Daniel Fliederbaum
The fall of my junior year of high school marked the first time I attended a funeral for someone who had tried to give away his penis. We’d known each other since elementary school, Richard and I, and he’d been if not a close friend, then someone I definitely thought was cool. Kinda scrawny and pale, but always asking questions during class and laughing with friends that had shuffled themselves into orbit around his golden gravity. I wished I could have been like Richard, instead of always sitting alone at lunch, always slipping into the fringe of things.
That day on the grassy lawn in front of the school, trees wept brown and auburn leaves. The crowd of mourners huddled together in the dim, late-autumn light. Nobody cried, but their unshed tears seeped through the silence like a ghost. I hung back, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, frowning.
This wasn’t his actual funeral, but for most of us, it was all the goodbye we’d get. Two mornings ago, the principal had broken the news over the loudspeakers, and invited us to grieve, assuring us counseling was available if we needed it.
Whispers caught the edge of my hearing. I looked up, and saw two kids from the school’s woodworking club, their heads bowed. I looked the other way, but I didn’t try not to hear.
“Do you know who he tried to give it to?” one asked with a decidedly non-mourning tone.
“Some random chick from Palette Ridge Academy. I heard they hooked up at a party last week and he was super into her. I hope she’s freaking happy.”
The first kid scoffed. “It’s his own damn fault. What a dumbass thing to do.”
Part of me wanted to waltz over and punch him right in the jaw. You straight up didn’t badmouth the dead. But I didn’t listen to that part of me. Richard had tried to give away his penis to a total stranger. What’d he think would happen? From the moment I’d been old enough to know what sex was, much less start dating, my dads had repeated, “Don’t detach unless you’re already a match,” over and over until the maxim hummed in my bones. Didn’t Richard have a dad to tell him the same thing?
Still, he’d taken the biggest risk you could. The least I could do was actually mourn him.
Three years later, in my sophomore year of college, I lost my virginity. I’ll keep the steamier bits to myself, but basically, her name was Rose, she was a zoology major, and she was smart and gorgeous and funny and the sex felt really, really good.
Afterwards, we lay there in my darkened dorm room, smiling into each other’s eyes, smelling of salty-sweet sweat. My roommate was out for the evening at his study group, which meant Rose and I had time to hold each other in our arms and just sorta vibe together.
No moment that magical lasts forever, though. “Hey…” Rose trailed off, pulling away to fiddle with a lock of her dyed-blue hair.
Sleep’s haze still blurred the edges of my consciousness. “What’s up?” I said, blinking myself awake.
“Listen, I wish I could stay, but my Chem professor’s idea of teaching is assigning 100 problems every class. I gotta put a dent in them or I’m legit screwed. Wanna walk me back?”
“Your wish is my command.” Before I knew what I was doing, my lips brushed her forehead affectionately. She kissed me back and I kissed her back and she kissed me again, each time on the forehead, and this went on a few more rounds until we giggled in a weird sort of conspiratorial solidarity.
Yeah, it sucked she couldn’t stay the evening, but I wasn’t too sad. I loved everything about Rose, from the bear-brown mole on her cheek to the way she always asked all the smartest questions in class, and she had wanted me! Sure, we couldn’t sleep in the same bed, but I was still the luckiest guy ever.
Twenty minutes later, the approaching outline of Whittier Hall stood tall against the snowy night, yellow light pouring out the ground-floor windows. Winter-dead trees guarded either side of the entrance, halfway between welcoming and ominous.
As we got nearer, I caught our reflections in a window, covered head-to-toe in blue parkas and navy scarves and gray puffy pants. “We look like Arctic peacocks.” An unwilling girlish giggle clawed its way out of my mouth. Rose quirked an eyebrow.
“An excellent metaphor, Mr. Lit Major, except you know, peacocks don’t live in the Arctic.” She swatted my shoulder playfully. I snorted again, trying to think of a funny comeback.
