As we packed for the newest phase of my life, I was relieved the O'Learys were driving me. Not that there was any doubt they would. Especially on crutches it would have been almost impossible carrying my belongings on the train, then onto the campus, let alone up the stairs. With two legs it was not possible. So a one legged guy like me definitely couldn't in one trip. There was a large case with my clothes, then my books, my laptop, CDs and hi fi and the other odds and ends we regard as essential to our being. This was not even allowing for my bicycle - time for it later. Not that anyone else would be using it - especially with the left crank and pedal removed. And I was packing light! While I'm fiercely independent, there are times I have learned, especially in my situation, when you accept help with good grace. As we drove away, I wiped a tear from my eye. It was my home, where I had been loved and nurtured as well as any real son, not a cuckoo, a flawed cuckoo. They had challenged me to open up and strive for my potential, where I first wanted to curl up in a corner as a damaged creature, not just physically. They tried to understand my difficulties after losing my family, my leg. That on a physical level I had to learn new ways of doing things, from my balance to showering and not slipping, to carrying things with my hands busy with crutches and toughening up my hands, my arms from using crutches, and being so very different now with one leg. There were still plenty of my things left at home; I was not leaving for good, although in a sense I was. I was not likely to be back permanently. Did this make me an adult? We left my axillary crutches behind, so I had an extra reason for returning, my other set of legs, my vacation legs.

On the way to the next stage of my life it reminded me of when the O'Leary's picked me up from the hospital to bring me back to share their home, crowded with three in the back. It must have been a quick, almost intuitive decision of Pat to reach out. At the start I was just staying with them, then the legals were resolved and I became part of their family in law as well as fact. It was a larger automobile now, but still a squeeze as we were adults this time and all my luggage. I thought of leaving the hospital on crutches as a newly initiated one legged guy, my apprehension about my new family, how I would manage with my leg amputated, my stump healing and not hurting it, what it looked like, its incredible shortness, my shock at seeing my stump that first time, what I looked like with one leg, people staring and how they would react, and thought ruefully of the extra room we had, with only five legs in a crowded space. These fears were not with me now. I was happy and confident, knew I would succeed, my leg had taught me that. I grew up fast.

Unpacking, I had photos of my parents on my bookshelf, and the O'Learys. There was one of me with my parents, me with two legs, legs you take for granted. I missed my parents, but in some ways I had been so busy with a new life and getting used to having one leg that I felt guilty I didn't think of them more. Although rarely did a day go by when they weren't in my thoughts. But you can't grieve for ever, for my parents, my leg, my old life. Were they watching me from heaven, in some ethereal way? What would they think of my choices and actions? How would life have been different if they were still there? I guess, for one, I would have had two legs, but maybe they could have survived the accident and I still lost my leg. That would have been better than losing them. My thoughts of them were hazy, what did they look like, would I recognise them if I saw them now? Would they recognise me, for that matter? What if they hadn't really died, and we passed in the street without recognising each other, they not recognising this young man on crutches, with one leg. It felt odd that I would possibly not recognise my parents now: had I really forgotten, or the picture grown dim? In my mind I had fully accepted losing my leg, had become a complete person, happy and fulfilled as I am. In my dreams I had one leg. It suddenly dawned on me one day, and I hadn't even noticed it consciously. I never thought about having two legs or having one leg, this was the way I was. Seeing Paul had brought on this line of thinking. I wasn't sensitive about the stares and looks I received, didn't try to hide my stump, my one leggedness, was happy with the imperfect body that I was. It was familiar. It was me. There is no denying that having one leg can be a drag. I never like rain when I'm out, and carrying heavy stuff is difficult - in a bag they hit against my crutches and destroy the rhythm of my walking. But I'm a wiz with a backpack. I'm always careful about slipping and falling too, and constantly watch where I place my crutches, my foot when I walk. If I don't, its down I go. That sounds as if I constantly think about having one leg. I don't, it's just that I have to take care with how I walk. But there are ways around these hassles, so life is good, enjoyable, and my stump has its compensations. It feels great, and massaging it feels like nothing on earth, especially at the end, different from my good leg, like massaging my leg and my calf and my foot all at once.

