches. Tried to walk in that AIDS marathon last week and put blisters on both stumps. It's shit! What'd you say you'll have?"

"Uh. . ." Raymond was at a loss. "Just a glass of tonic, please," he said trying to show neither his anger with Peter nor his revulsion with the bartender who looked to be over 90 and whose face was a grand prix collection of wrinkles which reduced his squinty eyes to little points of reflected light.

"Lemoner lime?"

"Lemon's fine, thank you. Sorry to hear about your blisters. It must be very painful." Angry or not, Raymond had been brought up properly which meant being civil to those less fortunate than he.

"You ain't jis-a-kiddin," he snorted, slapped a tall glass on the bar in front of Raymond after scooping ice into it, shot it with tonic out of a hose, picked up a tired lemon slice and dropped it into the fizzing liquid. "That'll be senny-fi cents."

Putting a dollar bill on the counter, Raymond watched as the man picked it up with such finality that he knew he would never see the token quarter change begging to be left behind.

"You an amp?" the man asked.

"Well, no, I'm n "

"Thought ya walked too perty to be an amp. I kin tell a-mile-away. Now Pete over there, all he does is hop. He comes hopping in here and I think the place is going to fall down roun ma head. Ain't that right, Pete?" He yelled as if Pete were a mile away.

"Yur fuckin tootin," Pete shouted back without looking away from the pinball machine.

Raymond winced. "You mean " he began and got no further.

"Naw, he ain't even got crutches. Says you fuckin don't need em. Me, I ain't got a leg to hop on so I gotta have sumpin an ya can't do bar-tending in a wheelchair. Ain't that right Pete?" He yelled again.

"Yur fuckin tootin, Sal, yur fuckin tootin," was Pete's high-pitched rejoinder. He sounded like one of those high-squealing whistles on European locomotives.

That was Raymond's introduction to the owner/operator of Peg Leg Sal. Raymond was both appalled and, in spite of himself, fascinated.

At that point a wheelchair bustled through the front door propelled by a tiny little person. Raymond turned to see who it was and frowned in disbelief at the size of this little man. He seemed to be a miniature human being but without legs. Snap judgment told Raymond the little man was thirty inches tall.

At this point Raymond's mind began flashing "voluntary amps?" He felt as if he'd gone back a hundred years to the days of sideshow "freaks" like the armless wonder woman who drew pencil portraits of sitters with her left foot.

"Hi, Marvel!" Sal called out.

"Hello, Sal," Marvel answered in a smooth baritone voice, so unexpected and in such contrast to Peter that Raymond laughed out loud, garnering a look of appreciation from the little man to whom this apparently was not a new reaction.

"He ain't no amp, but he's here for the meeting," Sal said poking a finger at Raymond. "This here's Ray. That's Cap'n Marvel."

"Hi, Pete," Marvel said before turning to Raymond. Then he wheeled over and extended his right hand. "Hi, Ray, I'm Marvellito. It's bastard Italian for `Little Wonder'."

"I'm happy to meet you. People generally call me Raymond, and I prefer it," He looked at Sal and then, glancing at Peter, he added with a twisted smile, "Peter shortened it to Ray."

"The Big Peter," Marvel said and looked over at the bulk with what Raymond could identify only as deep affection. "He does little things like that and they can be annoying. Isn't that right, Pete?"

"Yur fuckin tootin it is." Pete sounded like a mouse.

"You mustn't mind Pete," Marvel said. "He's a man of few words and most of those are obscene. But Pete has his great moments in history. So you're the person for whom our meeting has been called!"

"Yes," Raymond said with what appeared to be relief at finding someone who was a little more like himself. "I have wanted to be an amp all my life and I saw the ad so I phoned."

Marvel laughed it was a rich warm sound that made Raymond smile. "All your life! I've talked to many like you and that's what they all say," Marvel observed. Then he caught sight of Raymond's frown.

"No, I'm not accusing you of being a bore or of not telling it like it is. Every one of the people we see and each of the people in the group have apparently been born with this desire. They all say they've had it all their lives."

