I noticed him sitting there every morning. He sat in a wheelchair with a rather well used paper cup in his hands. He always seemed to be wearing the same fatigue jacket, plaid shirt and New York Rangers ball cap. What was a guy living in Oakland, California doing with a NY Rangers cap? His chair was always positioned about fifty feet from the BART Station. He always stared straight ahead and never spoke to anyone – he never begged for help and didn’t even offer a simple "Thank You" when someone gave him money.

He was obviously quite young – I always thought about sixteen. He was also quite attractive. He had a very slim body, blonde hair and gray eyes. He had a beautiful face. He looked like he didn’t shave yet, or if he did, he had a very light beard. Of course, the most striking feature he presented was what kept him in the wheelchair – the almost complete absence of his legs. They seemed to have been amputated at his upper thighs and the jeans he wore were tucked up under his body. Maybe his condition was congenital. I didn’t know for sure.

I took the BART at that station in Oakland every morning, traveling the few minutes to my job in San Francisco. I am an associate with a major (and I mean major) law firm in the city. I am a native Californian and recently graduated from Stamford Law School; my undergraduate and graduate work was at UC-Davis. I received a master’s degree before I decided to go to law school. I like my work very much; I get to meet the most interesting people. I didn’t say they were nice – just interesting. Most people in the profession are a bunch of sharks – always at the ready to dismember another when they perceive any weakness whatsoever. And the clients are pretty smarmy too.

In order to dispel the notion of lawyers as piranha, our practice had instituted a series of outreach programs whereby various associates (junior associates only, which included me) would "volunteer" to work with various groups. These groups divided into two distinct demographics – the young and the old. The group that I volunteered for (read that assigned) was made up of young people who had gotten themselves into difficulty with the authorities – they had been arrested or cited for minor offenses. Shoplifting, fare beating and panhandling fell into this purview. I was supposed to talk to them about the law and how they broke it and how these early problems can lead to further problems as they get older. If they successfully completed the sessions they would be forgiven their trespasses.

I have my undergraduate degree in psychology and am also a MSW (Master of Social Work); I was the unanimous choice by the powers that be for the assignment. It was to be a series of four weekly, two hour Wednesday night meetings. I was told not to wear a suit when I conducted the group.

Our first meeting was in the basement of a local church in Oakland and it was a raucous affair. I had a list of people who were "assigned" to the group and it was well attended, although I noticed that three people on the roster were missing. I had difficulty taking the "roll" but after fifteen minutes of dealing with these exuberant youth, order was somewhat restored and we had a very good discussion and exchange of ideas.

The big point of my lecture series is responsibility – many people do things in life and they do them without regard to the consequences of their action. They then invariably fail to accept responsibility for those consequences. This is so very prevalent in the young who think they are invincible and unstoppable. It was a very lively discussion and most saw my point, no matter how grudgingly.

When the last person had left I locked the room. It was just past 9 PM and I climbed the rickety stairs leading to the street from the basement. And then I saw him – the legless guy from the BART station. He was sitting in his chair near the gated entrance to the church.

"Sir, I was…was supposed to be in that…your class tonight." He paused and took in big breath. "But I can’t get up or down stairs."

"Hi, Wallace Anderson; I’m Evan Carmichael." We shook hands; I noticed that his handshake was rather weak. "I remember your name from the roster." I looked at him in the light of a nearby street light. He looked pathetic - I mean really pathetic, like he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks and a decent night’s sleep for even longer. His eyes had that look that you would expect to find in an old person – world weary and ready for the end of it all. I absolutely could not walk away from this guy at this hour of the night.

"As I was saying, Wally, I’m about to get myself some dinner since I did not eat before the class. Would you like to join me?"

"I would but…uh…I can’t go to anywhere decent dressed like this and…uh…in this chair."

I started walking towards an all-night diner I know in the area and he wheeled along easily with me. Occasionally I would look down at him and he appeared to be almost in a trance, pushing his chair along almost by habit and memory.

We got to the diner where I am a regular and got a table near the back. Wally pushed his chair up to the table and took off the fatigue jacket he was wearing. The waitress brought us two menus and water.

"What'll it be Wally?" I asked him. I looked up at him and it was the first time I saw his face in decent light. I wanted to cry. That beautiful face was marked with small cuts, bruises and he had a real sallow looking complexion. I know he saw this reaction in my face and he smiled slightly.

