My missing left hand (final version march 19-2016)

MY MISSING LEFT HAND

a silly short story by:

C. David Cataford

Edited by: Brent Santin

(March 2016)

My Missing Left Hand – a silly short story by C. David Cataford (Edited by Brent Santin)

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I was alone in my office when I took a nap. When I become bored I fall asleep. I was alone and I

was bored and I was asleep. When I woke up, I noticed that my left hand had fallen off. I was

greatly pained and extremely vexed to see my left hand just sitting on the floor beside my feet

and not, instead, where it should have been at the end of my left arm. I soon grew bored with

all the anxiety and this made me tired so I decided to take another short nap.

A few moments later I awoke and noticed that my left hand was no longer on the floor. A quick

survey of the room revealed nothing; nor had it re-attached itself to my wrist. As you can

imagine, I was still vexed! My mind began racing:

Do I have proper body posture when I sit?

I saw a stunning lady on the street yesterday. Had she been looking at me, or were her

eyes just wandering as eyes often do?

Perhaps somebody had come into my office and had stolen my hand. Who would do

such a thing? Who would steal a hand?

Perhaps it was somebody like me...somebody without a hand.

Unfortunately I was still too tired to continue this line of thinking and so I got ready to go home

for the day. I stood up and put on my jacket, which I had placed on a nearby chair. I pulled my

gloves out of the jacket's pocket when I suddenly remembered that I had no left hand to put a

glove onto. This made me upset, and so once again I was vexed and upset. I left for the parking

lot only to release that with one hand, driving my gearshift car would prove difficult. Yes, it

could be done, but I was not a confident driver even with two hands. What was I to do?

I paused and thought about my wife. I am a married man. Notice I did not say a “happily

married” man. That's because while I am married but I am not a happy man. My spouse is

more like a camp counsellor than a wife. She is a determined person and likes to keep busy.

She is also very serious and unable to tell even the simplest of jokes. Do you remember when

you were a little kid at summer camp? Do you remember how you instantly feel in love with

your summer camp counsellor? You looked up to her, but as time passed you started losing

respect. By the end of the summer, you ended up hating her and hoping that she would not be

around the following year. That sums up the relationship I had with my wife. In fact, I think she

actually once was a camp counsellor! As I walked, my thoughts were pre-occupied with my

wife.

I reached my house and found it empty, so I decided to phone the missing hand help hot line. It

was a 1-800 number, so would be a free call. A thin sounding female voice answered and I

informed whoever was at the other end of the line that my hand was missing. There was a long

pause.

It turns out that I was the first person ever to call this number - that’s what the thin voice told

me - so she was unable to assist me. However, the lady (who seemed very nice) said that she

would send me some information through the mail. Then much to my surprise she offered me


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a job. I told her that I would think about it. I hung up the phone using my right hand and went

to the basement.

I suddenly remembered that I had a fake hand in a storage box somewhere in the upstairs

basement. I guess I had acquired it about six years ago to use as a prop for a Halloween party

attended by my wife and myself. My wife had dressed up as “Santana” Claus and I had dressed

up as Dirty Harry Potter and for some strange reason I had used a fake left hand. As I thought

of that party I remembered that a lot of strange things had happened there. A man I had never

seen before had come up to me and told me that he thought I had attractive hands. At the

time I didn’t think much of his comment, but I thought about it now as I awaited my wife's

return. I was in my upstairs basement and I was thinking.

As none of my thoughts were very interesting, I put on the fake left hand and went downstairs.

I wondered what was keeping my wife when I spied the calendar on the fridge. On today's

date, written in my wife's absolutely strict handwriting, was the phrase “DENTIST

APPOINTMENT AT NOON”. I felt relieved and I was relieved. I was a one-handed relieved man

with his wife at the dentist. With the anticipation gone, I suddenly felt bored and therefore

tired so I decided to take another nap before my two-handed wife came home. As I was trying

to get to fall sleep, I began thinking of the human body and how it was organized. The body has

two of everything: two eyes, two ears, two legs, two sets of toes, two arms, two nostrils. Some

humans even have two chins. Now, I had one hand - only one hand. I felt like screaming, but

by this time I had already fallen asleep and so was unable to scream.

* * *

"Wake up, wake up!" my wife roared into my left ear. I had been snoozing on my right side. I

opened my eyes and found myself looking into her clean teeth.

"Any cavities?" I asked.

"No!" she replied. She then looked toward my fake left hand. I don't know if she knew if it was

fake or not but she asked me why I was not wearing my wedding ring. She sounded upset, as if

I was letting her down.

"I have never taken MY ring off. Never!" She complained.

I reacted rather nastily to what she was implying, "Well then … what about that time you

dressed up as Santana Clause a few Halloweens ago? You took off your ring then didn't you?"

"I was paying a character! Santana Clause isn't married!"

My mind then began to focus on that evening all those years ago. What if my wife and that

man - the one who asked about my hands - what if they were having an affair? What if my wife

wanted to show her lover to me, without my even noticing? Come to think of it, that man had

been dressed up as a dentist!


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I had clarity of thought. My wife was having an affair with her dentist and they had plotted to

steal my hand and run off to be together for the rest of their lives. What a cruel woman! She

runs off hand in hand with a lover while leaving me handless.

I decided that I was going to leave her in the morning. You see I hate face-to-face conflict, and

so my plan was to slip out in the morning without telling her thing. I settled into a calm sense

of resolve.

To my great surprise we had a wonderful dinner together. The conversation between us was

immaculate. After dinner I did the dishes. My wife had not yet noticed my fake left hand. I did

have one slight problem though. After I had finished washing up I discovered that my right had

was full of splinters! The cause of my problem had been straightforward; one hand was made

of wood, which swelled in water while the other was covered in skin, which puckered up. I had

rubbed them together while scrubbing. That's why they don't use wooden slides at water parks,

I guess.

That night we watched "The Empire Strikes Back" on the Tube, which was one of my favourite

movies. Ironically, it’s the movie were Luke Skywalker loses his hand. During a commercial

break a Missing Hand Help Hotline advertisement came on. I tensed up, watching my wife's

reaction out of the corner of my eye and all the while not saying a word.

"Who would phone such a Hotline, what a stupid idea," she muttered.

Little did she know that in the morning I would leave her.

* * *

I had a lot of trouble the following morning. I was unable to leave my wife because I slept in. As

it turned out my alarm was not set. I had forgotten to set it. You see, my left hand usually sets

it for me. This may sound strange but my left hand did a lot of important things for me and one

of those things was setting the alarm. Sometimes my wife would wake me up if my alarm

didn't go off, but in this instance my wife had left for work already. I then noticed my fake hand

sitting on the floor beside the bed. It had come loose and fallen off in the night. Perhaps my

wife had awoken, seen the hand on the floor and then noticed I was left-handless! She may

have been too frightened to wake me and fled!