Marvel paused to read Raymond's face. "I'm being objective. You see, I'm not a voluntary amp. In fact I'm not an amp. What you see is a birth defect. But I'm a voluntary birth defect," Marvel added with relish. "So when Pete and the others asked me to be part of their group, I was more than happy to join them. I'm a social misfit and an outcast and they're the only friends I have. Consequently I've come to know a great deal about the amp mentality."

Raymond's eyebrows went up a notch. Marvel continued, "Are you familiar with wysiwyg?"

Startled by this sudden burst of computerese, Raymond nodded and muttered, "What you see i "

"You got it. Well, amps are not wysiwygs. I repeat not wysiwygs. What you see and what you get are usually two totally different things. Pete is the pristine example of wysinwyg." Marvel looked at Raymond with questioning raised eyebrows. Raymond nodded that he understood.

"Just keep your eyes open and you'll see what I mean when we get going in the meeting. Oh here comes Tracy!" Marvel had turned to look at the door as a tall extremely thin man he looked like the embodiment of anorexia entered the bar, the door being held open by a short hefty dark man wearing a hook where his right hand would be. "And that's Bonito. He's Mexican," Marvel continued. "Or was. He took out American citizenship just last year. If this were wysiwyg you would, like other anti-minorities, condemn Bonito to a chain gang south of the border, hook and phony leg included. Oh yes, he's a right BE and a right BK. He's also one of the top bank auditors in Illinois."

Marvel paused a few seconds in his running commentary. Then: "The tall drink of water there name's Tracy has no arms as anyone can plainly see. He and Bonito live together and Bonito takes great care of Tracy. And Tracy takes great care of Bonito. Tracy is one of medicine's great researchers. It cost him his arms but he forges ahead without regard to a minor accident like that. At any rate he got what he wanted." Upon saying that Marvel winked a broad kind of stage wink.

Raymond was fast building to circuit overload. A man who wanted to lose both arms? A Mexican who wanted to become a BE and a BK? Raymond's amp goal was fairly simple: the loss of his right leg above the knee nothing as complex or mind-boggling or incapacitating as a DAE.

Captain Marvel continued as the pair approached and stopped. "Tracy," he said, "I want you to meet a possible new member. He saw our ad and since he lives in town Pete invited him in for a lesson on how to became an amp. This is Raymond. He's going to tell us what his goal is later. And Raymond this is Bonito. I've already told him about your BE and BK, Bonito." Marvel stopped and turned again to watch the door where another three guys were just entering.

"Ah, the gang's all here," Marvel said. "Hey guys, come over here and meet our guest! Raymond, I know you're meeting everyone at once but you'll have time to sort them out. Just roll with the punches. Hi, Glover, this is Raymond. Raymond, this is Glover."

Raymond was looking into the exceptionally handsome face of a tall, well-built black man who, from watching him walk, he concluded to be a double AK, a conclusion assisted by the fact that the man carried a cane in each hand. Shifting a cane out of his right hand, Glover offered it to Raymond who took it.

Marvel continued. "This is Bertil and this is Jack the Hack. Our guest Raymond." They shook hands as introduced. Bertil was perhaps the oldest of the group, looking as if he were in his late fifties or early sixties. Jack the Hack was, surprisingly, a very young man. So young he looked almost adolescent. Raymond concluded that this couldn't have been a stranger collection of men.

"All here?" came from Pinball Pete. They all looked in his direction as he started hopping over to two tables that had been shoved together. Each hop shook the building.

Marvel wheeled ahead of the group, putting his chair at the head of the tables. Pete took a place on his left, Tracy took the place on his right. Then Marvel said, "Sit next to Tracy, Raymond," and Raymond did as instructed. Jack the Hack sat next to Pete, Glover sat next to him, and Bonito sat next to Raymond. Bertil sat at the foot of the table opposite Marvel. To Raymond's astonishment Sal joined them and sat next to Glover.

"Pete," Marvel said.

Pete took from his breast shirt pocket a small spiral-bound notebook, flipped it open and thumbed through several pages before stopping. Then he said "Jack!"

"Here!" Jack responded.

"Glover!"

"Here!"

"Bertil!"

"Here!"

"Bonito!"

"Here!"

