by Anonymous

I lost my right leg to cancer when I was twelve - the surgeon did a hip-disarticulation. So I've been on crutches since then. Those crutches have become so much a part of me that they're like a part of my body itself. At school, I was the object of curiosity for the first few days and then accepted as just another student. Young people seem to have no difficulty in accepting reality - only adults do. The sort of questions I was asked: "Hey Ryan, did it hurt?" - "What's it like to have only one leg?" - "You can't run no more can you?" - "D'you think you'll find a girlfriend with only one leg?" - "Can we see?" And so I dropped my jeans and showed them. "Wow!" And so on. Just youthful curiosity.

There were only two sports I could take part in - swimming and wrestling (believe it or not, I was a pretty tough guy on the mats and could hold my own against most two-legged guys), and in swim events I managed to hold my own but didn't achieve anything spectacular.

By the way, my name is Ryan Dalton. As I write this, I'm eighteen. I've just finished school in Philadelphia and I'm getting a college education thanks to my late parents who were both professors at Temple University here in Philadelphia. They and my only brother were killed in a plane crash about three years ago and I've been living with my father's sister since then. In terms of my parents' will I'd have to live with my aunt until I graduate high school and then I'd receive a small but adequate income from their estate. My aunt was kind to me in a casual sort of way but there were no close bonds of affection. In fact, when I graduated high school, the first thing I did was to go out and look for an apartment for myself. I think my aunt was as relieved as I was when I moved out. However, in her own way, she was kind to me.

I started buying odds and ends of furniture and gradually settled into the studio apartment. The only real indulgence was a computer which I'm using now as I type this. You might wonder what this is all about. Well, it's a kind of a diary. I'm writing this for myself just to record a lot of emotional shit that has been bothering me since I had my leg off, and to keep a record of my life. I thought it would be interesting twenty or thirty years down the road to look back on my feelings as an eighteen-year-old starting out life in the big bad world on one leg.

The thing I liked about the studio apartment was a full-length mirror in the bathroom. I'd never really seen myself, a one-legged guy, until I moved into my own place. It may seem strange to you, but when I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I was aroused sexually. There was this young guy of eighteen, about six foot, brown hair, hazel eyes, broad powerful shoulders, slim waist with a very muscular left leg. I'd never really realised that I was a pretty good-looking guy. In fact I was so aroused that I had to do quite a clean-up job on the mirror and the floor. I'd known for a long time that I was gay (shit, I hate that word - for me it's easier just to say I was a fag or a homo). That's one of the reasons I enjoyed wrestling - that wonderfully intimate contact with another male. His male body odour, his sweat mingling with mine, the feeling of muscles hard as a rock fighting my own muscles. In the puritanical world we live in, it was the only acceptable intimate contact between two males.

I cleaned up the mess I'd made, showered and dressed in my usual gear - a tee shirt, jeans and an Adidas for my left foot. Through the internet I'd found out about a place in Sacramento that exchanged unused shoes for amps and others who needed only one shoe. So I had quite a collection of running shoes, tennis shoes and boots - it was quite a fetish of mine - one of many. Another was my crutches. Since my first pair when I was a kid, I've always used old-fashioned wooden axillary crutches and would always use them. There was just something about the feeling of dependability and comfort as I tucked them under my arms and moved on in a comfortable flowing sort of motion. Kind of elegant, I thought. Lifting my heel as I moved the crutches forward, planting them and then swinging my leg through them to repeat the motion. I didn't need those sweaty rubber pads for the hand grips and the armpits. My hands had become pretty calloused over the course of the years that I'd been dependent on crutches. I had a pair custom-made and stained a sort of dull black. I guess I was a mess of auto-eroticism - just looking down and seeing one jeaned and sneakered leg midway between two crutches was a turn-on for me. The empty jeans leg was flipped back and tucked into the waist. One useful thing about that was that when I sat down, it provided a sort of cushion. I had a tailor add some padding to the empty leg which made life a bit easier.