Or maybe she hadn't seen a thing and had simply left early to beat the morning rush.

I should tell you that I am an extremely romantic lover. I make a lot of noise and am very

passionate when I shag. I use my left hand for sudden probes and for softly supporting various

body parts such as my partner’s head and lower back. While I am a modest man I must admit

that when I am "winding our clocks" I become an Olympic champion! No one did it better than

I. There, as I thought about coitus; I experienced the first real moment of sadness for my

missing left hand. What type of lover would I be without it? I wanted it back!

As I walked downtown to drink up some yummy coffee, my mind began to wander yet again.


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Had I flossed last night?

Should I shave today?

What is this pain in my left foot? Is it a tumor? Is my left foot going to fall off just like my

left hand?

Was that stunning lady I saw on the street a couple days ago looking at me or were her

eyes just looking through me?

I hope there are enough Shreddies for breakfast?

The police would never believe my story, not on the phone anyway. My only chance was

to visit the police in person...after my Shreddies, of course.

My suspicions were correct. There were not enough Shreddies for breakfast so I was destined

to leave the house with no left hand and an empty stomach.

My car was not in the garage because I had left it - along with my real left hand - at work the

previous day. It wouldn't have made a difference anyway, because I couldn't drive with one

hand, so I didn't worry about it. I proceeded to walk to the police station, but after starting I

realized that I didn't know where it was. I went back home to fetch a road map from my

upstairs basement and then, for the second and last time that day; I began walking to the police

station.

Before I continue, I should mention that the city map that I picked up was a "Big Daddy Cat's

Chicken" road map. It highlighted all the Big Daddy Cat's Chicken restaurants in the city.

Luckily for me, it also highlighted all the police stations. On my way I decided to take a minor

detour and head out to a Big Daddy Cat's Chicken restaurant for a small bite to eat. I was left-

handless and I was hungry.

When I entered the Big Daddy Cat restaurant I was confronted with a large poster that

informed me there was a special offer for which I qualified. Anybody who had gotten their

head, arm or leg amputated recently got five pieces of “crispy-chunky-chewy chicken” for free

as long as they ordered a box of fifteen pieces. By now I was extremely hungry but even so,

there was no way I could eat twenty pieces of Big Daddy Cat chicken in one sitting!

The incredibly attractive cashier at the counter informed me that if I ate twenty pieces of

chicken and actually survived then I would break a Big Daddy Cat record for the most pieces

eaten by someone with an amputated limb. Here glorious eyes locked with mine as I asked

how much this special offer would cost me. She told me that if I succeeded in my chicken-

eating quest that she would pay for it herself. This cashier was an amazing lady. She had allure.

I sat down with my order, took a deep breath, and began eating my twenty pieces of Big Daddy

Cat's Chicken. Everyone in the restaurant was watching me. They were watching me closely. I

began to think:

Perhaps if I ate enough chicken my left hand might grow back.


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I wondered what the alluring cashier's name might be. I hoped that it would be a

beautiful name and also something that I could spell.

Was that stunning lady I had seen a few days ago on the street prettier than this

cashier? They were both awfully beautiful.

After about twenty-five minutes of eating I had finished my fifteenth piece of chicken. I felt

slightly bloated but relieved as the next five pieces were now on Big Daddy Cat's dime. I looked

at up the cashier to realize that she too had been staring at me all the while.

“How did you lose your hand?” she asked gently.

“In the War” I replied. This girl was too pretty. I had no choice but to lie to her. I couldn’t tell

her it just fell off. As I finished off the final five pieces we embarked on one of the longest, most

romantic and sensual conversations I had ever had.

“What’s your name?” I asked her and secretly began to pray that she had a great name. This

was an incredibly silly way to think because she was about thirty years old and my frantic

praying was too late to change her name. Our world just doesn’t work that way.

“My name is Jennifer, but I like JennIE. JennIE with an “I.E.” at the end. I hate “Y's,” she

responded proudly.

“Why do you hate “Y's”? That’s bizarre.”

“I have no idea, I just hate them. My favourite letter has always been 'E'. What’s your

favourite?”

Now that's a question I was not prepared for, so I replied that I liked the letter “B” as it was the

first letter that entered my mind.

“That’s interesting,” and then she leaned over and gave me an incredibly passionate kiss

immediately after which I fell over. I get Vertigo whenever I am kissed by a beautiful woman,

and so I usually steady myself with my left hand. However, since it was missing I couldn't grab

onto anything and immediately crumpled to the ground.

I had just been kissed by a beautiful woman with a great name and had I broken the Big Daddy

Cat record! Everybody in the restaurant cheered. I was having a good day. It was the first day

without my left hand and it had been one of the best days of my life - so far anyway. I stood up

and walked out of the restaurant feeling like a hero.

As I continued walking to the police station I noticed something foreign in my right hand

pocket. It was a note from JennIE. I pulled it out and read it out loud,

“Do you want to come over for dinner at my house

tonight? If you do, please call me at 588-555-7374.

I promise that we won’t have chicken.


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Love now and forever, JennIE.”

* * *

My visit to the police station was disappointing. They thought I was some sort of nut and I'm

pretty sure I saw them open a GCJ file on me. Since I was only at a local city police department,

that’s extremely disturbing! I did get to talk to the Chief of police but he kicked me out of his

office because I smelled like Big Daddy Cat's Chicken! He was really mad, so I left and walked

home.

As I walked I thought about two things: the first was beautiful JennIE (as soon as I got home I

had to call her to let her know that I would come over for dinner), my second thought was of

my bloated, aching stomach. It was full of twenty pieces of greasy fried chicken. That’s not a

meal, that’s a massacre! I began trying to calculate how many whole chickens I had eaten. It

was probably more than one because I remember eating at least five drum-sticks and I think

chickens have only one or two each.

As my digestive system struggled to process the chicken I arrived home and called JennIE. All I

got was her answering machine, which left me unprepared. The wheels of my mind froze like a

deer in the headlights.

This is what I said (and it's bad):

“Hello JennIE with an IE...that’s cute.”

I then added a fake laugh, “He, ha, ha.” I hated my phony laugh it was goofy.