The O'Leary parents didn't know Paul, but knew about him; Pat and Lucy knew him from school. I had told them all about seeing his name and meeting him, and losing his arm, so they didn't even seem to notice when they met. Paul using his left hand reversed to shake hands with Bill was so natural and easy, he had done it many times and Bill looked as if it were normal too. I was proud of them. I wondered what they thought of him, but as they left, Pat gave him a big hug, and said, "You have a good person to share with. He's very precious to us. I hope we get to know you and treat us as a second family too." It was an interesting contrast, petite, so feminine Pat and large, thickly muscled, so very masculine, one armed Paul. As I walked them to the car, Pat commented, "Paul is such a nice young man. I like him. He has an intelligent face and keen eyes. It is incredible that you knew him at school. He seems so well adapted. Looks a good person to share with. I approve, not that you need it, I know," looking at me with a twinkle in her hazel eyes. Pat rarely surprised me: a lady of kindness, generosity and perception. Where there was a right thing to do, you could be sure Pat would do it. She excelled herself.

Sitting opposite Paul as we ate, he had matured since I knew him. No longer searching for a purpose. I think that was why we clicked at school. We were both cast adrift, and Paul being the older guy, I gave him a form of purpose for a while, and friendship. In hindsight, we needed each other. Since then he had grown further. Something about being tempered in the fires. While he didn't talk much again about losing his arm, and he had adjusted so well, I sensed it had been tough. Tougher than he had said. A total change of lifestyle and even body. An intensely physical man, with a physique he paid close attention to, and doing a manual job, losing his arm, adjusting to the limitations of being one armed. It made him persevere, something to fight and win instead of drifting in life. He had the same deep brown eyes I remembered; there was a kindness and depth to them. Paul was a good guy. Instead of it beating him, losing his arm made him stronger, tougher but without becoming hard.

I was determined we stay friends and decided if the occasion arose, to resist the temptation of his bed - or sharing mine. Maybe it would not happen, anyway. So I was impressed when Paul raised the subject. We were thinking alike.

"Alex. I think we should discuss some ground rules before we get going. One of my personal rules is, I don't sleep around with 'family.' And as you are living here, you are family. I value our friendship too much, and don't want things like that to get in the way, which they might otherwise."

"Paul, you have echoed my thoughts exactly. I intended raising it with you myself. Not that I couldn't do it very easily." He looked at me silently, nodded with a half rueful smile as he held his stump in his left hand - maybe there was some regret there too.

**********

So the academic year started, and the endless round of lectures, tutorials, library and study began. And there was time for eating, sleeping and some exercise, making new friends. My classmates and teachers soon got used to their one legged fellow, and learned that just because I was deficient in the leg variety, it made no difference to my brain. Made me strive harder, I had a reason to feel lucky.

One of the things I needed to do was earn some extra money, maybe gain experience. I had remembered the lady on the train with her son when I went to enrol, and thought I could try to get a job with someone like her husband - as I did in Branville. It wasn't hard to work out which were the best IT firms in town, so decided to go exploring for a start in my quest. I found the first, Computer Expertise. They had lavish offices with marble and full of beautiful people. This student was soon told where to go; they weren't interested in the university's leading undergraduate (or so I hoped I was, clearly didn't want a one legged guy anywhere near, from the way the Receptionist looked at me, or was it my hair?). The next was a branch of a major hardware supplier. "I'm sorry sir, but we only take full time employees and don't need anyone extra." Talking to the next one, I was told, "With your disability you would not be able to get around our clients' premises safely. We would be responsible if you fell." I was disheartened and annoyed, they would not even try me out. I had never found having one leg affected me before, had never thought of myself as having a disability. I wondered if I would have any luck, as I drank my chocolate milk. Looking through the window, I saw a sign opposite: White Computing. This was my next call.