Which he proceeded to do. He had chicken noodle soup, a tossed green salad, a rib steak (rare), baked potato, carrots and coffee. I had my usual late evening fare – a large fruit cup and iced tea.

When we were about half finished with the meal and I knew he was feeling better, I asked him, "How about telling me why you were assigned to my group, Wally."

"So you make sixty dollars a day working that section of the street. What do you spend the money on, if I may ask?"

"Well, food and shelter mainly. Then there's medication and some doctor's bills." He paused a bit and looked right at me. "I know that you give me five dollars every Monday morning."

I was surprised that he knew what I did, since he never seemed to look at me when I put the money in his cup - his eyes were always looking straight ahead in the almost unseeing aspect of the blind. "Yes, I do," I said sheepishly.

We ate in silence for a few more minutes. "How did you get into the situation that you're now in, Wally?"

I quickly interrupted him. "Wally, I would not be spending my evenings working with this group if I were not interested in the young people in it. Now, you're in it and I want to hear."

"Okay. As I said I was eighteen last Friday; it was my second birthday away from home. Actually, my third, 'cause I ran way on my sixteenth birthday. To tell the truth, I didn't runaway - I sorta rolled away." I smiled at Wally's small joke. "I grew up in the farmlands of North Dakota. It was a real shit hole, only I didn't know it then. My father ran this large farm for one of those blood sucking agribusiness outfits."

"There were seven of us kids. I was number five. There are three girls and four boys. By my way of thinking, by the time a family reaches more than three kids the ones after number three raise themselves. Nobody pays them much attention.

"Anyway, it was a pretty meager existence. All us kids helped on the farm - raisin' chickens, some hogs, growin' vegetables for home use, etc. We went to school and tried to learn - the quality of education in North Dakota is not first rate. I was considered the bright one in the family and I did very well in school. I loved to read and still do read a lot.

"After my youngest brother, Gary, was born, mom seemed to take ill. She was in bed much of the time, and she was in bed when the…uh…the accident happened." Wally stopped talking and lowered his head to his chest. He picked his head up and looked me directly in he eyes; those gray eyes of his were burning – if, indeed, gray eyes can burn. "I still refer to it as ‘The Accident’, as if it were a play or a movie or some event that I was witnessing as an outsider instead of being the main participant." He looked up at the light fixture above our table, took in a deep breath, and began his narrative once again.

"My younger brother Erik and I were playing in what we called our sandbox. He was six years old and I was eight. It was actually a ravine that ran along side of one of the fields. We would build forts and let our imaginations run free. I knew that there was heavy machinery nearby preparing the fields after the harvest of the winter wheat. We were oblivious to what was going on around us, as kids are prone to be. Erik picked his head and said that the sound of the machine was getting very close. I looked up and saw an enormous earthmover come over the edge of the ravine. Erik started running along the gulch and I stood up and started moving too. But I tripped over a shovel that we had been using and fell face down in the water at the bottom. I lifted my head, heard this deafening roar and started to crawl out of the water. I got to a dry section, then felt my body crushed under a tremendous weight. I was in excruciating pain for about what seemed like twenty seconds. Then I remember nothing.."

"Certainly. Let me get the waitress." I signaled the young woman who was serving us. "What’ll you have Wally?"

I ordered more ice tea and I nodded at Wally to continue, which he did. "When I woke up I didn’t know where I was. It was a big room surrounded in glass. I was in a bed and the first thing I saw was a lot of bags hanging over me and plastic tubes. I saw some people in green uniforms. I looked down at my body. I was covered with a white sheet to just above my waist. And my legs hurt like hell. I was feeling a lot of pain. I knew I was in a hospital. I started to make some noises and a nurse came into the room. She was wearing a mask on her face. She looked at some of the machines near me and then a man came in. They did some things and gave me an injection and then I don’t remember anything again.

"When I awoke again, I was in a different room, and mom and dad were sitting by my bed and mom was holding my hand. I could see that she had been crying. I think I smiled at her and she started crying hard again. They told me that the big piece of equipment had crushed my legs and that I was flown by helicopter to this medical center in Bismarck. Mom said that the accident was very bad – and that both of my legs had been amputated. I didn’t know what she meant by ‘amputated’ so she said that my legs were cut off.

