Branches Book

BRANCHES

arrived at the party, to my surprise, my coworkers didn’t ask any of those questions. Instead, one of them told me she wanted to introduce me to her old college friend, Eric. He designed album covers for local bands. We instantly hit it off, and we spent the rest of the evening talking about our lives. He was mysterious which made me want to know everything about him. He had this incredible confidence and kindness in his eyes that I wanted for myself. He knew exactly what he wanted to do in life and who he wanted to be. I admired his authenticity and the way he carried himself in the world. At the end of the night, he asked me if I wanted to see him again. I told him yes, and he kissed me. In that moment, I felt whole. I felt happy, like everything was going to be okay. I knew he would make everything okay. It was just three weeks later that the first incident happened. We were walking back to his car after dinner when he was lighting a cigarette and accidentally burned his finger. He pretended like he was okay but I could see the burn was deep. I knew he wouldn’t like what I was about to do, but I wanted him to heal. I wanted to make him feel better so I tore off a piece of skin on my finger and put it on his finger so it would heal. And it did, his finger wasn’t burned anymore with my finger instead of his. I wrapped my bloody, aching hand in my scarf and held it tightly to stop the pain. I was hurt, but at least he wasn’t in pain. He was thankful, and that made me feel special. The next day I went to the clinic and bought a new synthetic finger. I no longer had any feeling in that finger, but I didn’t mind. You might be wondering why I had to give Eric my finger if he could have just gone to the clinic like me. It’s because, as advanced as medicine might be there is still a clear difference between synthetic and real body parts. The coloration feeling you have with them are different. Synthetics feel like plastic, but in human transplants it’s easy to connect the nerves. He would regain feeling in his entire hand almost instantly. Weeks went by without another incident. I worked on a new exhibition for my art gallery while Eric trained for a big surf competition. One morning, before work, I went to see him surf. I sat on the beach with my sketchbook in my lap and looked at the waves crashing on the shore while the sun rose. Eric was sitting in the lineup, waiting for a wave. He looked so beautiful. The sun reflected off his blonde hair and it looked almost like gold. I opened my sketchbook and started drawing my feet in the sand. Then, suddenly, I heard someone yell for help. I looked up and saw a man was in the water holding Eric. I rushed to the water at the same moment he brought him back to shore. He laid Alex down and said, “I think his board got stuck in some coral and his foot with it, it’s crushed.” I saw the pained look on Eric’s face. He knew he would never be able to surf again with that foot. I knew what I had to do. I looked down at my foot and just ripped it off. I took my foot and

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