And every little bit of ease helped. I'd long since gotten used to being one-legged - it didn't bother me when people stared at me in the street as I crutched along. In fact I liked it - it made me feel different. There were of course guys whom I'd learned about on the internet - the devotees who were attracted to amputees, especially leg amps. They didn't bother me although they stalked me, but they were basically harmless. What did bug the hell out of me is that I was so alone. I longed so much to have just a couple of good friends and, of course, a lover. I thought I was a pretty friendly guy, easy-going and good looking, but somehow or other, being one-legged put quite a damper on friendships. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was still a human being! A male! Young and not bad-looking, and my hormones were roaring through my system. So what the FUCK made it so hard for a guy to be a friend? The only difference between me and most guys is that they had two legs and I didn't. Was that such a big deal?

Well, I guess it was. I went to see a psychologist about it and he said that the reason was probably embarrassment - most people just wanted to blend in with the crowd. To be seen with something or somebody unusual was often embarrassing in an American world where externals were more important than internals - looks were more important than character. The TV blasted us with commercials - "Uh oh!" the girl says as her eyes fasten on his shoulders clad in a dark jacket, "This guy has white specks on his jacket... dandruff. He's not for me!" And she turns away. Or "Good morning darling!" he says and she turns away. This poor fucker thinks "what's wrong with me?" Doesn't that asshole know that he has "MORNING BREATH?" (whatever that is). SHIT!!!!!

Anyway, life isn't static. Something new always happens to break the routine. One Sunday, I took a walk along Pine Street and popped in here and there into the antique shops on the street. I was admiring some antique clocks in a shop window, stopped to light a cigarette and saw, in the reflection of the glass window, a young guy staring fixedly at me from across the street. I rested for a few minutes on my crutches to have a smoke and then looked for a trash bin to throw the cigarette butt in. I found one, ground out the cigarette and crutched on. The young guy crossed the street and came up to me. He was a handsome guy but couldn't have been more than sixteen.

"Hi" he said.

"Hi."

"You're just fantastic."

"What d'you mean?"

"The most attractive guy I've ever seen. My name's Ben." He extended his hand.

"Ryan."

"Is that your first or last name?"

"My first."

"I'd really like to get to know you."

"Kid, how old are you?"

"I'll be seventeen next month."

"Are you just another of the devs I see on the internet?"

"I guess" he said reluctantly.

"Ben, being one-legged just means that I have to walk with crutches. And for someone to be attracted to me only because I have one leg and use crutches bothers me."

"But why?"

"Because in spite of the one leg and the crutches there is still a guy with the same brains and feelings as guys with two legs. He wants to be liked or loved for what he is and not because he has one leg. So why don't you just move along and let me be? I'm sure you're a nice guy but you're under age and need a bit of growing up to do."

I walked off down the block and then it happened. A young guy, probably about my age, nearly bumped into me as I turned the corner. He was on crutches, his left leg at least a foot or so shorter than his right. Like me, he was wearing a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers. That white sneaker on his short left leg looked strangely attractive to me. It wasn't scuffed like the other, but pristine white, just as it had come out of the shoe store. For a moment we just stood and looked at each other. He was good-looking - strong masculine features, black hair and green eyes. A good body. About my height.

"Hi" I said.

"Hi."

The pheremones just buzzed between us.

"I'm Ryan" I said.

"I'm Rudolfo but I'm usually called Rudy."

"Ryan Dalton."

"Rudolfo Ferragamo."

We shook hands.

"Let's have coffee" I said.

"Great!"

"What's your story?" he asked me as we sat at a sidewalk cafe drinking coffee and eating croissants.

"The leg?" He nodded. "Cancer."

"It's not gonna come back is it? The cancer, that is, not the leg." And he grinned.

"Doesn't look like it - it's already about five or six years... And you?"

