Leg Men

Awareness, like a wave, swept over us

Looking back, it's the suddenness that was shocking.

On Monday, none of us knew or cared.

On Tuesday, the awareness of female legs manifested itself in my 6th grade class. Suddenly, everyone was an expert on what made good legs and what were considered bad legs.

And then on Wednesday, the leg discussion narrowed. Because all anyone wanted to talk about was Carla's legs.

Or, more accurately her leg. The fake one.

It's hard to pinpoint where the knowledge came from. But within hours, every boy in my school was aware that Carla had a fake leg.

And we'd stare at her going down the hallway, then argue about which leg was real and which was fake.

We'd argue with great certainty that far eclipsed any of our knowledge of or contact with a female leg.

We'd discuss where exactly the real leg ended and the prosthesis (a word we suddenly all knew as if it had come down from the heavens) began.

We had the knowledge and the certainty. So we debated and discussed.

But we never questioned.

And the proof mounted -- she never rode a bike. She wouldn't go swimming. She didn't wear skirts.

Sometimes she'd catch us staring and she'd smile. Enigmatic. Carefully weighing whether to say something, then turning around and leaving us to our discussions.

We'd huddle together, daring each other to think of a way to find out which leg was fake, hatching dozens of plans, then chickening out before any of them came to fruition.

Her family moved away the next year. And that should have been the end of the story.

Except that my friend Greg loved strip clubs.

And last year he found himself in a strip club. In the middle of Kansas.

Where Carla was one of the dancers. And she recognized him. And gave him a private dance. For old time sake.

As she stretched out first one leg and then another, she could see Greg struggle and strain to see where reality ended and the fake leg began. But he couldn't. Not on either leg. Not on either side.

So he asked her what we'd all wanted to ask back then if only we could find the words. Or the courage. "Which one is fake?"

And Carla smiled, telling him both her legs were real.

"But you must've known what we all thought in 6th grade. So why'd you let us all think you had a fake leg?"

And she explained, over the course of 2 private dances and $85 in tips, that sometimes it's better to be noticed for something that's fake than ignored for something that's real.

Her logic was ridiculous. It didn't hold up. It didn't make sense.

Just like our 6th-grade debates. Which started on a Wednesday in the fall. Right after we decided we were all leg men.