“I obviously found your lovely note, and therefore am making this phone call…he, ha, ha…and

yes, I would LOVE to come over for dinner although I don’t know where you live and I am

unable to drive since my hand fell off yesterday…”

That was a total mistake. Remember, I had lied and told her that I had lost my hand during the

War. Trying to recover, I continued, “…I mean yesterday...in the War. I just got back from the

fighting…actually.”

I took a very long pause, probably about twenty-five seconds and then I said, “I have a

confession to make. I didn’t lose my hand during the War. I never fought in the War. In fact, I

am a coward...a lonely married man and a coward.”

I then took another long pause, fearing I had made another mistake by telling her that I was

married. However, I was in too deep to start over.

“I am married, but I left my wife, so it’s still OK for us to eat together. I want to get to know you

better JennIE with an IE…he, ha, ha.”

Oh my goodness! I hate my laugh. It sounds like two people getting in a shooting match. One

person called He and the other is called Ha. It is awful.


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“My phone number is 588-274-1975. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I hung up. It was the worst phone message ever left on an answering machine in the history of

the world! Or, at least that’s what I thought at that moment.

I had blown it and the fact that I had fumbled so badly began to stress me out. I mentally

recounted all the stressful events of the past few days and I got really sad. It’s amazing how

quickly one's mood can change depending one's actions. When I was at Big Daddy Cat's Chicken

I was happy and now I was depressed and lost. Why?

As I thought about loss and idea came to me. Perhaps somebody at work had put my hand in

the Lost and Found box. Wait - that was really a stupid thought. Who would do that? Who

would put an amputated left hand into a Lost and Found box? The Lost and Found box was for

lipstick and pens and gum, not missing hands! But suddenly hope and inspiration; the Lost and

Found box always had a glove in it and where there are gloves there might be hands. The box

wasn’t just for lipstick, lost pens and unchewed gum!

I was optimistic again and the optimism spread to other thoughts. Maybe JennIE would listen to

the message and appreciate my honesty in regards to my hand. After all, she liked me, didn’t

she? Why else would she have kissed me on the lips? Also, when you like somebody, you

always look at their good qualities not their negative ones, don’t you?

It was still pretty early in the day, so I decided to head to work and fetch my hand in the Lost

and Found box. I was going to resign and check the box, but which should I do first? I would

check the box first because if I resigned then maybe the Lost and Found box would be off limits

to me.

When I arrived at work I went to my desk but found my boss waiting for me. Although I had had

an Indiana Jones adventuresome type of day I had forgot one very important thing: I had

forgotten to call in sick. Apparently, he hadn't been happy with my work ethic for quite some

time and had received a stack of complaints regarding the number naps that I took while

working. Although my wife never had a problem about my loud snoring, I guess a few of my co-

workers found it disturbing. So there I was – fired! My boss hadn't even notice my missing left

hand, so focused was he on firing me! He sent me down to the human resources department

to pick up my final pay cheque.

Well, at least I hadn't had to resign (which was a good thing as I had been nervous about

resigning). Getting fired is easier. After receiving my final paycheque returned to my office and

called the Missing Hand Help Hotline. The thin voiced lady answered and I accepted the job that

she had offered me the day before. I had been unemployed for about three minutes in total,

which has to be a record for somebody with only one hand.

After hanging up the phone one of my least favourite people in the office entered. Kellog was

his name.


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“I have a confession to make,” he said, looking sheepish. “This is hard for me, but I have to tell

you before you leave as I may never see you again.” I had never liked him, but couldn't quite

put my finger on the reason. Perhaps it was that when he talked to me it always seemed that

he was judging me. Another thing about Kellog was that he smelled bad - really bad - but for

some reason nobody else could smell him. It was just me. Isn't that weird?

“Well let’s hear it!” I replied giddily. You see, I was giddy because I while I hated Kellog I knew

that this might be the last time we ever talked.

“I have been sleeping with your wife for the past three years. I was going to leave my own wife

to run away with yours but I changed my mind the other day after the incident – the incident

with your hand.“

He avoided making eye contact with me while he spoke.

“You see, I'm aware that you take lots of naps at work and I was hoping that during one of

these I could steal your wedding ring. I wanted to use that very ring when asking your wife to

marry me. I thought it would be an unusual surprise for her because she always told me how

fond she is of the ring you gave her. In fact she told me that the ring was one of your greatest

features!”

For a split second he glanced up to note my reaction.

“Are you stunned by this revelation?” Kellog asked. He always talked like that – in that weird

formally awkward way.

“No I am not stunned.” I responded calmly. “Did you take my hand?”

He seemed a disappointed with my composure.

“Well, no. I did try to pull the ring off your finger as you slept, but at that time your hand was

still attached and grew terrified that you would wake up. I ran away scared. After I gathered my

wits I returned only to find that now your hand was on the floor! Once again I ran away, scared

out of my mind."

My aloofness crumbled and a numb feeling overcame me as Kellog continued his confession,

“Trying to cover my tracks, I returned a third time to try and put your hand back on your arm,

but I wasn't able to, so I hid it under my sports jacket it and took it to my office. I thought that

there might at least be able to pull off the ring without being discovered.”

Kellog's eyes darted up guiltily, checking to see if I going to punch him. Luckily for him I was not

going to as my punching hand was missing.

“I actually clamped your hand in a vice so I could pull off the ring, but even that wouldn’t work.”

he continued. “As the full and twisted nature of what I was doing dawned on me I grew

disgusted with myself. I thought about my relationship with your wife and it only disgusted me


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more. You see...your wife...after a while...she gets a bit tiring. Yes, she is beautiful and sexy

but she is also bossy and she is set in her ways. She reminds me of a summer camp counsellor I

once had named Egmont. Like your wife Egmont was beautiful and I looked up to her at the

beginning of the summer. However, by season's end her beauty had worn off for me. It had

vanished from our world. That is how I think about your wife now. I am going to end our affair

tonight. I am so sorry. Actually, I think she might be having another affair with her dentist.”

“Where is my missing left hand?!!” I demanded, raising my voice a little and causing Kellog to

jump back.

“Oh, I put it in the Lost and Found box at the reception desk.”

He paused.

“Well...goodbye. I wish you the best of luck for your future.” Kellog muttered and then held

reached for a handshake. He immediately realized that I couldn't reciprocate and attempted to

deflect the faux-pas by asking me about my plans.

I wasn't playing his game and responded angrily.

“I knew there was something rotten in the State of Denmark regarding my wife! Well Kellog,

you don't have to feel guilty because I left her this morning and fell in love with a beautiful

cashier named JennIE. JennIE with an I.E. from Big Daddy Cat's Chicken. I am going to spoil her

and marry her as soon as I can!”