"I sat up on my elbows and looked down at the sheet covering me because I could feel the pain in my legs and if my legs were cut off, how could I feel the pain in my knees and feet? I lifted the sheet and looked. All I saw were bandages below my waist and a tube coming out from my groin. I started to cry and mom squeezed my hand harder. I remember crying and crying, flailing my arms and whipping my head from side to side on the pillows. Dad didn’t say anything. Mom didn't say anything. I just cried.

"They left when I fell asleep from all the crying. When I woke up it looked to be morning; a nurse asked me if I would like to eat something and I nodded. She brought in a tray of food that I ate hungrily. She asked me if I would like to meet another young boy who she said was about my age. I nodded again.

"'Yeah, ' I say. I looked at him and he smiled at me. He was wearing a hospital bathrobe and pajamas. He sat down on the chair next to my bed."

"He looked at the flat sheet on the bed. 'Yeah. That's a real bummer.' He paused a few seconds then said, 'I lost my arms two week ago.'"

"I was stunned. And then I looked closely. This cheerful kid really had no arms. The sleeves of his bathrobe were tucked into the pockets of the robe. "

"'I had my arms pulled outta my body when I got ‘em caught in a baling machine. I have nothin’ left – just shoulders. They told me I'm gonna get artificial arms. Are you gonna get artificial legs?'"

"'I don't know.' I thought about how in this small hospital there were two young boys who had been permanently crippled by farm machinery accidents.

"It don't know if it really worked - meeting that kid without arms. It didn't make me feel any better about myself but it gave me some perspective on things. We did everything together before he went home, including raising a bit of hell. I fed him his meals; he was so appreciative and I thought it was fun. He pushed my wheelchair up and down the halls. I felt good about helping him cope and it made me feel useful.

"I was in the hospital three weeks, because I had a few broken ribs and some other internal problems. When I got home things had changed. There was a ramp at the front door for my chair and the downstairs TV room became my room. There was no bathroom on the first floor, so I washed in the kitchen sink and used a chamber pot."

"A chamber pot?" I asked, laughing a bit. "I thought they went out with Louis XVI." Wally laughed too, and it was very good to see him in a mood other than somber.

"Well, they're still alive and well in North Dakota." He got a serious expression on his face again and continued. "It was a real difficult adjustment; an eight year old boy confined to a wheelchair is not a happy situation. It was compounded by the fact that my mother became seriously ill and died six months later. The doctors said it was ovarian cancer. The conditions in the house became worse and worse. My father could not keep control of the family and the older kids began to run wild; they skipped school and stayed away from home. Most awful of all, my father's drinking became worse and he became physically abusive to us kids.

I cringed and started to tear up a bit. I reached across the table and took his hands in mine. He let me hold onto his hands as he gazed at me undeviatingly; I was certain that there was a look of tremendous longing and a cry for help, comfort and acceptance in those eyes. And I think he saw that same longing in my eyes. The expression on his face changed, as I know he saw what I felt - for want of a better word, let me call it "love".

When I got home that night I chided myself for not insisting that Wally come home with me. He said that he had a "place" and that he was fine there; it had served him well enough for a year. I could not get him out of my mind. He said he was eighteen, and he spoke very well, like an elder teen. But something in his face and the feel of his hands said that he was younger. I didn't know what made me think that, but I did nonetheless.

I had difficulty falling asleep that night and when I did I had these weird, vivid dreams. All I kept seeing was an eight-year-old legless boy trying to survive in the harsh social and physical milieu of North Dakota farm life. He was always sitting in his chair with his back to me as he watched young people ice skating, playing baseball, dancing and dating. I never saw his face in these dreams of mine. And the legless boy who watched the scenes was always eight, never older.

I dragged myself out of bed the next morning soaked in sweat and very tired. I showered, dressed, had some orange juice and was off to the office. As I approached the BART station, I saw him in his usual location, sitting in his chair and holding that ratty cup. I waved at him but he did not acknowledge me; he was off in his own world.

It was a dreadful week. The rainy season was upon us and I kept thinking of nothing but Wally sitting out in the rain begging for handouts. That Monday morning I made my usual contribution into the cup; this time it was ten-dollar bill. Things at the law offices were also not the best; we had a few very big cases coming to trial soon and there was a great deal of tension in the air.

I was certainly looking forward to Wednesday night and my "group" meeting. As I approached the church, there he was, waiting in his chair by the gate and wearing his fatigue jacket and Ranger ball cap. My heart certainly started beating faster when I saw him.

He greeted me first. "Hi, Evan. Tonight I’m here early so maybe some of the guys can get me down the steps – and up later."