As I waited at Reception, who should walk out but the lady from the train. On crutches, and a leg off, I was hard to miss, hard to forget. So when she saw me, she clearly recognized me, or was it my crutches, "What brings you here? Do you want to see John? I'll get him." I didn't have to answer, she had taken over, must have read my mind, and I was all in favour. If I could enrol in her mind reading course... must remember to ask her. I don't think she remembered my name though.

"Candy told me about this young man she met on the train a few weeks ago, and young John was very taken with you. We're both called John, you see. My father as well. How can I help you?"

"Well, Mr. White, I'm Alex, by the way," "Candy told me. Call me John, I insist," he interrupted. "I've enrolled in the IT major here, and wanted to earn some money. My network knowledge is strong, and can help your customers with setting up and design, so was hoping you might use a willing worker like me."

"Alex, my wife spoke very highly of her little meeting. In fact we are just losing one staff member, so could use some help. When are you free?"

"I'll drop in my timetable. I need time for study too, could handle a few hours a week if that is OK."

"Sounds good. We have a client just going over to Citrix. Do you think you could help them set it up? You might need to visit one of two of their branches. They are going to have some issues. Do you know much about Cisco?"

"No trouble, I've worked on them both."

"I'm in contact with the Faculty, do the odd lecture there on Management, and they mentioned having some very able new students. I wondered about someone to help us. If you drop in your timetable, we can decide what suits. If this works out, it should be rewarding for us all." I was pleased, he was a guy I liked immediately, he made no mention of me having one leg, didn't look, or seem to notice, or even care. While I know it is obvious, it is not what defines me. He was giving me a trial. It was going to be the best trial he ever conducted.

As I crutched into the White's hall, the penetrating aroma of cooking making me aware I had missed lunch, young John came running up to me, looking wide eyed as I remembered, and grabbing my leg, standing happily as I spoke to his mother. He had taken a real liking to me, or was it my leg? I liked what I saw, a wide eyed interest in the world and how it worked. His mother said to him, "John, Alex needs to walk, he's minding you tonight while we're at the Wilson's, do you want him to fall?" He clearly remembered me, didn't need introducing. John was holding tight, let go and moved away quickly, concerned that I didn't fall.

"Alex, I left dinner for you. I did plenty as I know how much a growing young man eats. If you don't finish it I will be seriously offended." I proceeded into the well appointed kitchen to the reassuring aroma of something good: a simple roast chicken with plenty of vegetables was set out for us both, with roast potatoes, broccoli, baby peas and baby carrots. Apple pie for desert. There was a decent chilled chardonnay for me as well. So, meat and four veg, sounds boring, but it sure didn't taste that way, it was as good as the aroma. Did I really eat five potatoes?

We ate while we watched John's favorite program; he was very affectionate, and while it wasn't that cold, he snuggled next to me as I helped cut his food. When we finished I hopped to the kitchen with our plates and returned to the sofa. John looked down at my stump. "Can I feel your leg?" I nodded. He placed his hand on it, I could feel his hand moving over it, feeling the end, the sides. He was fascinated in something new, different. "Did an elephant really bite your leg off?" "No John, that was just a story. I was in a car accident and my leg was badly injured so the doctors had to take it to save my life." "I like your leg. I wish my daddy had one like that too." "No, John, it makes life much harder, he would have a lot of pain and difficulty, and it's harder to walk." "You walk all right. It's not hard for you. What does it look like?" "You can see it here, look," as I pushed the fabric of my shorts against my stump. "No, what does it look like?" he said as he looked at the end of my shorts. So I pulled them up to show what my stump looked like. My stump was smooth, lightly hairy like any leg, and had a rounded curve at the end, with the closure scar at the back, off-centre, hard to see when I sat. It was a good looking stump, if I say so myself. John just looked and didn't say anything. "It's bedtime soon. Do you want a story before bedtime?" Clearly my stump fascinated him, and he was quite open about his curiosity. After supervising the bathroom, I hopped to his bedroom, sitting on his bed. As he sat listening to our story, John's gaze often returned to my stump.