"Tracy!"

"Here!"

Pete looked out into the rest of the bar, and it was only at that moment that Raymond noted there were no other customers. Pete turned his head looking everywhere, and then said, "Marvel not here! Little fucker's late. I'll take over."

With his arms Marvel adroitly hopped out of his chair onto the table and flung himself head-on at Pete who caught Marvel in a bear hug and squeaked "There he is!" He held Marvel as one would a baby while Marvel with his right hand caressed Pete's cheek.

"I love you, ya fuckin slob," Marvel said. Pete grinned from ear to ear and kissed Marvel on the cheek. Tracy looked at Raymond on his right to see how he was taking this strange show of affection and whispered, "They do this at every meeting. They live together." The others at the table were laughing at the performance and Marvel swung on his arms back to his chair.

"The meeting will come to order. May we have the treasurer's report?"

Tracy cleared his throat and Bonito, on Raymond's right, pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and read, "Balance, three dollars and ten cents."

Tracy said, "Any questions?"

Glover asked, "Are all the bills paid?"

"You may say they are," Tracy said.

Bonito whispered to Raymond, "We don't have any."

"Will the secretary thank you, Tracy, for your report will the secretary read the minutes of the last meeting?"

Pete looked at Marvel. "What fuckin minutes?"

"The minutes stand approved as read," Marvel announced. "Tonight we have a guest, a young man who claims he wants to join us as an amputee. But before he loses, we want to make sure we'll gain. Raymond, I don't imagine you've had any experience being thrown to the lions, but that lack will soon be remedied. You will now be interrogated by the group. We'll start with Tracy and work our way around the table. Tracy, he's your meat."

"So you think you want to be an amp. What kind?"

"A slightly above mid-thigh right AK."

"Why that choice?"

"That's the way I've always felt. I don't know why. Why did you want to be a DAE?" Raymond asked innocently.

"Foul!!" three of the members shouted. Raymond looked with surprise at the group.

"The interviewee is not allowed to ask questions," Marvel said.

"Not allowed?!" Raymond said hotly, obviously pissed off. "I thought this was serious." At that observation the entire group laughed which made him boiling mad.

"Raymond," the calm baritone from Marvel captured Raymond's attention. "The men you see here are all voluntary amputees. Each of them has contrived in some may to personally eliminate the limb or limbs that are missing. If that isn't serious enough for you, then you can't be serious about it."

"I am serious about it! But I came here to ask questions, I came here to learn and all I've seen so far is a burlesque show of a board meeting: `read the minutes what fucking minutes the minutes stand approved as read'. You expect me to take that seriously?"

"What you're telling us," Marvel continued quietly, "is that you're not ready to be an amputee and probably never will be. If you want to continue, we must ask you to continue on our terms. I promise you that if you do continue, you won't have to ask questions because they'll all be answered."

Raymond was angry. "What you're telling me is that you're phonies," he said. "You may all be bona fide amputees, even voluntary amputees, but you've built your own little playground which no one is allowed to come in and spoil by asking questions that might get too near the truth. The ad I read got my hopes up that there was a solution to my problem. All I get is nothing but a bunch of phonies!"

"Just a moment, Ray," Tracy said calmly. "Look at me. Do you or don't you see arms on my emaciated body?"

"You know damned bloody blooming well I don't, so what's the "

"Even so, I'm a phony. Is Marvel a phony?"

"Marvel isn't even an amputee!" Raymond shouted. "He's the only one here who's for real!"

"Then what you're really saying, and not doing a very good job of it, is that you want to come play in our sandpile and become a phony like the rest of us not counting Marvel who's for real." Tracy paused. "Is that right?"

Raymond had turned dead white with anger as he looked at Tracy. Then he surveyed each face around the table. Bonito was grinning, Bertil was grinning, Sal was chewing his teeth, Glover was looking wise, Jack the Hack was soundlessly laughing, Pete's face was bright red as if he had held his breath too long, and Marvel seemed to be shrinking because he looked about half the size Raymond remembered his being when he first saw him.

Raymond lowered his head and fought hard to pull himself together. During the ensuing silence, his color slowly returned as his white-hot anger ebbed. He felt wretched and totally defeated.