"When we were kids in South Philly... I think I was about ten or eleven... Guido - my next-door neighbour - and I were playing at a building site in the next block. There was a pile of bricks there. I climbed on them and they collapsed on my fuckin' leg. Smashed every fuckin' bone. The docs thought of taking the leg off but my mom said no - God would heal me. Even then I thought she was nuts, but what could I do? I was a kid."

"So?"

"I was on crutches for years. The bones kind of healed up but the knee was totally fucked and so were the growth centres in my thigh bone and tibia, so while I grew up, this fuckin' leg didn't. As I grew taller the leg grew shorter." This incredibly good-looking dude had tears in his eyes. "So since then I've been on crutches. Mom's God didn't help shit."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"You still live at home?"

"Yeah... doin' a course at Temple University in languages."

"Languages?"

"Well, we speak Italian at home. I thought it would be a good idea to learn French and German also."

"Unusual for an American."

"I was thinking of joining the State department - foreign service, where I could use my language skills... what about you?"

"Computers, also at Temple."

Long silence as we drank our coffee and ate croissants.

I looked at him. Those green eyes with the long eyelashes, the strong chin with just a bit of five o'clock shadow, the jet black hair.

"You're one attractive dude" I said.

"You're talking shit! With this useless short leg that when people look at me they turn away? Just a useless piece of flesh dangling a foot above the ground?"

"Buster, stop feeling sorry for yourself - my leg's shorter than yours. Don't be such an asshole!"

He burst out laughing. "You know Ryan, you're the first guy I've ever taken any shit from."

"Rudy, I think you're one of the sexiest guys I've ever met and I hope maybe one day we'll be friends..." "Ditto" he said "you're one humpy dude." - "Can't I finish a sentence without you interrupting?" His shit-eating grin just damped my irritation. "Rudy, why don't you have that leg off?"

"Why?" The grin was gone.

"It's no use to you. It just dangles around looking for something to do but can't do shit."

"Then I'd be an amputee like you."

"So?"

"I dunno... I'm so used to being the way I am that..."

"Rudy. you are a beautiful guy but that useless dangling leg looks like shit. As an amp you'd be fantastic."

"I've never thought of that... and, you know Ryan, you're really a handsome guy. Having one leg kind of... well.. it makes you different from most guys... more sexy."

"Sexy?"

"Yeah. Dude, I'm handicapped in two ways - one is my leg, the other is my dick. I dig dudes."

"In a guy from South Philly?" I was incredulous.

"Buddy, I was born this way and that's it."

"Does your family know?"

"They'd kill me if they did."

"So?"

Rudy took my hand in his. "Ryan, I don't know what to do. I can't break away from the family. They all accept me as I am with this fuckin' short leg, but if they knew I was queer... shit, I don't know what they'd do. Probably just throw me on to the street."

I looked at my watch. Seven pm. "Rudy, it's dinner time. Just suggest a good Italian restaurant."

"No way! They all know me, and if I come in with a one-legged and definitely non-Italian guy, the tongues would be wagging."

"Okay - let's go to that French restaurant on South Street."

"Sounds like a good idea."

It was much later that we parted. I gave him my phone number but he wouldn't give me his - it was safer that way. He also got my mobile phone number. I'd asked him to spend the night at my place. "Ryan, you don't know us - I'd be drowned in questions... what girl did I spend the night with? ... is she Italian?... that kind of shit... didn't my leg bother her?... who are her parents????"

"Rudy, you are a lovely man and I really think you're also a really decent guy. I'd like to get to know you better."

"Ryan, I feel the same. You're a stud, but I have to play this real cool."

"Rudy, I really think you should consider having that useless leg of yours off. You'd be sexier than ever. You'd also find getting around much easier."

"But mom's God wouldn't approve." Again, that shit-eating grin of his.

"Well, it's your teeny little leg, so only you can decide what to do with it. I think as a one-legged guy you'd look fantastic."

"Yup... I know... I mean, just lookin' at you makes me hard as a rock."