A look or relief washed over his face. “Oh, I love Big Daddy Cat's Chicken!” he stated, “ It’s

chewy, it’s crispy and it is chunky! Big Daddy Cat is the best chicken in town.”

Kellog then left and I never saw him again.

I approached the main reception desk to check the Lost and Found box. Unfortunately, it had

been lost. However, the receptionist assured me that she had put a call out the “Lost and Found

Lost and Found Centre” in the capital.

What was I to do? I started to walk home.

As I walked home I began to think:

How is it possible to lose a Lost and Found box? I wondered if this happened very often.

It obviously did if someone had felt it necessary to create a Lost and Found Lost and

Found Centre in our nation’s capital.

JennIE was beautiful. I wondered if she might be related to that stunning lady I had

spied on the street a few days ago.

When I arrived home I found a note taped to the front door. It was from JennIE and it read: “I

got your phone message. You are very funny. I can’t wait to have you over for a 'light' dinner.


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My address is apartment 702, Twelve SuperCaliFragilisticExpialiDocious Avenue. Please come

over any time after four p.m. Love, now and forever, JennIE.”

This was fantastic. How many other amazing girls would leave me a note like that or be able to

find my house even though I had not told her where I lived? What other girl would both work at

my favourite restaurant and live on SuperCaliFragilisticExpialiDocious Avenue, which was one of

my favourite streets. She probably lived in a very cool apartment as her street name revealed

that she lived in the trendy Mary Poppins neighbourhood.

I went in to my house for the last time and wrote a note to my wife wishing her well and telling

her that our marriage was over and that I would never see her again. Really, everything in the

house was hers except for my clothes. I went to the upstairs basement to pack but couldn't find

anything else that I wanted to keep.

I proceeded to pack up all shirts into my purple duffel bag. I was a terrible packer. Even with

two hands I had always had trouble folding shirts, so with my left hand missing it became an

impossible ordeal. How do you fold a shirt anyway? Nobody had ever taught me how to do it

properly. My wife once saw me folding a shirt, ran over to tell me that I was doing it wrong,

and started doing it herself. That’s what she was like with everything and maybe that explained

why I was such a bad cook, such a terrible driver and why I was terrified of conflict. My wife

won every single argument we had ever had. I had zero wins and about a hundred and sixty

eight loses!

I crumpled all the shirts into a ball and threw them into the purple duffel bag.

I was excited for dinner with JennIE, but the problem was that I wasn’t very hungry because I

had all that chicken sitting and fermenting in my stomach. It was three-thirty in the afternoon,

so I started walking to her place. I wanted to get there right at four so that we could spend as

much time together as possible.

I still had my map and I had all my clothes in the purple duffel bag. Although I was pretty

confident about my navigation skills I was comforted by the fact that I had enough clothes to

keep me warm even if I got lost and had to be homeless for the night. The city I lived in was

pretty complex and everybody always had a map in hand when they walked.

On my way to JennIE’s place I though about the awful phone message that I had left her. In the

distance I noticed a white haired old lady approaching me on the sidewalk. She looked wise and

very empathic and so I wondered if I should ask her about my situation. Realizing that I could be

completely wrong about this, but trusting in my instincts, I stopped her.

“Hello, my name is Chester.” I said introducing myself.

(Oh, I forgot to tell you my name- I'm sorry. So my name is Chester Frost and I am thirty-three

years old. I am six feet tall, have dark brown eyes, dark brown hair and I have only one hand as

my left hand had fallen off recently. Now, back to the story.)


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I continued, “Can I ask you a question?”

The nice old lady answered, “Sure, but it had better be quick, I’m off to Big Daddy Cat's

restaurant for some chicken dinner. I am meeting my lover there at four-thirty.”

“You have a lover?!” I said, surprised.

“Yes, I have a lover,” she responded proudly. “Even though I am eighty six year’s old I still do

like to fool around from time to time. I’m still 'out there'. What’s your question?”

“Well, I am heading over to this lady's place for dinner. It’s our first date but I'm nervous

because I left an awful message on her phone.”

“What did you say in the message that was so awful?” she asked.

“I'm not good on the fly and when I get nervous I start giggling and I have a terrible laugh! Also,

I lied to her the first time we met and I revealed the lie in the message.” I confessed.

“When did you lie to her and what, exactly, was the lie?” she asked.

“It happened at Big Daddy Cat's Chicken earlier today. She works there. She asked me about my

missing left hand and I told her that I lost it in the War. I didn’t really lose it in the War. My

hand just fell off yesterday!”

“Oh no! That is a huge, disgraceful lie. Did you even fight in the War?”

“Well no, but that is a long story unto itself. What should I do? I am heading to her place for

dinner right now!” My expression was pleading.

“Well I am wise, very smart and very empathic, so I feel for you," she declared.

I told you that my instincts were pretty bang on didn’t I?

The nice old lady continued, “I think you have to confess the truth. If this is your first date then

you must try to start out with honesty and sincerity or you are headed for a world of doom and

gloom. Good luck, Mr. Frost,” she said as she walked away, which is strange as I didn't recall

telling her my last name.

However, I had to admit that the nice old lady was right. I would have to be truthful and set the

record straight as soon as I could. I knew I was nearing JennIE's house as I passed by Tuppins

drive at the entrance to the Mary Poppins neighbourhood. You see our city is divided up into

themed neighbourhoods. The Big Daddy Cat's Chicken restaurant was in the Woodlands

neighbourhood where all the streets started with “Wood” or “Glade” or “Forest”. My former

place of employment was located in the Rock ‘n’ Roll neighbourhood on “Black Sabbath Drive”.

Other streets in the Rock ‘n’ Roll neighbourhood were “Deep Purple Path”, “Rolling Stones

Way” and “Led Zeppelin Close”. It was a fun way to design a city and I was proud of living here.


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I arrived at JennIE's home on SuperCaliFragilisticExpialiDocious Avenue, number Twelve. It was

an apartment building and so I buzzed flat 702.

“Come on up, the door to my apartment is open,” JennIE voice said through the raspy speaker

of the intercom. She buzzed me in and I went through her lobby to the elevator. I pressed the

button for the seventh floor and it headed up as the tune to “A Spoon Full of Sugar” played

from somewhere within the ceiling. After a short trip, I knocked on her apartment door.

“Hello, it’s me, Chester.” I said as she opened the door.

“What’s with the big purple bag?” JennIE asked.

“Oh, I am leaving my wife today and these are all my shirts.”

She looked quickly into the bag and said “Awesome packing job! I love the way you crumple

them together.” I think she actually meant it because she gave me a peck on the cheek and I

felt a little dizzy.