**********

My trial with White Computing was going well. Our client needed help interstate. At least when they met me at the airport I was easy to identify. "I'm on crutches, have just one leg." We finished late, too late for the last flight back. Over dinner, the IT Manager and I had a wide ranging conversation. I was not surprised when my leg came up, most people were interested. "I noticed how well you manage on one leg. How long since you lost it?" "It's a few years now, it's normal." "It's funny, but you don't seem disabled despite the leg." "Thank you, there's nothing I can't do, maybe in a different way. I'm not disabled, I just walk differently." Flying home, I contrasted the attitude of these people with some of those when I was pounding the pavement to find a job. I guess you can't expect everyone to behave the way you want, the way they ought. Closed minds.

The campus gym nearby soon became one of my favourite haunts. I attracted a few odd looks when first I went, but they were quickly used to the student in the weight lifting area hopping and crutching his way around. It was not so hard to pack on some heavy muscle. It felt so good. I went up two shirt sizes. My first goal was 16 inch arms by the end of the year. It was a lot of work. The physical exercise was just the break I needed from my brain work, enjoying that tired, stretched feeling after a good workout. It became my habit to finish with a shower and occasional sauna. The showers had opaque glass between the cubicles, so I had tempting sights of athletic, bare bodies close by; I was capable of appreciating it. And in the steam room - all I saw was steam! Some of the faces started to become familiar.

We became nodding acquaintances, one guy in particular, not sure if I went when he was there or vice versa, or no coincidence at all. It ended up that I was glad to meet him again. Returning from the Library I took a short cut along the back. In all the rain, the path was slippery. When it happened I felt foolish, but suddenly on the ground, no warning, no chance to regain my footing. I was sprawled on my face. Normally I was so careful, aware from experience that my balance was more precarious on crutches. It hurt me to stand, I wondered if I had sprained my ankle, or worse, broken it. It was too difficult to walk and my stump was sore from the end hitting the hard surface. If no one came it was going to be difficult. As I started to crawl, I heard a voice, "It looks as if you have done yourself an injury. Can I help?" It was the guy from the gym, he was at Stump Hall too. "I think I've injured my ankle, I need the paramedics." They whisked me away to Casualty, my rescuer coming too. I was pleased. After an x-ray and some prodding of my ankle it was wrapped tight, pronounced sprained. I should rest it for a week. A sprained ankle is not so major an injury, just use crutches a few days. But when you use crutches already, and no spare leg to use, you can guess the result. They produced a wheelchair and I was mobile. I had never used a wheelchair before, at least not since first I lost my leg. As the cab brought us back, I realised I still didn't know my rescuer's name, so said, "I'm Alex. I don't know what I would have done without you." "Oh, that's nothing. I'm Tom, by the way, and someone else would have come to your rescue." As we drove through the campus, he echoed my silent thoughts, "You live upstairs don't you? How are you going to manage the upper floor in a wheelchair?" No time for me to reply, he continued, "I'm on the ground floor, why don't you use my place till you're mobile again?" "Thanks for the offer. I'll see what admin say, maybe they have a room I can use for a week."

He knew where my room was, upstairs at least, but not so strange, we were like a little village. Rolling in to the night manager, I was greeted with, "What happened to you Alex?" "I sprained my ankle, so have to use wheels for a week. Is there any downstairs room I could use for that time?" "Alex, I'm really sorry, we could normally manage something, but we are quite full with the overflow from the medical ethics conference. I could check with the Warden, but he won't be back tonight." "Well, Tom here offered to share his study, so it looks like my best option." "We can wheel in an extra bed for you. I'll arrange it now."