"And looking at you does the same for me. So imagine what it'd do for us if we were both one-legged?"

"Fantastic sex!" Again, the shit-eating grin.

"You fuck!" I was pissed off. "Is that all it means to you? Here I am busy falling in love with you and all you think about is your dick and fucking! Is that all it means to you?"

I just left him and crutched off to my apartment in a sudden temper tantrum, leaving Rudy nonplussed.

"Ryan!" he called after me. I ignored him. I think I was a bit teary-eyed. "Ryan!... I didn't mean it that way!... Please!" I went on crutching away and tried to ignore him.

As I opened the door about fifteen minutes later, the phone was ringing. It was nearly eleven at night and I wondered who it could be - and knew who it was.

"Ryan, it's me... I'm sorry... please, dude... don't be mad at me... please... I really dig you." I put the phone down without saying a word. I poured myself half a glass of scotch and slumped drunkenly into bed.

I was awakened by the buzzer. "Mr Dalton, there is a man here who says he has to see you immediately on a matter of urgency."

"What's his name?" I asked sleepily. "And what does he want?"

"Some foreign name I couldn't quite get and he wouldn't state his business. Said it was personal."

"I'm not expecting anyone. Send him away." And I cut the intercom.

I don't know why I did that - all I could think of was his thick black hair, cut short, and those incredible green eyes and long eyelashes. I realised that I had truly fucked up. As they say, young men think with their little heads, not their big heads. But there was nothing I could do - he had my phone numbers and I didn't have his. Well, I thought, I better get ready for class up at Temple. It meant an unpleasant ride on the subway, but I'd gotten used to it.

I showered, shaved and dressed in my usual tee shirt, jeans and running shoe (always Adidas), made myself some bacon and eggs and toast and coffee, and crutched off to catch the train. I couldn't get this fantastic Italian guy out of my mind. His face, his strong chin with a cleft in it. His lips just made for kissing... His warmth. SHIT!!!! I'd thrown away the opportunity of a lifetime. And it wasn't only his looks. He had a decency and gentleness and honesty that I loved. I don't think that there was a mean streak in his whole body - a gorgeous body, strong, muscular, broad shoulders... All he needed was to get rid of that useless leg of his to make him perfect. "Fuck you Ryan! Is that all you think of? Sex? Beautiful bodies? Doesn't his personality mean anything? So what if one leg is a foot shorter than the other? He's still Rudy, a terrific guy who you met by sheer chance on a street corner in Philadelphia... D'you only want him if he has one leg? You blew it, you idiot!" Those were the same things I accused him of when we parted a few days ago.

When I got home, I checked in the phone book for Ferragamo. It wasn't listed. "Rudy! PLEASE! Please call me! I'm sorry I fucked up!" I thought to myself. "Real sorry!" I decided to take a long walk down to South Philly - there were some fantastic restaurants there. I went all the way down to 11^th and Tasker to Frankie's Seafood Italiano - a fantastic restaurant in the heart of the Italian part of the city. Maybe I'd see him there. I ate a wonderfully large Bruschetta, a Spaghetti alla Romana and a large (too large) bottle of red wine.... But no Rudy.

I was looking for a needle in a haystack. For the next few weeks I think I went to every Italian restaurant in Philadelphia in search of Rudy, but in vain. For fuck's sake, how could a guy like that just disappear into thin air? About the only positive thing I can say is that it further strengthened my arms, shoulders and left leg.

And then a miracle. An announcement in the Philadelphia Inquirer surrounded by thick black rules, announcing the death of Guillermo Ferragamo, the highly esteemed owner of a number of fine Italian restaurants in South Philly. He was "deeply mourned" by his wife and his sons, Guido, Arnulfo and Rudolfo.

I had no choice - I would be one of the mourners at the viewing and the funeral.

Rudy saw me at both. I went up to him at the funeral. He was dressed in a black suit that didn't really suit him at all - he belonged, like me, in tee shirts and jeans.