“Oh. Listen,” JennIE asked, “you never did tell me your full name. Its Chester….Chester what?”

She paused expectantly.

“Chester Frost. Do you like it?”

She took a moment to really think before answering. She was throwing my name around in her

head, like shirts in a dryer.

“Yeah I do.” She smiled. I liked her name and she liked mine, so that was good.

Her apartment was amazing. She had this huge aquarium that took up an entire wall of her

apartment. There were hundreds of goldfish in it. It was very unique. I had never seen

anything like it in my life.

“Let’s sit down.” She motioned to the couch. “Leaving your wife today, eh? I guessed I should

have asked if you were married earlier. I didn’t see a wedding ring, so I just assumed that you

were not. I guess that even people without left hands can be married. Perhaps I should have

thought of that!” she laughed. JennIE had an amazing laugh. It was contagious and filled the

room. I'll bet you even that the goldfish heard her laugh! They couldn't laugh but they did

wiggle around a little bit.

I then put on my serious face and with my serious voice said, “I need to talk with you about my

left hand and the War.”

We were both sitting on her couch.

“I’m all ears.” I could tell that she was ready to listen.

“I am very sorry about the terrible phone message I left earlier. I want to apologize to you

because I lied to you earlier today about my hand. I didn’t lose it in the War. In fact I didn’t even


14 | P a g e

fight in the War. I was a draft dodger and in order to avoid being drafted I changed my address

every six weeks. I did that for four years or more! You see, I had worked it out that if a draft

letter from the government was unable to reach a recipient and was returned to them

unopened then the draftee didn't have to report for duty. The best part about this plan was

that I wasn’t breaking any laws. I figured that it took about three weeks for the letter to get

returned to the government and another three for them to mail a new one to my most recent

address (you see every time I moved I would have to let the government know where I was

living in order to keep things legal). The process took about six weeks each time, so I moved

thirty-five times in four years! It was awful but it was kind of exciting too. It was kind of like

living as an outlaw but a totally legal one. Eventually though, I got caught. By the end of the

War, when they needed more soldiers, they started hand-delivering the draft notices. One

Saturday while I was lounging in my backyard I got nailed and they shoved me on an army bus

and sent me for basic training. Luckily, I didn’t pass the medical. It turns out that I have flat

feet and was unfit for service!”

JennIE started laughing hysterically, “My goodness! That is the funniest story I have ever heard.

So you are telling me that you moved all those times when you didn’t have too?”

I replied, “Yep. I’m a loser.”

“You are not a loser, you are a flat-footed young man with one hand!”

“So how did you lose your hand?” JennIE asked.

“It just fell off yesterday at work! You see, I have a condition called narcolepsy and I fall asleep

when I get bored. I fall asleep all the time at work and this guy named Kellog picked it up and

shoved it in the Lost and Found box. This Kellog guy was doing the 'wild thing' with my wife too.

It’s a crazy story.”

JennIE laughed as I continued, “...so I tried to check the Lost and Found box at work but it's

missing. Tomorrow I'm going to the capital to visit the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre

where they might have the box. Oh, by the way I got fired too, but now I am working at the

Missing Hand Help Hotline.” I took a deep breath. Now beautiful JennIE was completely in the

loop in regards to my missing left hand story. No more lies.

I won’t tell you the colour of JennIE’s eyes, I’ll leave that up to your imagination, but they were

amazing! They were big, beautiful and soft. She had these heavy eyelids too, so it looked as if

she was ready to fall asleep at an instant. They were sexy. Heck, she was sexy all over. This girl

was special and I knew that I had to take my time and not overdo it. Just take it slow. One step

at a time.

“Why don’t you come with me to the capital tomorrow? Are you working?” I asked. I could not

believe what had just come out of my mouth. So much for taking it slow. That wasn’t me

talking, yet it was. What had possessed me to be so spontaneous?


15 | P a g e

“Yes, let’s do it. I am not working tomorrow.” she responded. Wow – I could not believe it. It

was like somebody cool had taken took over my body and was causing cool things to happen to

me. JennIE must've brought that out in me. It was magical.

I won’t go into much detail about our evening together because I want to keep this story at a

PG-13 rating, but, let me just say that the day ended well and I was happy.

JennIE and I arrived in the capital around ten-thirty in the morning. We parked her car at the

edge of the downtown and started walking towards the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre.

Our capital didn’t have any street parking at all. Instead, there were four huge parking garages

surrounding the downtown and everybody who worked there (mostly government employees)

parked in these four lots. One lot was green, one was blue, one was red and one was yellow.

These parking garages were the tallest buildings in the city. We parked in the yellow one, which

we both liked because that was the colour of the Big Daddy Cat's Chicken logo.

As we walked to the Lost and Found Lost and Found building we began to mingle with the

throngs of government employees headed into work. I overheard two Senators talking about

the funding for the Missing Hand Help Hotline. I knew they were Senators because I recognized

their faces from the Tube. I listened in.

“I tell you, granting money to that Hotline was a terrible idea - a total waste of the taxpayer’s

dollar,” the one Senator said to the other.

“I totally agree,” his partner responded, “We should fold up that office and think of better place

to allocate those funds.”

We were standing at a streetlight waiting for the light to turn green, so I interrupted the pair.

“Listen, I am a citizen. I’m citizen Chester Frost and I think that Hotline is important. Look at

me!” I then raised my left arm to reveal my missing left hand.

“My goodness! I am sorry. I had no idea. How did the Hotline help you? I am sorry about your

hand.” one Senator apologized and asked me.

“They are sending me some information and they've even offered me a job! I have to call them

in a few days to get all the details on salary and start date.” I didn’t want to tell these two

Senator’s that I was the first person to ever call this Hotline. I wanted to persuade them to keep

it funded. I hoped that I had been successful.

The two Senators were very nice to me and to JennIE. Of course they are politicians and so I

didn't assume their politeness was genuine. JennIE and I represented two votes and so I think

they were just trying to woo us. However, I think that I might have wooed them too. At that

moment I was proud of myself and I could tell that JennIE was also proud of me.

We arrived at the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre and walked into the imposing building.

Surprisingly it was a shared office. Half of the building was occupied by the Lost and Found Lost


16 | P a g e

and Found Centre and the other half held the offices of the GCJ. While the Lost and Found Lost

and Found Centre could be accessed through a well-marked glass door, on the GCJ side there

was no opening, only a featureless concrete wall. It scared me a little as I recalled how the day

before the police had opened up a GCJ file on me. Another part of me was a little excited and

happy. I had seen so many pictures of the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre that it was

amazing to be there in person. I walked up to the clerk and stated that I thought my left hand

was in a lost Lost and Found box. The nice man at the desk asked which city I lived in and for

which company I worked. I replied, he stamped some papers and then said, “Please, have a seat

Mr. Frost.” pointing to some bureaucratic looking chairs.