"Great to see you, Wally. Absolutely! I’ll get some of our stronger members to assist." I looked into those beautiful gray eyes. "How was your week?"

"Same old, same old. Not much variation in my line of work." He put his head down and spoke quietly. "I got another ticket on Friday."

"Wally, you’ve got to put an end to this aimless life of yours. You’ve gotta get back to school and utilize that brain you have."

He looked at me steadily in the eye, and with the slightest hint of a smile on his face, he said, "Evan, I’m sure you can motivate and stimulate me to do anything you want me to do."

I continued to look at that beautiful face and knew that my feelings for him ran deep. "Uh…okay then. I’ll see you downstairs, Wally."

The group gathered and I noticed Wally wheeling into the room; some of the guy had carried him and his chair down without even being asked. I thought it was a good sign. Another good sign was that everyone from last week attended this week – no dropouts.

Any anyone who has ever conducted a meeting or a class knows, there are some in each class who have a myriad of questions and comments and some who say absolutely nothing. This group was no different. We had the vociferous and the silent. Wally was among the silent, as I had expected.

It was another great group meeting with some super discussion and even an argument or two. I think some of these young people were definitely making progress. After I dismissed them, three guys assisted Wally up the steps. I locked up and was very surprised to see the wheelchair and Wally waiting for me at the gate.

"Hi to you, Wallace," I said in a jocular tone. "Care to join me to a late evening snack?"

"I don’t want to impose, Mr. Carmichael, sir" he responded in an equally whimsical tone.

"No imposition at all. I want to hear the rest of your story. You didn’t finish it last week."

We walked and wheeled to the diner again and took the same table. After ordering and finishing his salad, Wally picked up the narrative where he had left off.

"As I mentioned, things at home were very bad, with dad becoming physically abusive. One of Erik’s teachers noticed some unusual marks on his neck and arms and reported it to the school principal. Well, it brought down the wrath of the state on our house. Eventually we were sent to foster homes – except me, of course. I was placed in a state hospital, along with the retarded and unwanted." I saw a tear start to leave Wally’s eye and run down his cheek. "Excuse the blubbering, please, but this was a very difficult period for me…"

"So here we are all split up and I am hating to wake up in the morning. Everything about the place keeps me in high state of anxiety. After fifteen months my oldest sister, Marilyn, turned eighteen and she hired a lawyer to try to get the family back together. She succeeded and became our legal guardian. Unfortunately, the old man still lived in the house since he was still employed by the agribusiness conglomerate. He didn’t have anything to do with us – he just lived there. Everyone seemed to handle it fine except me. I couldn’t stand the sight of the fucker.

"A thought started germinating in my mind and grew and grew for a full year. It was to get the hell out of there and try to get to California. I slowly gathered a cache that I thought I would need – medications, birth certificate, clothes, money, etc. I secreted this stuff away in my room along with a collapsible piece of luggage and a backpack. About two months before my four...uh…sixteenth birthday I began talking to my sister Rosalyn about my leaving. She hated the situation in the house also, and I gradually convinced her that on my birthday she should drive me to the bus in Bismarck and I’ll be on my way to LA.

"And so it happened. After a three-day trip, I was in sunny California. Of course, what I hadn’t completely thought through was what I was going to do once I got to my destination. I had my wheelchair and some provisions and I met some street people at the bus terminal. They convinced me to take to the streets – and beg.

"So I got a cup and a dejected look on my face (which wasn’t too difficult) and I begged on the streets of LA. Cops were an always present trouble, but I survived. Then during the summer I hitchhiked up north – yes with my chair and all - and eventually ‘settled down’ here in Oakland.

"That’s basically my story. Of course I’ve left out some details about life on the streets, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about the day to day tribulations of a double above the knee amputee on the streets of a large Northern California city."

He laughed. "Oh, you noticed my lucky hat. Well, on the stretch of my getaway trip out of Las Vegas, this guy sat down next to me on the bus. He was wearing this NY Rangers cap. We got to talking and he told me how much money he had lost in Vegas. He was a transplanted New Yorker. Just before we got off the bus in LA, he takes off the hat and puts it on my head and says, ‘You’re a brave kid, Wally. I don’t know if I would have the guts to do what you’re doing. Here, take this cap. I’ve seen a lot in my lifetime, including the Rangers win the Stanley Cup but no one as impressed me like you.’ He gave me a light kiss on the cheek and walked off the bus. And that’s the story of the NY Rangers cap."