"Rudy, I'm so sorry! I miss you a lot. And please accept my condolences on the loss of your father."

"Thank you for your condolences Ryan, and now fuck off!" There were tears in his eyes - probably because of the loss of his father.

After the funeral, I went and spoke to the funeral director. Gave him some bullshit story that I wanted to send flowers to the house but I'd lost the address. Could he help me? Well, he did. He gave me both their home address and their phone number. As I crutched off out of the cemetery, this is what I heard: "Ryan Dalton! You think because you got my home address and phone number, you can hurt me more than you did already?" Rudy's eyes were locked on mine.

"I don't want to hurt you... Rudy, you are a very special guy and I can't stop thinking about you."

"And I can't stop thinking about you, Ryan, but, as they say, once bitten, twice shy."

"Rudy you fuck! What do you want me to say to make up for my stupidity? Get down on my knees... well... knee - and beg forgiveness? If that's what you want, I will. These last few weeks without seeing you around... I realised how much I cared for you."

"I might call you sometime when I'm out of mourning" he said coldly, and crutched off to join his family, leaving me feeling desolate. Did he really dislike me? Or was he just punishing me? My mind was not really functioning very well. I couldn't interpret his attitude, his body language... oh God, that beautiful body!.. those eyes!... that smile!... Dejected, I returned to my apartment.

The weeks went by. Occasionally I'd see him on campus at Temple. He ignored me. I felt I was going crazy - I was in love with this guy and he hated me. In my obsession, my studies slipped and I barely made the grade at the end-of-semester tests.

There had to be a closure, one way or another. One day, I saw him sunning himself on the steps outside the faculty building and I crutched up to him. As I approached him, I got angry - mad as hell. "You shit! I love you! I've loved you since I met you! I can't get you out of my mind! I've apologised to you. My life has been hell! What d'you want me to do??? Beg you to talk to me?"

Those marvellous green eyes bored into my skull. "Ryan, I wouldn't have behaved the way I did if I didn't love you too. I just had to be sure... Dude, you are the most beautiful guy I know and I dream of you... I fuckin' jerk off thinking of you. But now I'm sure. Don't you understand, you prick, I've been hurt so often I just wasn't ready to be hurt again."

"Kiss me."

"Here? In public?"

"Yes."

He put those marvellous strong arms around me and hugged me tight and kissed me... a deep kiss... on the mouth. There were tears in my eyes, dribbling down my cheeks.

"Am I such a lousy kisser?"

"Rudy babe, they're tears of joy."

"People are looking at us."

"Fuck 'em."

"Ryan dude, what are we gonna do?"

"Rudy, I haven't got any problems, but you're the guy with a big Italian family that wouldn't like to have a queer in the family.... I don't know what to suggest."

"Ryan, what do you want?"

"I want to be with you... now and always... Rudy, I love you."

"Even with this short dangling leg of mine?"

"Yeah. I wish you'd have it off, but that's up to you."

"Buddy, are you prepared to face my whole family when I tell them I'm in love with you?"

"Yes."

"And when I tell them I'm gonna have the leg off?"

"Yes... Rudy babe, you'd be so fantastic without that fuckin' useless leg."

"Mama will say it's the will of God."

"Do you believe in that shit?"

"No - but I love her and she does believe."

"So?.. Rudy, we all have but one life to live. If we're gonna live our lives the way others want us to, then we've wasted our lives. Maybe we'll make others happy, but we'll be miserable as all shit until the day we die unless we feel fulfilled and happy in the way we live. We have to live our own lives the way we want to. Only that way will we feel fulfilled."

"Ryan, d'you know what that means? I'll probably be disowned by my family."

"Would you rather live by their laws and rules and have a miserable life, or live by your own laws and rules and feel that you're living a fulfilling and happy life?"

"Buddy, let's make a pact. Give me a week to think about it. I don't want to see you during that week. At the end of the week, I'll be at your place and tell you my decision."