"Tell us about it," Tracy urged quietly.

Raymond was limp and had started perspiring. Looking up he seemed confused, because he didn't know whether to believe what was happening was real or a put-on. He swallowed hard, straightened up and pulled himself together. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I guess you've heard this before " he got that far before being attacked by a fit of coughing and an even worse fit of nerves. He swallowed hard again before he continued, "but this is the truth. I have wanted to be rid of my right leg for as long as I can remember. I've played at it. I think it every day. I'm wrong as I am." Raymond spoke jerkily as if he had a hammer and were knocking each phrase out of his mouth. "There's a mistake somewhere. Part of me is in error. My right leg, and I want to correct it. If thine eye offend thee pluck it out. My right leg is offensive. I've had a lot of ideas, but I still don't know what to do to get rid of it. I expected help here, but I'm certainly not going to get it from the way things are going so I lose. I seem to have lost everything but the one thing I want to lose. Thank you for your time and trouble." Raymond rose to his feet. "I apologize for calling you phonies. You're all if you really are voluntary amps a hell of a lot stronger than I am. I guess I don't belong here, and I won't waste any more of your time." Raymond turned and headed for the door. Not one word followed him.

He reached the door and, on trying to open it, discovered it was locked. Being denied a dignified exit and escape pushed him over the edge: this time the seeds of rage germinated. He did not turn around, but sat at a table near the door, his back still turned to the group. "Those flaming sons of bitches! Those goddamned sonsabitches!!" he thought, giving way to silent but violent internal rage. He looked at his watch which read 8:18. Tears of rage began to drip down his cheeks. His body shook so much he had to take his elbows off the table because they made it rattle. Finally the rage, having used all the available energy, burned itself out and Raymond began to fold, both psychologically and physically.

Even though he was ravening hungry and exhausted, he was determined not to break before they did. So he sat there and waited. If they were communicating with each other, it must have been in very quiet whispers, because he heard nothing. He became so tired he put his head down on the table, but in doing this he caught sight of a window which obviously looked out onto the street. With head down he thought how he could pick up the chair, rush to the window, smash it and jump out, a free man. He raised his head and calculated the distance and where to aim the chair. When he had rehearsed it several times in his head, he looked at his watch again and read 8:52. The stand-off had lasted thus far for thirty-four minutes. He marveled at the group! They had maintained silence for thirty-four minutes! Talk about self-discipline!

Just then there was a great banging and the building shook and he knew Pete was headed his way. Also he heard crutches bumping on the floor coming in his direction. He rose, turned and picked up his chair which seemed very heavy and threw it as hard as he could toward the window. It fell short and clattered to the floor just as Pete arrived. Picking it up, Pete shoved it back to Raymond, but remained standing on his one leg in front of the window.

Sal hobbled up to Raymond and said, "I know it don't look like it, but we're trying to help you figger things out," Sal said.

"You think making me a prisoner is going to do the job?" Raymond yelled with disgust. "You guys are crazy!"

"Hee-hee!" Sal snickered. "Prisoner! You're your own prisoner, Raymond, boy. All your life you've been trying to get out of that prison, and now when there's a chance to find out how it kin be done, you balk and call your liberators names. That ain't showing very good manners, boy."

With his last dregs of adrenalin, Raymond exploded. He collapsed into the chair Pete had pushed back at him and beat the table with his fists, turned and saw Pete, rose, picked up the chair and ran screaming at Pete who simply took hold of the chair and, standing there like a rock even on one leg, wrenched it out of Raymond's hands. That's when Raymond broke completely and started sobbing with frustration and sank to the floor wailing with each gut-tearing sob. This didn't last long because Raymond didn't have the energy to sustain it. As he subsided, he became aware that Pete had sat down beside him. Pete embraced Raymond and gently put Raymond's head on his chest. Then he petted the back of Raymond's head as if he were a baby.

As Raymond lay there in Pete's reassuring arms, he remembered what Marvel had said about Pete, that he had his great moments in history.

