I’ve walked with a limp since the event that left me crippled also left me with a mangled femur, a 10-inch titanium plate in my leg, and a somewhat gangster-like gait. It’s not a depressing, terrible hobble, but it’s certainly noticeable—some days more than others. When coworkers and elder family members started explaining-away my physical pains due to changes in the weather, I knew I’d stuck it to myself at the ripe age of twenty-four. But this event of tragedy also gave me the gift of knowing what it’s like to have an obvious and irreversible defect.

            When I returned to work, I was relegated to the freight elevator, which was an unglamorous gesture towards accommodating my newfound handicap. The catering crew and I got to be good friends, me often eavesdropping as they exchanged sex stories and sundry indiscretions that I‘ll keep discreet.

            On days that I noticed boys on the street giving me the once-over, I suddenly started thinking their internal thoughts were:

            “Hey, check out old hobbles, I’d at least probably be able to get with her, but I don‘t know, won‘t try anyway.”

            They were inevitably undereducated and used run-ons.

            Then, there was the innocuously curious observer.

            “So, how’d it happen?”

            I’d respond, explaining that I had a loft bed and that I had, in my sleep, simply rolled off and broke myself on the hard-wood floor.

            But, after about a month of explaining this truism, I was confronted by two drunken New Jersey women at a bar, who were nice enough to let me sit on one of their stools (because I was on crutches).

            We began talking.

            “HA! SO, he [non-descript HE] flung you off the bed!!! Hahaha, I want to have sex like that!”

            There had been no mention of sex, only my innocent fall.

            I realized, then, that when one says they fell off of their loft bed, a bystander might jump to the conclusion that it was due to sexual exploits.

            I began to tell my story more carefully.

            And I hung my head in shame about all of those I’d related the story to, and who thought the event was rowdier than it was.