Tom soon had my basic needs under control. Retrieved some study material, clothes and shaving gear from upstairs. It was not so easy for me to get there. I didn't relish the thought of crawling up the stairs, but it was possible going up backwards I worked out, and I could have done it. In a wheelchair I felt disabled in a way I had never found on crutches. On crutches I wasn't disabled at all, there was little I couldn't do. But on wheels I guess I was still mobile. Paul called in to see how I was, he looked concerned but when he saw it was not major, seemed a lot happier. "This is one time I wish I had two arms. I could carry you up and down the stairs but it is not worth the risk - and I don't want to drop you!" I guess I could have put my arms around him to help, not so bad a thought, but wasn't going to be so dependent. "Paul, that's very nice of you but I wouldn't have allowed anyone to carry me like that. I'm an adult and have to make my own way." "Sometimes Alex you have to accept help and not be so fiercely independent. But in this case I guess you're right. And this is what makes you the guy you are." He still looked less his usual happy self as he left. Before I slipped, he had discussed me getting a peg leg. Paul had wanted to make me one, and was keen to have it ready for when my ankle recovered. "I've found a nice light piece of wood which will be perfect, have started shaping it in the workshop." So he measured me up and I was keen to see what it was like walking on two legs again, I was so used to crutches I wondered if I could do it - well not really, I was still curious though - so long since I had done it. The wiring in my brain was still there, no doubt.

And Tom wasn't the chef the two of us were. When dinner time approached, it was the dining hall, which suited me as it wasn't my place, and no washing up. After rolling back I did some reading and finished an assignment; it was time for bed. Tom broached the subject as I cleaned my teeth," Alex, why don't we share my bed. It will be more comfortable. And it doesn't mean anything, I won't hassle you." I was reluctant but he made sense so I tried it, more comfortable than the folding bed - already tried and found wanting. I had to get used to doing things from a wheelchair, and keep pressure from my ankle. Managing it from the chair into bed was a success. Imagine if I had no legs! We didn't have a lot of room, but in the morning I found I had slept well, and Tom sounded happy enough. We even breakfasted in the dining hall. Tom was a complete non chef, I didn't ever see him even cook water. When I returned that evening my stump was a little sore, so when Tom saw me rubbing it he offered to massage it. He had a strong touch which I liked. And it was not by accident where he massaged. As any hot blooded young guy would, it was hard to control myself. By the time we were ready to sleep I was relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of a warm, gym toned body next to me. We sort of just continued from there. And I slept soundly as if I had been hard at work digging ditches. Till my ankle recovered, I continued to share my life with Tom very intimately. He won me by massages. He continued, with a touch which seemed like heaven.

It was still good to be back on my foot again, not dependent on the wheelchair. My stump was a little sore but I did not think about it too much, strained from the fall slightly. Paul had been in a somber mood and clearly brightened up with me walking again. My peg was ready and after a few fittings and adjustments I tried it on, surprising how easy to walk, and my hands were free. After a few tries with my crutches too, I found the peg easy to use and tottered on my own. It was something I would enjoy. Paul had painted it a shining, gleaming black, like the birds I used to look at in the trees outside. I wasn't into birds, didn't know a canary from a peacock, but these sure were beautiful black creatures, and so was Paul's peg. "Alex, I'm glad you like it. I wanted to give you something I made, that had part of me in it. Whenever you wear it, you will have a part of me with you." It was a striking sight, and I felt good wearing it. It wasn't much use in a crowded lecture theatre, no room for it in front unless I managed an aisle seat, so I mainly used it for the library. I guess I could have had a simple locking hinge at the knee for sitting but I liked the honesty of a standard peg with no knee. I continued to see Tom, we went to the occasional movie and I enjoyed his company. In the back of my mind I knew it was a physical thing - but I was going to enjoy it while I could. He didn't like my new peg and started to want more of my time, almost with a jealousy about my sharing with Paul. The peg was just because it was from Paul.

"Why don't you move in, share with me?"

"Tom, it's too soon." I discussed it with Paul, "There's something immature about him. I know he was good to you when you sprained your ankle but I don't like him. He looks and sounds good but underneath I suspect he's not the nice guy we see. He almost wants to possess you. But I don't want to stop you if that's what you want."