"Okay Rudy. I love you. I love you with my heart and soul and body."

"Ryan... I love you exactly with those same words."

*****

The day after the funeral, I got a phonecall from some lawyer or other. Was I the nephew of Miss Jane Dalton? I said yes. After the death of my parents, I had lived with her for about five years.

"Sir could you come into our office to see me? I'm William Harrison, of Harrison, Gable, Smithson and McDougall, attorneys-at-law."

"In what connection, if I may ask?"

"Oh good heavens! You didn't know that your aunt passed away last week?"

"Nobody notified me... I'm shocked and saddened."

"Would it be convenient for you to come in on Thursday at about two pm?"

"Yes."

To cut a long story short, my aunt, who had no relatives aside from me, had left her entire estate to me. It wasn't much but, combined with what I inherited from my father, it would make my life very comfortable.

I had to spend an hour in the lawyer's office, identify myself, (including showing my birth certificate), sign a lot of paper work, and then was handed a cheque which would have pleased me had I anyone to share it with, and the title to a house in the far Northeast suburbs of Philadelphia.

Where was that fuck, Rudy? I loved him so much and the less I saw him the more I loved him... The old bullshit stuff about absence making the heart grow fonder.

It was after a month of emotional agony that I got a call from Jefferson Hospital.

"Mr Dalton? We have a patient here, a Mr Ferragamo. This morning he underwent an amputation of his left leg. He's asked us to call you. He wants to see you."

"Can I come in now?"

"Yes."

And there Rudy was, lying in bed, the flat sheet witness to the loss of his left leg.

"Rudy dude - that's kind of a dramatic way to tell me you love me."

"Well, you WASPS wouldn't understand. You probably don't like Italian opera. No sense of the dramatic." A huge grin lit up his face.

"As a matter of fact I love Cherman Operra - Wagner und Strauss."

"You Teutonic shit!"

"Rudolfo, I love you and I can't wait to see you up and about."

He sighed. "It wasn't easy when I told mama that I was gonna have the leg off. She said it was the will of God and I was disobeying God's will..."

"And?"

"I told her I was leaving home and coming to live with you."

"Christ no!"

"Yup... and now, Mr Ryan Dalton, we'll both have to get out of town ASAP - the family want to sic some unsavoury characters on you."

"But why?"

"Because I had to tell mama that I was a fag and would soon be a one-legged fag... NO Ryan! Don't say anything! I must explain... She understood that I wanted the leg off because it was useless to me. It was the fag bit that sent her ballistic. She thinks that you seduced me into this disgusting perversion."

"So, dude, where do we go? I've got a regular income from dad's estate but it's not much and since I last saw you, my aunt died and left me some money and her house in the Northeast. I guess we have to sell the house and hightail it outta Philly. I think we just have to get out of town as soon as possible and make sure your family doesn't know where we're going."

"Ryan it'll be another two or three weeks before I can get out of here."

"But they can't touch you here in the hospital?"

"Right - but when I leave - that's another story... And dude, it's not me they're after, it's you."

"Rudy, what'll we do?"

"I've got an uncle down in San Antonio. He was disowned by the family because he was gay. I can talk to him."

"What about our studies?"

"Buddy, we'll have to play it by ear. Let's face it, we're two one-legged guys on the run."

"I love that sentence, Rudy! One-legged guys running!..."

"Basically I've been one-legged since my left leg stopped growing. I've been on crutches since then and I think it would have been easier if they'd chopped the fuckin' leg off at that time."

"What size shoe d'you wear?" He told me. "Dude, I'm the same size - a big savings on footwear!"

"Sounds good. But what are we gonna do for money?"

"Well, I've got this small income from my late parents and money from my aunt. What does your uncle in San Antonio do?"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to find out."