He then spent the next ten minutes typing and looking into a very big computer. JennIE and I

sat and talked as he continued his “Lost and Found Lost and Found” business. Our conversation

was about nothing important - just stupid silly stuff to pass the time – but it was fun and

affirmed that I really liked this girl. She was cool.

The nice clerk came over to me and said, “Come with me Mr. Frost.”

I followed. JennIE didn’t join me. She stayed seated near the reception desk.

“Do you have my hand...and how do you know my name?" I asked.

“Hand? Why, we are the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre. We have Lost and Found

boxes, lots of them.” he replied. “There are all sorts of amazing things in them. You know, once

I found my own tooth...and I didn't even know it was missing!”

"...and, what about my name, how do you know my name?" I interrupted as politely as I dared.

"Oh! I saw your GCJ file the other day in the employee lunchroom. Someone had left it there.

We share many resources between the two offices."

“Interesting. Maybe after I get my hand I'll go talk with the GCJ and see why they opened a file

on me”, I responded. “I am just feeling a little anxious. Sorry.”

As we talked he took me into a long hallway that seemed to go on for miles and miles. At the

end of the hallway was an elevator.

“Take the elevator to the eleventh floor, I believe your lost Lost and Found box is in section K2.

There, a man will greet you. He is waiting for you.”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“His name is Eleventh Floor. Kind of funny really, but that’s how he got the job I think.

Sometimes, though, it gets confusing when he works on another floor. He’s a pretty nice guy.

We all are really nice at the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre. We have to be because

when people lose their stuff they panic. They are stressed and angry so we strike back with

niceness and positivity.”


17 | P a g e

I entered the elevator and pressed the ”eleven” button. The elevator shot upward for a minute

before coming to a stop. Another door in the elevator opened behind me I turned to face a

dusty looking old man.

"Hello, I understand your name is Chester and you are looking for a Lost and Found box in the

K2 section. Please let me guide you there," said the man waving his arms and creating tiny,

swirling clouds of dust. We then started walking down another long corridor. "My name is

Eleventh Floor," he said matter-of-factly.

We were in a strange place. It didn't look like we were on an eleventh floor at all. It looked

more like my upstairs basement but with a heavy solid concrete floor and a very high celling

just like a warehouse. It reminded me of that endless storage room from the end of the

“Raiders of the Lost Ark” movie.

We arrived at the section K2 and Eleventh Floor got into a forklift. With it, he pulled down a

huge skid from the darkness of the rafters above. Knowing that I would soon be either re-united

with my left hand, or have my hopes dashed; pessimistic thoughts crowded my mind. It had

been only two days since my hand fell off. How could it be on that skid already? I had probably

come here too soon. There was no way that these Lost and Found fellas could have picked up

our Lost and Found box, sent it to the Centre, moved it to section K2 and then pack it onto a

skid in two days! If my hand was indeed up there then these fellows must really be on the ball!

However, this Eleventh Floor fellow seemed smart and competent so maybe I was wrong. My

mind shifted away from negativity.

The skid was thudded gently to the ground. Eleventh Floor huffed and exuded dust clouds as he

pulled a plastic bin marked “Rock N' Roll neighbourhood” from the top of a pile of similar plastic

bins. He put it on the ground between us and opened the lid. There inside was my office's Lost

and Found box. Inside that, nestled among a pile of lip-stick, lip gloss, gloves, key chains, packs

of gum and a cool looking pen was MY left hand!

"Incredible! That's my hand! Can I take it?" I asked Eleventh.

"Of course. It's your, isn't it?" he answered.

"Yeah, it’s mine. You guys are amazing! You're really on the ball!"

"Well then take it. Unfortunately you can't take the Lost and Found box as your file indicates

that you have been let go from your company. Therefore, a representative from the company

will have to come and pick up the box" Eleventh explained to me.

He then put the Lost and Found box back onto the skid and returned it to the rafters. As he did

that I attempted to re-attach my hand back on but for some reason it wouldn't stay put. That

was perplexing to say the least. I was happy to have it back but pissed-off since it wouldn't fit.

What was I to do?


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When I arrived downstairs I showed JennIE. She smiled and laughed. "You found it, good for

you!" She then gave me a big hug. I loved hugs. I always have and probably always will, but

hugs without my left hand attached didn't seem as good.

As we began to walk out of the building a big serious-looking man grabbed my shoulder. He was

wearing a black, spotless suit and dark sunglasses.

"We would like to see you Mr. Frost." he said sternly.

As he spoke I noticed that the big concrete wall on the GCJ side of the building had lifted up

from the floor revealing rooms beyond.

"What's this about?" I asked meekly.

"I'm from the GCJ. We opened a file on you and now we have a few questions. Please come

with me."

"...and, if I don't?"

"I am not asking, I am telling," he declared. This man was intimidating and his inter-personal

skills were about as subtle as a screen door in the face.

"What about JennIE?" I asked him.

"Not our problem," he spun me by my arm and took me away firmly.

As I was dragged away, I turned back to JennIE. "Please wait for me, hopefully this won't take

too long." I hoped that the concern in my eyes didn't show.

Once we crossed underneath the concrete barrier the wall started to close behind us. I bent

down and I took what I thought might be my final look at my beautiful chewy Chicken waitress,

but all I could see were her ankles. They were gorgeous ankles by the way.

I shoved my left hand into my pocket. I was keeping a close eye on it, as I didn't want to lose it

again. The intimidating man shoved me into a stark office, lit only by a bare light bulb handing

from a wire. He handcuffed my right hand to a steel desk that had been riveted to the floor and

walked out, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. I waited there alone in this empty, cold

room. There was no sound beside the distant whir of an air conditioner. After quite a while

some of the fear began to be replaced by boredom and so I decided to doze off. My mind

wandered:

If I were to die here, what music would I want to be played at my funeral?

Would my soon-to-be ex-wife show up to my funeral? Do ex-wives usually show up to

their ex-husbands funerals? What is the protocol on that?

Does JennIE like eating duck? It's my favourite meal and I hoped that she did.


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I decided that JennIE was more beautiful than the lady that I that had seen on the street

a couple of days ago. In fact, I had forgotten what that lady even looked like. JennIE was

climbing up my chart fast!

