When Alex Martelli returned to his year ten classes in January, after being absent for most of the previous semester, there was a rage of talk and speculation among the class; they hadn't seen him for nearly three months. The teachers said they should all be considerate about him, not to hassle him, ask lots of questions or stare. So on Alex's first day back there were pats on the back, happy greetings and "Welcome back" as well as all the usual questions about holidays and catching up with friends. They were told not to mention the big subject. There was a good amount of looking, both quiet and obvious in your face looking, as he was different now, so it was natural to want to see his stump. And there were well meaning and friendly attempts to get him onto committees and sporting groups, to mix and be friends. But there was no surprise when all offers were rejected with a quiet shaking of his head and a quiet "Thanks, but I don't think so" and that enigmatic smile, which was hard to interpret as happiness or sadness or maybe just a mix of both. He was never a big sporting jock or a social person, so his reaction was no surprise.

"He's the same Alex we knew before, he has to be," said Kylie Connors as they ate their lunch, "he only lost a leg, not his brain." "But it has affected him. He is different, now. He's become a loner." "Wouldn't you be too after what he has gone through? I think he is handling it fantastically. He is a quiet guy, he's nice. You remember how he helped Maria with her algebra. He was never the life of the party anyway."

"She still thinks he is wonderful."

"But who is his girl friend then? Lee-Ann Mooney swears he hasn't seen Polly Hunter for months, since he lost his leg."

"But she doesn't want him now he is disabled."

"Has anyone seen the stump?"

"You've got to feel sorry for him, losing his parents in a car crash and waking up in hospital to find you have lost a leg too. A cripple! As if losing your parents isn't bad enough without being one legged."

"It must have been terrible going from the hospital - straight from the operating table where they cut off his leg - to his parents' funeral, and being pushed in a wheelchair. He really didn't want to go."

"He wasn't in a wheelchair, he used crutches, and he didn't go straight from the operation. He was in hospital a few days before the funeral; they took off his leg as soon as he was admitted. All that was left of it was just mincemeat. Jan Brown's father was on duty that day and went to the accident. His leg was completely smashed from the knee, pulverized as if in a mincer. There was nothing left. There was no way they could have saved it."

"The O'Learys say he spends so much time lying on his bed with his Walkman or reading. It's as if he doesn't want to see anyone or go out."

"The only one he talks to at school is Jackson, the janitor, and he's supposed to be a poof."

"It's true, he goes down there every lunch time." "What a jerk."

"Quiet, everyone, here he comes."

Alex came walking down the path on his crutches, swinging his body to follow through, quite fast now after more than three months getting used to crutch walking. The conversation usually stopped rapidly or changed subject as he approached. It was easy for Alex to guess what they were talking about. The buzz of conversation suddenly stops, then gradually goes into gear and takes off again. In the time since the accident in October he had been glad he did not have to bother with school, losing his leg had been bad enough without losing his parents as well. His crutches were the old fashioned wooden axillary crutches and he was now used to them and walked almost as fast as before the accident. In fact he didn't think about it much at all now. The crutches were just normal. He had no choice, anyway.

Alex's left leg was amputated above the knee, leaving a short stump about three inches long. The empty leg of his jeans was folded up next to his stump, tucked into the waist at the back and pulled up tight against the end. You could see the shape of his little stump quite easily. He often thought of the time in hospital and learning that both his parents had died in the smash, and grieving for them and his lost leg, it was all mixed up. Alex tried to put the funeral out of his mind, taken in a cab and walking carefully on crutches, trying to look confident and not falling when you only have one leg and need crutches to walk now, and when he looked down, while sitting during the ceremony, seeing the uneven length of his thighs now - one whole and one a short stump with an empty leg folded in his waist. It was all a nightmare, walking on crutches, trying not to fall, blisters on his hands, chafing under his arms from the crutches. Every time he sat reminded him of losing his leg, every time he did anything reminded him. So when he sat and talked with Paul Jackson, the janitor only a few years older, he felt safe and comfortable, forgetting he had one leg now. When the older man spoke to him, was kind him, seemed to understand, it was the nearest he had to a friend.

Alex was grateful too, to the O'Learys for making him part of their family and no complications or explanations. They came to visit him in hospital regularly and Pat O'Leary - he always called her Pat - said they all wanted him as part of their family now, "Alex, you are going through a difficult time. We want you in our family. I know we can't replace your parents and we expect you to miss them tremendously. But we want you to be happy with us and to do what you want, we have all talked about it and we are all agreed. We want you," she said with so much kindness and warmth as she sat by his bed smiling at him. So Alex was happy to move in with the O'Learys - with children his own age; it was better than the aged aunts out of town whom he hardly knew and his mother had never liked and would probably treat him like an invalid and smother him.

When the O'Learys came to the hospital to pick him up, they all came, and were all such a happy, chattering family - Pat, Bill, their father, as well as Paul and Lucy his older sister. They all wanted to carry his things, so he only had to think about walking. But as he crutched his way along the street to the car on his one leg and new crutches he couldn't help thinking of his parents, who had loved him so much, the family he no longer had. He looked down at his stump with moist eyes, his stump still bandaged, rounded, hanging there with no real use any more, an ever present reminder of what he had lost. It was always necessary to watch where you walked now, could no longer just walk without looking, always check where to place his foot, his crutches to ensure he did not fall. He felt so exposed and noticeable, as if everyone were looking at his little stump with the empty leg folded up into his waist and that empty space which was no longer a leg, where his leg had been. There was no way to hide, blend in with the others, which he wanted to do; having one leg he could never do that. It was a squeeze in the car with the three young ones in the back. Paul thought it was lucky Alex only had one leg as there was hardly room for two legs in the cramped back. He sat half sideways, at an angle, and with his stump lifted up, which gave enough room for them all to fit.