It took a couple of weeks before they discharged Rudy, and I spent those weeks with him. He didn't need much physiotherapy because he'd been on crutches for so many years. It was just a matter of re-adjusting his balance - no longer was his left leg a counterweight to his right. But it didn't take him long. They removed the leg and left him with an eight-inch stump - very sexy and erotic and stimulating - and I felt a bit guilty that I couldn't reciprocate, having no stump at all.

"Ryan dude, even though you're defective not having a stump, I still love you."

"Boy, I can't imagine life without you."

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Well... we've got quite a few years ahead of us to decide."

"San Antonio?"

"Why not?"

"Have you spoken to your uncle?"

"Yeah. But he didn't seem so keen to welcome us."

"The world is a big place. Maybe we should leave the States - get away from those who want to get us and also from an uncle who doesn't give a shit for you."

"You know Ryan, speaking Italian, French and German gives us a lot of choices."

"Hmm... what d'you want?"

"Just to be with you, buddy. Anywhere in the world."

"How's the money situation re travelling?"

"Ryan, I got a few thou that I got over the years - birthday presents... stuff like that. You've got some money too - we could go anywhere."

"That's fine in the short term, Rudy. But what'll we do in the long term?"

"How about Tortola in the BVI?"

"In the what?"

"The British Virgin Islands... the Caribbean.. sun, surf, hot guys..."

"THAT'S OUT! No hot guys!"

"Mr Dalton, I do believe you're jealous." Again that shit-eating grin.

"Fuck you, Rudy!.. Dude, I can't bear the thought of losing you again... I just can't."

"Why are you so insecure, Ryan?" He said in a serious tone of voice. "Don't you know I love you?"

"When are you getting out of here?"

"Two days."

"Good. Let's do some brain-storming. We've got to be out of here and out of Philadelphia as soon as possible."

"Ryan" he said, "I need a hug before you leave."

The feel of his bristly face, those magical green eyes, the powerful shoulders and arms that grabbed me and hugged tight, led to a delay in my departure and an embarrassing stain around the crotch of my jeans.

"Ry dude!" he said as I sleepily picked up the phone. "I'm outta here today!"

"Great!"

"Can you bring me some clothes?"

"I can't go to your place - they'll kill me!"

"Go over to Strawbridge's and buy me some stuff. A couple tee-shirts - large; jeans waist thirty-two, length thirty four, some Jockey underwear and some Nikes, size ten or ten and a half."

"We'll have to get out of here real quick, Rudy."

"So pack a couple of bags and we can go straight to the airport and catch the first flight out... Oh shit! Do you have a passport?"

"Yeah. And it's still valid. And you?"

"Yup - but it's at the house."

"There's got to be a way. I'll think of it while I'm out shopping."

"See you when?"

"I guess by about lunchtime - there's a lot to do."

Rudy knew the routine of the family and was able to slip into the house and grab his passport while his father was at work and his mother taking her afternoon siesta.

We splurged on a limo to JFK and took Finnair to Helsinki.

"So what the fuck do we do here?"

"We go to the Finlandia Hall and listen to the music of Sibelius and then we think about what we want to do next."

"Like what?"

"Who would ever dream that we went to Finland of all places? They'll never find us. All we have to do is find a country that will accept us. You have language skills. I have computer skills. Surely there's gotta be a place that will take us."

"Think about it - which country is multilingual? Only Switzerland."

"We'll never get residence there - you have to have a job there and live there for about fourteen years before they'll give you citizenship... unless you're a multi-millionaire."

"We're not!"

"Well, we could become... if we're prepared to be crooks."

"You mean guns and killing and Mafia-type shit?"

"There are more gentlemanly ways of doing things - just look at Wall Street - the biggest bunch of fuckin' crooks and sleazebags in the world."

"Dude, let's spend a year here in Finland, learn cross-country skiing on one leg and then think again. It's almost November and the snow is about to descend on us. We got the money, so let's just take it easy for a while."

"I love you."

"Ah well, I suppose I love you too."

"Fuck you!"

"Good idea! What are we waiting for?"

And we rushed back to the ski lodge.