Meat

The day I lost my hand started like any other. Waking up in the old bed, in the same old town, with the same old morning rain turning everything outside my window gray. Swung my foot over the edge of the bed, onto the frayed old woven rug on the cool wood floorboards, stared at the same point on the wall. Behind me, like any morning, my wife Louise was still asleep, curled up in the little concave dent in the center of the mattress, looking tired even then. Then, like any morning, I got up, got in the shower, washing away the sweet scent of dreams and replacing it with the acrid stench of reality. No way up and no way out, just the same old road, heading nowhere fast in the same old rundown miserable town. Like any kid I’d had dreams, but not anymore. No college came my way, no great job offers, or bombshell women. Just my plain old neighbor Louise and her secretarial position at an accountants’ office and my own job at the meat packing plant like every other guy in town. A five to ten job, that’s am to pm. Managed to scrape enough together for a house and kids and a decent enough wedding. Like everyone else. Any way, that morning, it was a Saturday I remember, though its not like it matters, I went downstairs, grabbed some coffee and a lunch pail, and headed out, into the usual morning downpour. My truck was cold, as always, and the radio off. I put both my hands on the wheel, turned the key, and started out. I turned on the radio and the let the dial spin on its own, like a little top, trying to find a station, not really caring where it ended up landing. That morning, its amazing what you remember, the song playing was a sad old song, sung in a woman’s voice, talking about love. It was probably older than my father was, but it was a good song. Slow, steady, had good backing musicians. I heard a piano, and a flute, maybe a trumpet or an oboe. Memory can surprise you. I can remember those little things, but I can’t remember what went wrong that day. Something must’ve gone wrong; I remember the feeling in my gut. Anyway, I pulled up, parked and walked in. went to the lockers, pulled off my flannel coat, and put on the white smock thing that counts as the uniform, and my one blue glove. See at the plant I worked a small lonely station in the assembly line. I couldn’t see anyone, as there was a white chute on my right and a white machine on my left. I knew there was a guy beside that machine, on the other side, but I couldn’t see him because of the machinery’s sheer size, so it made no difference. My job was to make sure the meat got cut properly. A big square of meat came down the chute every few minutes, landed on the belt. I pushed a blue button and the meat moved to the center of the belt, in front of me, and stopped. A big shiny bade came down and cut the meat in half. Then I stuck out my blue glove and moved the meat. Waited awhile, the blade came down again, and you get four pieces of meat. The conveyor belt came to life then and moved the meat into the machine on my left. Repeat. It goes n forever, from five to ten, meat comes in, meat goes out. Slice, slice in the middle. Supposed to be safe. Anyway, that must have been piece one hundred that day, right before noon, when it happened. Slice, meat in two pieces. Then a blank. All I remember is my vision going shaky and red and white. I look down, and my glove is gone with my hand inside. The meat as still in two pieces, I hadn’t moved it. Remember puzzling as to why I hadn’t done that, as my vision grew increasingly hazy, and watching my stump. Someone screamed. Then I remember only blackness and silence. I woke up at four pm the next day, in the county hospital, my hand gone, Louise by my side. There were a couple of officials from the plant, babbling about freak accidents and employee safety and whatnot. I wasn’t interested. Then they gave me a check, a check for a bunch of money, for my “disability settlement requirement” or some such thing. Hush money. Still I took it and ran. Ran, chasing after the sun, chased it all the way to California. I drove, not caring about the fact that I only had one hand, one was good enough. That trip was a good, fun, thing that still warms my chest when I think of it. We drove like there was no world, no responsibilities. The windows down, radio up, kids strapped up in the back, Louise in front next to me. I had one hand on the wheel, one eye on the horizon, the other on Louise, all four of us singing the songs on the radio. The moon and stars winking up above, the kids asleep, Louise’s head on my shoulder, the sun coming up in a pink mist, the engine purring. Louise looking beautiful in the evening sun, the world looking like a play ground. Looking back, and thinking, I see now that driving like that, you could drive forever and never stop, never look back. Forever. I like the sound of that.