Talented Failure: The Works of A.T. Prenger

It felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I think. I couldn't be sure because I'd never had one before. I'd never met someone who had had one before. Or maybe I was going crazy in some other way. I wasn't exactly sure. I didn't have the money for a therapist to find out what was wrong with me. And I definitely wasn't going to one recommended by Dana or that sick bitch Sarah. So I sat in my apartment slowly going crazy. This wasn't like before. I didn't think it was. It felt different. When I first got out of the hospital I figured it was shock or depression. Now I couldn't figure out what was going on. My mom was happy I was talking more. She was especially happy that I had my natural voice back. She was less happy when I told her I woke up one day to find that my voice returned to normal. She didn't believe me. She wanted to, but couldn't. Not really. After all she read about Beth while I was in the hospital she was convinced ...

Coming out of sedation took a lot longer and was a much stranger experience. My consciousness returned first. I was awake, mostly aware, though still woozy. That moved me to panic, as much as I could, since I couldn't move. I couldn't even open my eyes. That fucking doctor. He'd paralyzed me. It was only supposed to be a simple surgery. Dana promised me an outpatient procedure. Now I was doomed to be a vegetable the rest of my life, stuck in a body I couldn't control. People around me wouldn't even know I was conscious. Finally, right as I was really about to freak out, I was able to move my fingers. Just a bit, but it was still heartening. I could also feel pressure. I was on my back on a bed. Not my bed. I didn't think. It felt much softer than mine. There was also a weird pressure on my pelvis which felt familiar, but through the numbness I couldn't quite place. I wouldn't know what was going on until I could open my eyes. Sound returned next. I...

Riding on the back of Dana's motorcycle was the most terrifying experience in my life. I would rather get shot at again. Beth's brief description of it didn't do it justice. It was a monster of a machine. The rumble of the bike rattled my teeth along with all the windows on every house on the street. I had my hands wrapped tightly around her waist with my hands locked together in a death grip so I wouldn't fall off. If I was squeezing her too hard she didn't mention it. I doubt she could feel it. Her stomach was rock hard and her back was a sheet of muscle. It was like I wrapped my arms around a tree trunk. I didn't know where we were headed. I had my eyes squeezed shut. It felt like we were going about a million miles per hour. It was going to be ironic if Dana got into an accident and killed us on the way to the doctor. If we slammed into a wall we would be mashed into paste. I hadn't even realized that we stopped until I felt Dana prying my finger...

I didn't die. I was lucky. That's what everyone at the hospital told me. It was what my mom and dad told me. Wade said, "Holy shit, dude, you are lucky as hell to be alive." I didn't feel lucky. I felt like I'd been shot. Twice. I felt like most of my face was broken. I was grateful to be alive. The euphoria I felt in the parking lot had only been blood loss and oxygen starvation. Now all I felt was pain. Pain and sadness. I found it darkly hilarious how unimportant the stuff I was worried about earlier. Those two weeks without Beth, when I thought she was mad at me? That was nothing. I thought I knew what misery was until I woke up in a hospital bed, unable to talk, bandaged up, unemployed, and with an imprisoned girlfriend awaiting murder charges. It wasn't all doom and gloom. Like I said, I was lucky. The bullet in my chest didn't have very much momentum after punching through Wyatt. It didn't penetrate my skin too deep. Didn...