I laughed. I reached across the table and took his hands in mine. "Why don’t you spend the night at my place?" I asked with a quaver in my voice. To my ears it sounded like I was begging.

"Can’t, Evan. I gotta get back to my place. I’ve got roommates that…uh…need lookin' after." He paused as he squeezed my hands. "Maybe some other time."

He was in his usual position when I passed on Thursday morning; I waved again and he didn't respond. He was there again the next Monday morning, the start of another workweek. I put another ten in his cup. He stared ahead.

Our Wednesday group was a lively affair again, and Wally actually participated in the discussion. We went to the diner again, but this time he had me talk about myself. I told him all that I felt he should know about me. He had a bad cold - the weather had been pretty awful the past week.

And so it continued for another week. Monday morning I saw Wally in his usual position. I put a twenty into his cup; he raised his head and gave me a slight smile - this was most unusual for him. I smiled back at him.

I became concerned about Wally because on Tuesday morning he was not to be seen in his usual location. And he was not there again on Wednesday morning either. I was getting very worried because the last class was that Wednesday night and he did not appear.

I asked people in the class if anyone knew where he lived. Everyone look down – refusing to make eye contact with me. I practically begged them to tell me where he lived if they knew; I was concerned that he was really, really sick and he needed our help. I was actually pleading with them and I started to choke up a bit. A young lady, Carla, who seemed to know Wally, raised her hand. "Evan, I know where he crashes."

"We walked to a really shabby neighborhood. I normally would not be seen in this environment at this time of night, but five people from the group were with me. We got to a building that was all boarded up – it was abandoned and scheduled to be demolished. It looked truly awful.

Carla led us up an alleyway and through a plywood door that had been constructed around an opening in a brick wall. Someone produced a flashlight that we needed to find our way around the interior. Carla lead us up a flight of stairs and into a incredibly deteriorated room; it was lit only by one candle. There was someone sitting by a bed. The person was holding the hand of the bed’s occupant. I knew immediately that Wally was in the bed.

The older woman holding my Wally’s hand looked up at us. "He very sick," she said in a strongly accented voice. "He need a doc bad!"

I was sitting in the Emergency Room of the hospital. The people from the group were with me. I was crying a bit, as were some of the others.

Wally was in very, very bad shape. He was delirious and had the shakes. Two of the guys carried him out of that squalid apartment and I called 911 from my cellular phone. Carla collected his belongings and stuffed them into a worn backpack. We found his wheelchair near the entrance. The ambulance arrived in about twenty minutes and Wally was taken away. Since none of us were family we couldn’t accompany him. I hailed a passing taxi after walking a few blocks to a nicer section of the city; I went back to my apartment building and got my car. I picked up the young people, shoved his belongings into the trunk and headed to the hospital.

I had my head back against the wall of the waiting room. My eyes were closed and I was still crying lightly.

"I said I think he loves you too. I speak to him a bit during the week – he comes in to the greasy spoon where I sometimes work. You’re all he talks about lately. He even mentions how handsome you are and what a great smile you have and what a great body you have. You did know he’s gay, right?"

I am overwhelmed. My emotions are so disjointed I don’t know what I feel. I look at Carla and she nods. Does he really love me? God knows I love him…I think.

"After ninety minutes in the ER a young doctor comes out. "Are you the people who brought in Wallace Anderson?" We nod. He sits down next to me. "Do you know if he has family nearby?"

"He doesn’t," I say. "He’s from North Dakota. I grab onto the doctor’s arm. "How is he?"

"He is in critical condition," the doctor says, looking me directly in the eye. Do they teach them this in medical school? I notice his nametag – Dr. Benjamin Wrightman. "How do you know him?"

"He's in a city program that I run. He wasn’t in class tonight so we went to where he…uh…lives and we found him. Dr. Wrightman, what is the exact situation?"

"Mr. Anderson has viral meningitis. And the prognosis is not good. He is also very malnourished and he has pneumonia. We have moved him to the intensive care unit and are monitoring him very closely. Does anyone know how he lost his legs?"

I agreed. Dr. Wrightman shifted his position and put his hands to his face. He was shaking his head from side to side. "What is it, doctor? Please tell me!" I said with more that a touch of terror in my voice.

