The Need to Bend
I really don't do all that much. I just bend and straighten, straighten and bend. That's all. In fact, the only time there's any real trouble is when I do something else, like the time in that football game when I went a little bit sideways. That one put me in a brace for six weeks, locking me in place. And when all you ever do is bend and straighten, it's quite a blow when you can't even do that.
You might think that, on the whole, it should be pretty boring just being a knee. You might really think so if you were an eye, or a nose, or some fancy-shmancy part like that. And you would definitely think so if you were a whole person. But if you're a knee from the start, it really isn't so bad. Honest.
I suppose that the only regret that I have is that I don't get out as much anymore. I know that's what my compadre over there would say. In the old days, we touched the ground as much as those feet did. We went through rugs, dirt, sand, water, you name it. And we took a lot of abuse.
The only evidence that you can still see is that roundish scar there. Skateboarding, 1978. I was humming along, feeling the cool twilight summer breeze, when all of a sudden, wham! Actually, it was a bit more like, wham--sssssss--crunch! The crunch part was when the pebble got half-imbedded inside me. I never knew they made band-aids that big until then.
Nowadays, things are different. I'm pretty pale. I'm always hidden behind some fabric or another. Occassionally, I'll get to see the daylight. But all I ever do then is just walk, or worse yet, lounge. I hardly ever get to touch the ground anymore, and when I do it's completely by mistake. The only good part about nowadays is meeting friends. You know, fellow knees. But that doesn't happen too often anymore, either.
So that's it; I just sit around mostly. And if you ask me, I'd say that's too bad. Don't get me wrong; I mean, I don't have access to the psyche from here or anything -- the phone lines are pretty simple; they tell me what to do, I tell them how things are, that's pretty much it -- but if I did, I'd guess that he's not as happy as he was in those good old days. And I think that I could really help. Let me out! Make me work! Give me just a little abuse -- some nicks, some rugburns, some scrapes -- some fun. That's all he needs, if you ask me. But then again, what do I know? After all, all I ever do is bend and straighten.
First published: July 1996