When Raymond felt sufficiently in control, he untangled himself from Pete and rose to his feet, while Pete hauled himself up to his foot. Crutch-thumping over to Raymond, Sal handed him a tissue he seemed to have got out of nowhere. Raymond took the cue and blew his nose.

Sal was grinning. "Feel better now?"

"Yeah," Raymond answered. "Thank you." He looked at Pete who smiled at him very gently. "I don't know what's happening to me." "It's like this for everbuddy when they git amputated, son," Sal said quietly. "Let's go back an sit down."

Sal and Raymond started back to the others with Pete hopping behind them. Raymond was feeling both sheepish and chastised, and looked carefully at the serious but not hostile faces at the table. Pete sat down, Sal sat down and Raymond sat down. Tracy broke the silence.

"Amputation is a serious business, even when you want it. The loss is permanent. The worse thing that happens to you is a thing most people regard as a nuisance, but which is or can be a killer. Do you know what that is? You've already had a couple of attacks of it and without Pete you might have seriously hurt yourself. What were you feeling when you exploded back there?"

Raymond looked at Tracy with bewilderment. "What did I feel?" he repeated slowly. He looked puzzled and seemed to be racking his brain to remember what he had been feeling. Then it began to formulate. "I felt like I'd lost control, I felt lost, I was butting my head against a ten-foot thick wall of iron and then I blew up. That's what I was feeling."

Tracy smiled. "You must learn to recognize it because if you do became an amp, even a voluntary amp, you're going to face it many times, you're going to do battle with it. You've got to know what it is. And it can be a killer. Do you know the word for what you were feeling?"

Raymond looked at Tracy and frowned while he tried to figure it out. Suddenly the frown disappeared. "Yes," he said, "Yes, I think I do." He looked down into his lap, and without looking up said, "Frustration." No one said anything.

"Tracy?" Marvel asked.

"Next," Tracy said.

Bonito was sitting on Raymond's right. "Do you have crutches at home?"

"No," Raymond answered.

"Have you ever used crutches?"

"No, I haven't."

"You live alone?"

"Yes I do,"

"Good. Then we suggest that you buy some and use them for two weeks for everything you do around the house every day. For cooking your own meals, doing the dishes, the laundry, making the bed."

"You want me to do everything on crutches. Everything. So?"

"After two weeks of it, you'll either give up wanting to be an amp or you'll go for it whole hog. There's rarely any doubt left in the experimenter's mind." He looked at Marvel. "Next."

Bertil looked at Raymond. "I'm a double BK. I can do things Glover and Sal can't do 'cause they're double AK's. Jack and Pete, single AK's can do things I can't do. Tracy's got two good legs so he can do things none of us can do. And vice versa 'cause he doesn't have any arms. That's my way of referring to frustration levels. Since you want to be an AK, the best thing for you to do is learn from an AK. When you're not using your crutches, hop like Pete does. Shower standing on one leg, dry yourself while standing on that leg. You'll discover very quickly what real fatigue is. I'm going to ask you a question you have no way of being able to answer, so don't try it. The question is, do you have the stamina to become an amputee?"

Raymond's mind was getting into gear and he was beginning to understand why he wasn't allowed to ask questions: They would be puerile and pointless. He was learning about things he hadn't known were there.

Bertil glanced at Marvel and nodded.

"Sal, you're next," Marvel said.

Sal looked at Raymond, his tiny eyes almost hidden by crow's feet. "I'm a snarly ole bastard but I like folk. And I shore hate ta see em cheat theirselves. And I don wanna see you cheat yerself. Bonito there tole ya to practice on crutches. What I wanna tell ya is practice on a prosthes, but that's impossible till it's too late an you ain't got nothing else to stan on. The worse possible thing about being amputated is walking on one a these here legs. They don fit right, they don sit right. The only time they's comfortable is when ya stan em up in the corner and lie down. I tole ya I don like wheelchairs. But I don like prosthes's neither. The only time I'm happy is when I'm home sittin in my easy chair. Then my stumps feel fine. And that's about ten percent of the time. The other ninety is jis hell and don you forgit it. I like ya, son, and I wan you should be happy with er without yer leg. Next."

Raymond looked across the table at Glover who smiled and said, "Are you feeling OK?"