He looked directly at me again. "Viral meningitis can produce severe problems in the extremities. It is not unusual for these patients to lose parts of their limbs. In Wallace’s case, since his legs are…

"Oh God!" I screamed. "He going to lose his arms?" I wailed. The group members gathered around me and try to calm me down. "Oh my god! He’s gonna be a quad…a quad…a quad…" I continued to moan.

"Mr. Carmichael. That is not necessarily the case. Please, sir. We going to try everything in our power to prevent further…er…damage to his body. Please, please believe me."

I started to cry uncontrollably. Carla put her arms around me, trying to comfort me. I noticed everyone in the group was crying. When I achieved some semblance of control, I asked the doctor if I could see Wally. He said that only medical staff is permitted in the ICU. He told me that we could "view" him in the unit. I was able to see him through glass partitions, and I did this. To me he looked to be near death. He was lying in a bright light with a sheet to his mid chest - his incredibly thin chest, where I could count the ribs. The sheet was flat on the bed where his legs should have been. He had more machines connected to him than I had ever seen before.

I panicked and started crying again. I could not believe I was carrying on for a person I had only met three times. He was on a ventilator. I knew he was going to die. I knew he was going to die without me being able to tell him how much I loved him and how much I wanted us to live together. The doctor put his hand on my shoulder.

"Yes he is. He’s a very handsome boy," Dr. Wrightman responded. "He looks somewhat familiar, though."

When I calmed down sufficiently I went back to the waiting room and spoke to the group. I told them the situation and how desperate it was. They wanted to know if they could do anything and I said the only thing left was prayer and thinking only good thoughts about Wally.

They slowly drifted back to their homes and by 1 AM I was alone in the waiting room. An orderly asked me if I would like something to eat and he brought me some fruit and coffee. Every hour or so I would walk to the glass partition where I could see Wally. I put my hands on the glass trying in vain to reach out to him. I strained to tell him that I was here for him and that we’d be together forever.

I was standing near the glass at around 3 AM and Dr. Wrightman came up to me and guided me into his office.

"We have received approval to use an experimental drug on Wallace Anderson. I need some information."

"As I’ve said before doctor, I met him only three times. The only facts I know about him are his age and that he’s from North Dakota. As a lawyer, I have to tell you that even those are in doubt."

"I guess you’re wondering why I’m carrying on like a baby. Well, I’m going to be honest with you; I’m in love with him. I’m spoken to him for maybe five hours total and I’m totally in love with him. I’m in love with Wally." I started crying again. "And I'm not even sure that he’s gay," I blubbered.

Dr. Wrightman came around to my chair and put his hand on my shoulder. He whispered in my ear. "I know how it feels. My boyfriend was in a very bad skiing accident two years ago and I know what the waiting is like. It took them almost a whole day just to find him."

Around 5 AM I performed the waiting ritual again – hands on glass, reaching out to him – and I thought I saw him stir a bit. My heart leaped for a second and then the despair returned.

I fell asleep around 6 AM I figure. At 8 AM Dr. Wrightman came into the waiting room and I was immediately awake – a sudden adrenaline rush.

"We think that Wally has passed the crisis. We think he will made a full, however slow, recovery."

"No amputations! He’s still in a coma and still on the respirator, but we expect him to come out of that in about twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

When I was under control, I called my office and told them I would be in around ten. I had forgotten what day of the week it was, and my secretary reminded me of an important 10 AM meeting. I told her I would hurry.

I drove home, showered, shaved, dressed and was in the office by 9:45. I must admit that when I passed Wally’s usual spot near the BART station, I teared up a bit, but I quickly got control of myself.

The day went well and I spoke to the attending physician in the ICU three times between 10AM and 6 PM. Dr. Wrightman must have told this fellow about me and he seemed to be expecting my calls.

I returned to the hospital at about 6 PM and went to the ICU. I looked through the glass and saw Wally still lying there in the same position as he was in ten hours earlier.

"Doing better. As I said this morning, it will probably be a long and possibly difficult recovery. But recover he will. I'm very happy for the two of you."

Wally came out of his coma and I won a very big case on the same day. I had spoken to the doctor earlier and I was very anxious to get to the hospital. I may have rushed some parts of the case in order to get out of the courthouse faster. When I got to the ICU I looked through the glass and there was Wally sitting up - and wearing his NY Rangers cap. I laughed and waved to him; he waved back.