My thoughts then got rather silly as I drifted deeper into sleep.

I guess about twenty minutes had passed. I am not totally sure because, firstly, I don’t wear a

watch and secondly, because I was deeply asleep and when you are in such a state you have no

concept of the passage of time. That’s really interesting actually. You know how you can wake

up in the morning and for a few moments you have no idea who you are or what you do? That’s

deep.

The heavy door opened and a big, gregarious looking fellow in a cozy, knitted dark cardigan

entered the room. It was immediately apparent that he was the jolly sort as he had a happy

smile on his face. I knew he worked for the GCJ because he had his GCJ badge pinned to his

shirt.

“How are you doing today, Mr. Frost?!” The big man with the big smile said.

Now, remember, I was just waking up and was a little dazed. In fact, I thought that I still might

be in mid-dream, as this big happy guy didn’t look like a GCJ agent at all.

I replied, unsurely, “How do you know my name?”

“I consulted your file in preparation for this meeting, of course. However...er...I seem to have

lost it sometime between lunchtime and now.” His expression furrowed and patted his suit

jacket pockets as he spoke, as if searching for something. “But no matter,” he said, his smile

returning, “How ARE you?”

“I'm well,” I said.

“Well good for you! It is always fine to be well on a glorious day like today! My name is Curtain

Curtain and I am a Federal Agent assigned to your file. We have had our eyes and ears on you

for some time Mr. Frost.” He pointed his finger in my direction, but not in a threatening way.

“You seem very nice. What’s up with that? Usually the GCJ folks are mean,” I stated warily.

“Ah! Here at the GCJ and at the Lost and Found Lost and Found Centre we have been working

on “flipping brains”. You see, everybody is born as a genuinely good person. As human babies,

we start our lives with love and goodness in our hearts! What happens is that sometimes our

brains get flipped – turned inside out. When this happens, people that are rude, impatient,

mean and nasty actually think they are being nice and loving. They have been flipped. We have

developed a drug that allows the GCJ to flip brains at will. When our brain flipping drugs are

administered to our front line staff, we find that they are more productive. So they are nasty

and mean while they believe that they are offering kind and speedy customer service! It’s not

their fault.”


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“That's incredible! How come nobody knows about this?” I asked.

“Oh, it's top secret government stuff. Nobody knows about what I just told you. It is an absolute

secret...so please don’t tell anyone. As far as you are concerned just ignore it and pretend

you've never even heard of this brain flipping drug.”

“Done” I replied.

Curtain rambled on “We're actually very proud of the flipping drug! Our research and

development department has been working on it because they are too many bastards in the

world and we want to flip them. In fact, the bastard quotient is at an all-time high and we want

to find ways to lower it. We've determined that within the last twenty years the number of

bastards has sky-rocketed because of five factors: Sox news, Reality Tube, Ronald Stump the

politician/reality-star/business-man, the influx of Supersize meals and Netflix.”

“That Ronald Stump is a twit.” I agreed. “Wow! Who knew?!”

“Our world is actually in dire straits because of what’s happening. Sox news has turned the

news into a series of he-said, she-said shooting matches. Its pure propaganda! Ronald Stump

and his billions have also had a negative effect. He leads with fear and prejudice! Realty Tube

has stifled creativity by obviating the need for writers in our television industry. It has made

people stupid. Supersizing makes people unhealthy, and Netflix has killed the video stores

which had a positive impact on society during the 1980s and 1990s!”

I could listen to Curtain Curtain for a long time. He spoke with so much passion. “So why do you

people at the GCJ want to talk with me?”

“I understand that yesterday you ate twenty pieces of Big Daddy Chicken and you survived and

seem to be doing well. An extraordinary feat, Mr. Frost! Our scientist calculated that you ate at

least five one-legged chickens! We would appreciate the opportunity to study your DNA and

run some other tests. Would you be willing to help us in that regard?” Curtain Curtain asked.

“When?”

“Oh, not for a while. First we are going to have to wait until all of that chicken you digested

yesterday leaves your system...so probably a few months from now.” Curtain Curtain said

nicely. As if trying to sweeten to pot, he added “...there also could be a secret mission in the

future too. We love secret missions here at the GCJ!”

My goodness was Curtain Curtain ever a nice fellow! When he talked his voice was so

understanding and giving, and his body language was so open. When he listened to me, he

listened intently (and not in an intimidating way). It was as if when he listened, the rest of the

world shut down. Curtain Curtain was an extraordinary individual and he was pretty cool

looking too.


21 | P a g e

I thought I needed to mention my new employment. “I'd like to accept your offer, but I got a

new job recently at the Missing Hand Help Hotline so I will have to make sure that I can get the

time off, first.”

“Oh yes!” Curtain answered, looking pleased and relieved. “That won’t be a problem at all! We

will let you employer know and they will be compensated fully while you are away.”

He then removed the handcuff from my right hand and led me out of the GCJ office. We

reached the lobby and as I walked into it he remained at the spot where the barrier had just

lifted up. JennIE came over, hugged me and gave me a passionate kiss. It was an amazing six-

and- a-half seconds. That’s how long the kiss lasted. I almost fell to the ground though because

as I kissed my Vertigo came back and lost all sense of up and down. Remember that while my

missing left hand was no longer missing, it was still detached and couldn't really support me.

JennIE and I then walked out of the building together. I told her about my unsuccessful

attempts to re-attach my left hand. For some reason I had just assumed that it would snap on. I

certainly didn’t want to have to call a plastic surgeon.

We changed the subject of conversation and suggested that as soon as we got back to town

that we should go see a professional Love Coach. JennIE thought that a Love Coach would really

be able to assist both of us in our new relationship.

Again, on the drive home, we had a great conversation about nothing. It was fun just to talk to

this girl! I was never bored and thus I had no need to take a nap. I wasn’t tired at all and had no

desire to sleep when in her company. My only desire was to listen to JennIE and to get to know

her better. She was the type of lady that had lots of talking material. Personally, I had about five

years of talking material so if you knew me for more than ten years then you would have heard

all my stories twice.

JennIE was also an amazing driver. Her peripheral vision was extraordinary and she could even

drive a gearshift with one hand. While she was mostly able to anticipate what the other drivers

were going to do, it was really funny when a driver would cut her off. She would get all foul-

mouthed and shout something like “Mother-fucker”. JennIE would lose her mind for a few

seconds when things like that happened. These outbursts made her all the more adorable

because they contrasted entirely with her outwardly classy appearance.

As we drove into town we passed through the Shawshank Redemption neighbourhood, which is

where the Love Coach’s office was. There are lots of tunnels in this neighbourhood, and we

took one to the office on Andy Dufresne Avenue.