Raymond found a smile to send back and said, "Not really. I feel as if I'd been shredded like a piece of paper and scattered to the winds."

"That's good. When you sweep yourself back together, put it in the context of everything you're hearing this evening. Have you ever been in a wheelchair?"

"No," Raymond answered with a tinge of dread.

"Rent one for a week and do nothing without it, go nowhere without it. I mean morning noon and night and in the car and at the supermarket. We only met tonight and you've seen me with prostheses. You've seen Sal with prostheses. It took Sal " he paused and looked at Sal who said "six months" " six months to learn to walk with them. It will take you less time because you plan on losing only one leg. I'm still learning to walk on mine. You saw me carrying a cane in each hand. I knew it would take time, but I had no idea it would take so long. Frustration. There isn't a man here tonight that hasn't considered suicide because of frustration."

"I thought voluntary amps got what they wanted." Raymond said. "We did," Glover answered. "And we've paid for it. One way or another. I don't believe I have anything more. Next."

"That's me," Jack the Hack said. "You said you wanted to be a right AK. I'm a right AK. I won't try to give you my picture right now, but Sal's right on about no two being the same. I don't even have a wheelchair, but I use crutches at home most of the time because for me they're easier. I didn't have the practice that Bonito suggested, but I urge you to do what he says. I've been frustrated too, and exploded like you did. And I've had phantom pain and all that. No matter how prepared you think you are, it won't be half enough. Once you're an amp you're going to learn things that are impossible to learn any other way." He paused. "So, I guess," he looked at Marvel, " . .next."

Pete looked at Marvel who grinned at him, and then said to Raymond, "Got nothin ta say 'cept it's a fuckin lonely road you're choosin and 'less ya gotta buddy, it ain't gonna be much fun. Man or woman, don't fuckin matter, so long's ya got someone. It's a hedge against frustration, and that includes sexual frustration. Marvel, buddy, it's yore turn."

"Raymond, you're the first person we've interviewed from the ad. But you're not the first person we've interviewed. There's quite a network of people who want to be amps and we're the only group, probably in the world, that consists of voluntary amps. These men here may be the only ones in the world. We don't know. I'm sure you have a long list of questions, and we'll try to answer some of them. Are you feeling OK? You want to go on?"

"Yeah, I'm OK I guess. First of all what is the group's name? I figure the ad was a typo. It's Amps Anonymous, like AA, right?

"No. The ad is right. It's Amps Unonymous. It's Pete's invention. We're unanimous in our amputeedom, we created it wilfully. And we attempt to maintain, like the original AA, a protective covering of anonymity. In private we admit we're voluntary. In public we're traumatic amputees. We request you observe this rule whether or not you become an amputee. Do you promise to keep our secret?"

"I do promise. I understand full well your point in this."

"I gave you a glimpse of our backgrounds when we first met. It was intended to whet your appetite. Would you like to hear more?"

"I sure would," Raymond answered gratefully.

"Ok, then. Tracy, let's start with you."

"The fact that I'm alive today is nothing short of miraculous. I'm a medical researcher I have both an M.D. and a PhD. My field has been roentgenology, x-rays, and the body you see is the result of experimentation. I quite deliberately overdosed my arms knowing full well what would happen, although the lab where I work put it down as job jeopardy. But we learned much from my loss. My lack of weight is also related to x-rays and that has also been logged and catalogued to the nth degree. This all started because I knew a nurse who lost both hands because of x-ray burns. Hers was the real sacrifice. And it was not in vain. Do you have any questions?"

Raymond looked very serious. "This isn't a question, I don't think. You didn't start by wanting to be a DAE. Is that right? You finally became a DAE because it seemed right to make the sacrifice."

Tracy smiled and looked around the group. They smiled back. "This has come up every time I've told the story. Yes. I wanted to be a DAE. As a small child I would have my older brother tie my arms to my sides and lead me around with the rope and he would feed me. We even got to where I made him help me pee. Our mother caught us doing that and paddled us both very hard. But I loved being without arms and decided that someday when I grew up I would not have any. And here I am! In some respects it's even improved my work at the lab!"

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