Eight days later Wally was moved out of the ICU and into a private room. I think it was the happiest day of my entire life. I had bought him a small gold ring to wear on his pinkie; it was in honor of him coming through his ordeal with no losses. It had his birthstone in it. When I entered the room he was sitting up in bed - again wearing the Rangers cap.

I walked up to him and he turned to look at me. I kissed him on the lips and put my arms around his body. He felt so thin and frail, but he was alive and recovering, and for that I was eternally grateful. I held and kiss and hugged him over and over. He definitely kissed me back. I sat down on the chair by the bed and just looked at him.

"Sorry, Evan. I really hadn't planned on it." He paused and looked at me. "It's so wonderful to see you here. For you to be with me."

We sat silently for a few minutes, just soaking up the feeling of being with each other.

"Wally, I brought you something." I took the ring out of my pocket and opened the box. I slipped the ring on his left pinkie. "I got this for you to commemorate…uh…to celebrate…" I started to break down in sobs. "…I wanted to give you this ring to signify the fact that you came through your illness…uh…intact." We kissed again.

"Oh, my Wally. I love you so much." We hugged and kissed again. I petted his neck and face. "I'm so very, very happy."

After we both settled down a bit, we smiled at each other. Then Wally seemed to get that sad, lonely, far away expression on his face again. "Evan. Evan, you have never seen me - all of me. I mean, you have never seen my entire body - or what's left of it. You've never seen my legs…uh…my leg stumps."

"Maybe it will." He paused. "If you want, you can lift the sheet and see them. If you want…Please don't…uh…don't be disappoint…uh…be put off by my body"

"Wally, you are the most beautiful person I have ever known. If your entire body is half as good as I imagined it to be, you are home free." He smiled a bit. I lifted the sheet and for the first time I saw Wally's legs. They took my breath away. They were gorgeous - smooth and rounded and exciting. I found myself getting very excited by seeing Wally’s amputated limbs. His leg remnants were hairless and there were large, thin scars on the ends. They were very pale, like the rest of his body. When I gasped, Wally obviously thought they repulsed me, and he turned his head away from me and started to cry. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him. "Wally, Wally, what's the matter. They're absolutely beautiful. You are absolutely beautiful. Please…please…don’t cry."

"I love your body, Wally. I really do love your body." As I was saying this, I lowered one of my hands and gently began to rub his left leg stump. I rubbed it slowly and soothingly. Wally began to smile. I moved my hand to his other stump and slowly stroked it. Wally was now wearing a very wide smile and his eyes had closed to slits. I kissed him again. "I love you, Wally; I love all of you - every single bit of you."

"And I love you Evan. I did from the first moment I ever saw you walking by the BART Station. And…and…when I realized that it was you conducting that class, I was so elated, and then…"

"I know. I know," I kept repeating as I continued to rub his stumps. I lifted the sheet and looked at them again. I also saw his penis for the first time. He was catheterized but I was able to see a beautiful, long, moderately thick, uncut organ. This sealed Wally's fate. He was going to have to put up with me for the rest of his life.

That was all four years ago. It seems like ancient history. Wally was in the hospital for a total of five weeks. When he was discharged he moved in with me. We had a full time nurse stay with him for the first two months of his homecoming. His strength slowly returned and he was great company - both in and out of bed. The sex was better than I thought it ever could be. I found those leg stumps to be incredibly sexy and he was so proud of them.

Wally knew how to cook which was a boon since I hated anything to do with stoves, pots, etc. We began an exercise program together to build up his strength. He returned to school and we discovered that Wally was a computer wizard. He could go things that absolutely boggled the mind. He was one of those people who could do anything - and I mean anything - with a computer. Of course, he was only sixteen, as I had originally thought.

Last year we moved to a farm up in northern California near Eureka (you can take the boy out of the farm, but you can't take the farm…). It's a very large tract of land and we keep mainly animals, although we have a couple of acres where we put in some crops for our own use. I am still associated with the law firm in San Francisco but I have specialized in Environmental Law and this is the perfect location for us. I even argued an important case before the US Supreme Court last year and we won. You may have read about it - it was a landmark ruling.

At my urging, Wally contacted his family again, and while the news wasn't all good (his younger brother Erik had died of a drug overdose), he was happy he was back in their lives again and they in his. Two of his brothers and one sister, along with their families, have visited us. It was good to meet them; they were totally accepting of our lives together and were very happy for us.

So that's my story. Sorry it was a bit lengthy in the telling. However, I think Wally deserved it.

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