So we continued seeing each other for two months or so. It was my first real affair although I knew he was not going to be the love of my life. Often it was just having dinner together in the dining hall, a movie or pizza at the weekend, curled up on the sofa watching a dvd. He did seem to be very keen, and I enjoyed it. Tom began to resent my staying with Paul. It was just where I lived. Nothing more. We ended up with a blazing row late one Friday evening. "If you aren't ready to move in, then stay away!" With that he picked up my crutches and hurled them out the window.

As he threw my crutches, I had to face what I knew subconsciously, that this guy was not right for me, but had not actually admitted to myself. The attraction was physical, and so good while it lasted. It helped me appreciate me, though I was a flawed body, not that I minded this: that I was still desirable, good looking. That a one legged guy was still attractive reassured my inner doubts that my stump put people off, that I wouldn't find someone to love me for who I am. His favorite music was someone called Austin Whitney. For me it was a terrible choice, almost existential decision, between the German Bs: Bach or Beethoven, even maybe Brahms. If I listened to Bach, was I being disloyal to Beethoven? Was it better on a Silbermann or a Schnitger instrument or a modern one? For me, it was heaven to absorb these guys, and hell hearing someone shrieking instead of singing. Maybe he just turned the volume up too much. Our cultural interests were so far apart, acoustically we were always doomed. As I hopped outside to retrieve my crutches, an agonized sound emanated from his room, like a demented air raid warning. Was it really from his stereo? I was relieved I had not moved in with Tom. As I searched, the trouble was that in the dark shrubbery I could not see my crutches. There was no moon. It was as black as my mood, my crutches, my frustration, my feelings of foolishness. Feeling ridiculous mentally, not just physically, I hopped slowly back to my room to be greeted by Paul.

"What happened to your crutches?'

"That stupid fool Tom threw them out the window in a fit of rage. I'm not seeing him again. He's now furious I won't move in with him."

"I'm pleased. I'm not your keeper, so can't tell you what to do, but that guy was bad news. He wasn't good for you. Did you notice you had become very moody, when usually you have a sunny, happy disposition? He wanted to keep you to himself. Like something in a jewel case."

"Now you mention it, I guess I did, but I took it as normal. We had such good times too. His physique was so exciting, I loved feeling his body, his physique - and he massaged in a way that made me feel I was flying. It was ecstasy."

"Alex, it was lust. You've learned a good lesson. We all go through this. You will find someone who cares about you as a person, who is sympathetic to the way you think and your interests, who wants you for more than your hunky body. And if you don't find anyone tomorrow, you will. Everyone likes you. You are far more popular than you realise." Paul didn't say, "I told you so." What a relief that he didn't gloat at being right.

**********

It crossed my mind that I was at table with one of the best looking guys I ever set my eyes on. He just called me hunky. Did he describe me as precious when he said Tom wanted me in a jewel case? I had taken him for granted before but was very conscious of what a good looking man he really was, from when first we met. And he wasn't bad looking then. Somehow his stump made him look more powerful, better. It was an odd thought that losing something improved him. It was partly that he was a real, full blooded hunk himself, much more than me, with thick pecs, huge left arm and broad back, small waist, legs to die for, without even mentioning his perfect glutes. He had an insouciance about having one arm, seemed to manage with ease, had never complained about his arm or used it as an excuse - which was more than I could say. And his stump, it looked good, nicely muscled, smooth, neat and regular on the distal end. He had responded and adjusted, overcame his difficulties and became stronger in the process. For me, I was always conscious of having one leg. For survival I needed to: to watch where I place my foot, my crutches. Well did I know it from my recent escapade. Paul seemed oblivious to having one arm. He commented once that he never thought of himself as one armed, had forgotten what two arms was like. He didn't leave his stump hanging limply, but moved it, used it dynamically to hold, to push, making the best use of it possible. He seemed to me that he had adapted perfectly to having one arm, or one and a bit to be more exact. As my room mate and close friend, I wondered if I had taken him for granted. But I wasn't ready for a relationship. I was here to study.