He settled in with the family easily, fitting in with their ways, doing the chores and treated just like another member of the family. They didn't treat him as special because of his one leg - he was just another brother. Alex had to share Paul's room; they were the same age and in the same class but had never been close friends, no one had been; Paul tried to bring Alex into the family activities. But Alex usually said no, when asked if he wanted to go to basketball, football or fishing. They meant well, but Alex didn't want to socialise and all their interests were so physical, which reminded him even more of the leg he no longer had, what he felt he couldn't do. So he sometimes would say "yes" to shut Paul up, finding something else to do when the time came. He didn't like the whispering and staring at his stump at those places. At home, he was not sensitive about having one leg, usually didn't worry about crutches and just hopped around the house in boxer shorts, as he was young and fit and did not find it tiring, even on the stairs. And the family were not concerned, as long as he was happy.

The one sporting activity Alex kept up after losing his leg was weightlifting in the school gym. Here he could be solitary if he wanted, as it was not a very popular sport, and enjoyed pushing the weights, and the pump, that exhilarating feeling of blood flushing through his muscles after a hard workout. As he hopped about the gym he didn't feel self conscious, the others were concentrating on their training and he was just another guy training. Don Lane, the gym instructor took an interest in the young one legged lifter, helping him load the weights, and working on a programme for him to build up his leg and his arms, his general physique. When he had sore muscles after one very strenuous session Don offered to massage him, so Alex thought, "Why not?" and carrying his crutches, followed him.

Hopping into the ante room, Alex placed his crutches on the floor, removed his tank top and shorts, and sat on the old black swivel desk chair to remove his sock and Nike Air sports shoe. All that was left of his clothes was a jock strap to hold his basket, with a wide elastic waist band and rear straps moulding the curve. If he had known this would happen he would have worn his white Jockey briefs. "This is getting interesting. What have I to lose," Alex thought.

"You have developed a very athletic, muscular body, Alex. You must be very proud of your physique."

Alex was, but didn't say anything, he was already enjoying the warm oils and firm, caressing touch of Don's hands on his skin. He was thinking that Don had a very athletic, muscular physique as well; with a golden tan it showed his bulging muscles to perfection. Don had a sure and relaxing touch, and Alex could just about have gone to sleep under the soothing, rhythmic flow of his oiled hands as they caressed and soothed his body. Just occasionally Don moved over his inner thighs and his buttock crease, as if by accident, but nothing more. After doing his right thigh he moved onto his stump, as if it were quite natural, lying on his stomach, and as he massaged the end could hardly believe how good it felt.

When Don told him to turn over, he was half erect, that wonderful thickening, stiffening floppy half way point to a full hard on. Don said nothing. He had always thought Don attractive with that compact well muscled athletic physique of a professional sportsman. He decided life wasn't so bad after all. Having one leg brought its own opportunities if seemed. If he had been a few years older he might have encouraged Don to go further.

Alex was grateful that the O'Learys didn't try to spoil him because of losing his leg. Pat was always so bright and happy it was difficult for anyone to be down when she was around. Bill had offered a sympathetic ear if Alex ever wanted it, but never referred to the accident or his having one leg. This suited Alex perfectly. The winter came and went and spring began sprouting, trees turning a lush green, flowers blossoming, time passing quickly, without thinking too much of the past. Events and places would often remind him of his parents and his old home; he still lived in the same area. Their old house was still there, only someone else's house now. Alex walked past it on his crutches sometimes, remembering his parents and the happy times before he lost his leg. On her birthday he thought of his mother and her selfless love, and her sparkling eyes and wondered what they would have been doing now if his parents were alive. Always, deep down, there was the awareness of his loss - his family, his leg now just a stump - a reminder every time he walked. But as the months passed, the healing continued and Alex accepted his one legged condition and the crutches, and the limitations.

The girls were all very interested in Alex's stump, his physique was already well known. He was apparently famous for the size of his balls and package in his year, maybe the school. It did him no harm. But the girls did not interest Alex.

Most lunch times Alex strapped his gear on his back and took his lunch down to the basement to see Paul Jackson, the janitor. Jackson was only four or five years Alex's senior and had left school at fifteen, but had seen the world. It seemed strange that after working as a sailor for four years he had come back to the parochial, humdrum life of the school. What he may have lacked in brain power he more than made up in body power. He did not have the toned to perfection, gym trained ripped muscularity of Don; he was just well built, husky, powerful, no fat, no tan, with a raw physicality that Alex found gave him a powerful attraction. His arms were huge, and under a tight tee shirt he usually wore, they were an impressive sight. Alex felt comfortable with him, he accepted Alex with no questions and they became close friends. He could think of nothing better than to sit in the janitor's little room talking the hours away, sharing a Coke or just watching his little TV for replays of I Love Lucy or Get Smart which Alex's father had loved so much. As soon as the young janitor saw the now one legged student, they soon engaged in conversation, with Alex following Paul to his room for a coffee. They liked each other immediately, the withdrawn, bookish student, and the husky, well muscled worldly wise ex sailor.