Our experience with the Love Coach was something that I will never forget. The Coach was an

older lady, probably in her seventies, and she was wearing a nice outfit. Her office had two very

comfortable Lazy Boy chairs. One was dark red leather and the other one was dark brown. I sat

in the red one and JennIE lounged back in the brown one. She looked stunning, all relaxed and

lounging in that chair.


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The Love Coach’s name was Tina Tiki Torch and she noticed my missing left hand right away.

“What happened to your hand,” she asked.

“It fell off at work a few days ago.” I answered.

“Have you asked yourself why it fell off?” She looked at me enquiringly.

“No, I haven't. Why do you think it fell off?” It sounded to me like she knew the answer, so I

had to ask.

“Are you sad and out of love?”

“No, I am very happy and life has been a lot of fun since I met JennIE.” I replied.

“But your hand fell off before you met JennIE, correct?” Tina asked.

“Yes, my hand was missing when I first met JennIE at Big Daddy Cat's Chicken restaurant.”

“When people get sad and bored that sometimes happens. Things start falling off. Some lose

their sense of humour, some lose their memories and some people lose limbs. I'll bet that is

what happened to you.”

She instructed me to get up immediately and to hug and kiss JennIE, then to try and re-attach

my hand. We did as instructed, and as we kissed I put my left arm into my jacket pocket, where

I kept the missing hand. As soon as I did so, I heard a short but distinct popping sound.

I withdrew my arm from the pocket. It had worked! My left hand was now reunited with my left

arm. There was no scar or mark. I had felt no pain. It was perfect. I felt a tingle on my ring

finger and looked down to see my old wedding ring slipping off, seemingly of its own accord. I

shoved that useless piece of metal into my back pocket.

Tina Tiki Torch then turned JennIE and myself toward her and touched us each on the shoulder.

Her eyes seemed to implore us to listen carefully as she spoke:

“Beware of the thoughts that linger, winding up inside your head, the hopelessness around you

in the dead of night. Beware of sadness, it can hit you and it can hurt you. It makes you sore

and what is more is that is not what you are here for. You are here for Love and giving that is

what our world is all about. To put it simply, love conquers and love heals.”

Only then did I realize that since meeting JennIE I had not even missed my left hand at all. Now

it was back on and I was with JennIE and the future was at my command.

And now for the end of my silly story:

I do have to tell you one more thing about JennIE. After our Love Coach session we went back

to her apartment. There, JennIE sat me down on her couch beside the big aquarium and asked

with a wry smile if I could do something for her.


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“Yes of course, but what?” I said with a note of curiousness in my voice.

JennIE then left the living room and went into her bedroom. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear

that she was opening a closet, dragging a box from within and making quite a ruckus. Minutes

later she emerged from her bedroom with a pair of gold flippers and a garment bag.

“I enjoyed it when we cuddled last night and talked until we both drifted off. It was a glorious

evening. Today, I want to take our relationship to next level. I want to make love with you.”

JennIE explained.

Naturally, I was very excited, “Yep! I’m game! Now that I have my left hand, I am ready to go. I

can do all sorts of sudden probes and support various body parts! What do you need me to

do?” I was eager to do anything she asked.

“What’s in that garment bag?” I said, gesturing. “More shirts? Do you want me to pack them in

that awesome way you like?”

JennIE blushed a little, “Oh, it’s a gold-fish costume. I love gold-fish. Would you be alright with

dressing up as a gold-fish while we make love?”

How cool was this lady? She was drop-dead nice, interesting, beautiful and she had a gold-fish

fetish!

The End. Post-script Hello. THIS IS ME, DAVID CATAFORD SPEAKING, NOT THE NARRATOR OF THIS STORY BUT THE

AUTHOR. MY MISSING LEFT HAND (the story) POPPED INTO MY HEAD SOME TWENTY YEARS

AGO AND ALMOST AS ABRUPTLY LEFT IT. THE STORY WAS ABANDONED AND FORGOTTEN

ABOUT UNTIL MY BEST FRIEND PULLED IT FROM HIS HARD DRIVE RECENTLY. YOU SEE, MY BEST

FRIEND IS A HOARDER AND COLLECTOR OF JUNK AND THEREFORE HAS MORE OF MY SHORT

STORIES AND SCRIPTS THAN I DO. ABOUT A YEAR AGO HE ASKED ME IF I REMEMBERED A STORY

I WROTE CALLED “MY MISSING LEFT HAND” AND I TOLD HIM THAT I HAD NO RECOLLECTION OF

IT. HE EMAILED IT TO ME AND I READ IT. I REALLY LIKED THIS CRAZY, ORIGINAL, AND SILLY TALE.

THE ONLY PROBLEM WAS THAT IT HAD NO ENDING. WHILE I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AN ARTISTIC

FELLOW AND HAVE WORKED ON NUMEROUS STORIES, MANY OF THEM HAVE YET TO BE

FINISHED. I AM NOT A FINISHER. I AM AN IDEA MAN AND A STORY-TELLING INDIVIDUAL. ”MY

MISSING LEFT HAND” WAS UNFINISHED JUST LIKE FRANZ SCHUBERT’S “UNFINISHED

SYMPHONY.” (WHAT HAS ALWAYS PERPLEXED ME IS THAT SCHUBERT WROTE ANOTHER

SYMPHONY AFTER HIS UNFINISHED ONE. THIS WAS HIS GREAT 9TH SYMPHONY, WHILE THE

UNFINISHED ONE IS HIS 8TH.)


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IT MAY NOT BE FAIR FOR ME TO COMPARE MYSELF TO THE AMAZING FRANZ SCHUBERT. AFTER

ALL, ONE INSTANCE NOT WITHSTANDING, FRANZ SCHUBERT WAS A FINISHER. HE COMPLETED

TONS OF COMPOSITIONS, MORE THAN EIGHT SYMPHONIES AND A LARGE BODY OF CHAMBER

AND PIANO MUSIC.

HOWEVER, PERHAPS SCHUBERT HAS INSPIRED ME, BECAUSE AFTER LETTING “MY MISSING LEFT

HAND” SIT FOR A LONG TIME, NEW IDEAS HAVE NOW ENTERED MY MIND AND I FIGURED OUT

HOW TO END IT. HOPE YOU LIKED THE ENDING.

THANK YOU MR. SCHUBERT.

C. DAVID CATAFORD

MARCH 2016

My missing left hand (final version march 19-2016)

Entertainment & Humor

Transcript of My missing left hand (final version march 19-2016)