Tom massaging my stump had made me notice some occasional pain in it, which I never felt before. Finally a trip to Branville had me at Dr Jenkins', the doctor who knew me. He had amputated my leg, knew my stump better than anyone - other than me. After an examination and an x-ray, the verdict came back. I had injured the end and there were bone spurs as well as what he suspected was a rare condition called fragilistic diopathy. "Alex, I would like to do some exploratory surgery and we need to remove the spurs and check out your stump." "How long would I be in hospital?" "You would be out in a few days." "I'm on vacation, could you do it now?" "Let me just check." So I ended up in the hospital I knew so well that same afternoon. "We'll see you tomorrow morning Alex, it's all routine." Wheeling me to the theatre I felt relaxed, I was in good hands.

**********

When I woke, I was surprised to see Paul sitting there. Why had he come? It was just routine. I would be back in a few days. "You are awake. How do you feel?" "My stump feels tender." "Alex, I was concerned. Didn't want you waking up alone." "How did it go?" "The doctor should tell you, but everything is OK, they removed the spurs." I moved my hands to my stump. It was tightly bandaged. Like when I originally lost my leg.

I was attached to my stump, it felt good and for me at least it looked good. I was used to it, it reminded me of the leg I had, it was useful too - resting on my crutch if I stood for long periods, it was part of me. One of my worries had been that maybe they would have to amputate it if there was a problem, I was very relieved.

The doctor came past soon after. "Alex, how do you feel?" "A bit sleepy but otherwise, quite OK." "You still have anesthetic in your veins so that is expected. I guess you're wondering how we went. Well, there were some small bone growths on the end of your femur, spurs we call them, where the amputation was originally done. They're now gone. And the other good thing, is that there was no evidence of the diopathy. We couldn't see anything and we've made tests. So you are now right and can leave in a few days after your stump settles down. We need to keep a close eye on you at first, as it is almost a fresh amputation again."

I was pleased, relieved. You are never sure if the doctor is hiding something. And Paul must have been worried, to miss lectures and come and see me.

"I have to get back for a meeting with Prof. Holmes this afternoon, so expect you won't be away for long." "Good bye Paul. I am really pleased you came. It was great to wake up to a familiar face. I'll see you in a few days."

When I dressed, ready to leave, flipped my left jeans leg into my waist, I thought I had worried about nothing. It was good the O'Learys collected me, I felt a bit weak, and was glad they fussed over me, and took me back to campus as lectures were starting again. It would have been an ordeal in the train and I was concerned about bumping my stump in the crowded train. The doctor said there was no reason for me to take time off, I was cured. The main thing was to be careful of the closure wound and keep it bandaged to prevent swelling.

As I opened the door to my room, Paul bounded across, he had clearly been waiting, expecting me. His tanned, well muscled stump showing through the end of his usual molded white tee shirt and comfortable cut off jeans to highlight his incredible thighs. Tee shirts seemed to be all he ever wore, and his Levis. This guy was all thick, solid muscle. "I was so worried about you, that you would be OK. Alex, I haven't said this before, but you being in hospital made me realise that you mean too much to me to lose you. I think we take each other for granted, always being there. I just know that when you are around I feel right, and you are the one I think about, want to be with. That's partly why I came over to see you, and wanting to be a good friend." "Paul, lying in hospital, I was thinking what a fool I was with Tom. Here was the guy who only wanted what was best for me, who was always right, who was there when I needed someone, whom I always come back to, and he was staring me in the face and I was too blind to see it. And he's a first grade hunk, too"

Paul stood in front of me, placed his thickly muscled arm around my shoulders and neck, rested his compact, muscular stump on my other shoulder, holding it with his left hand. My crutches dropped to the floor as I held him tight, felt the warmth of his strong body in my arms, felt his heart beat, his face against mine, a slight prickle from his well trimmed beard. It made me excited.

In many ways, we both realised what had been staring us in the face. But it took my problems to make us appreciate it. To have someone care for me as much as Paul, and I for him, made me feel so lucky. I was looking forward to wearing my peg again, and Paul helping bandage my stump.