But, facing each other in front of the glass dormitory door, cold biting at our exposed faces, no one there but us and the leafless, snowcapped trees, all that mattered was her. I took a dainty, firm gloved hand in mine, a precious treasure. Even through the soft fabric, just the fact of touching her was like getting drunk.
Rose’s lips curled gently upwards. When she spoke, the air misted. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”
Something sparked. Something burning, something hungry, but a very different hunger from the kind we’d fed just shy of an hour ago. In that moment, I understood why men gave their penises away. And in that moment, I knew who I wanted to have mine.
I glanced from side to side. The night hung still, devoid of oncoming footsteps. You were technically supposed to do this sort of thing in private, but beneath the hungry spark, there was a nagging feeling, an itch. A need to know.
“I want you to have something, Rose.”
I didn’t wait for her response, and I definitely didn’t stop to think. I just closed my eyes and unzipped my fly, exposing my flaccid length to the cold. I focused, sharp winter air prickling my lungs. Then, with a pop, my penis separated from my body, leaving my hairy balls and pubic mound behind. I opened my eyes and held it out to her in my palm. It was still soft, the glans hiding away in the wrinkly sheath.
“You are so, so important to me. This is for you,” I whispered, feather-soft. But then I saw the look on her face. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes had gone wide. She looked at my palm, then up to me, then to my penis again, then back to me, an awful mirror of our forehead kissing game.
“Listen,” she sighed, voice red with stop sign disappointment. “You’re really nice, but… God, I knew this would happen. I didn’t want to think you were so-”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
Rose hugged herself and looked away, frowning. “I shouldn’t have to choose like this.” And so, she tromped through the crunching layer of snow before the dorm building swallowed her whole.
I stood motionless. Black spots popped in my vision. Everything spun. My knees wobbled. Buckled. The world capsized and slipped into darkness. My last thought before unconsciousness enveloped me was numbly bitter: my hunger didn’t burn anymore – it incinerated.
Next thing I knew, I was in a bed – definitely not the one in my dorm room, though. This mattress was too lumpy, and there was a weird beeping rhythm. On top of that, there was a voice I didn’t know. After a moment, I realized it was calling my name.
My eyes snapped open and everything washed over me in a torrent of agony. Someone might as well have taken a chisel to my forehead and tried to sculpt a statue out of my brain. Through burning-hot eyelids, the world slowly came into focus. I was in a small, bleach-smelling room with a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling. A machine was hooked up to my bed. No – hooked up to me! A labyrinthine bundle of wires seemed to sprout out of my bare chest and feed into the machine, the beeping noise’s source.
It hit me: I was in the hospital. I’d offered the most precious part of me to Rose… and now I was in the hospital. She hadn’t wanted me. A sob hitched in my throat as a wave of chills shot up and down my spine. I was too weak to yowl. All I could let out was something between a groan and a whimper.
The machine must have picked up a reaction anyway, because a svelte, pale-skinned man strode into view. From where, I didn’t know – I couldn’t find the energy to turn my head. He carried a clipboard under his arm and looked at me with sickening compassion.
“Easy there, fella. You’ve been out cold for thirteen hours. I’m Doctor Cox.” He held out a hand. When I didn’t take it, he frowned.
“I know you must feel awful, so I’ll get straight to the point. You’re experiencing Rejection Syndrome – more commonly known as heartbreak. I know that whoever you tried giving your penis to seemed like they were important – like they were the only one you’d ever need to want you.”
I had the sudden urge to slug him. Lucky for the doc, I was too weak to move.
“If you recover, your penis will grow back. It might be shaped a little different or be a different size – but it’ll still be able to do everything your old one could.” He paused. “This next part’s important, so listen and listen good: if you can’t find a way to accept what’s happened, it’s going to kill you from the inside out, and soon.”
I said nothing, feeling pathetic and caught between wanting to ask questions and my own anger and grogginess.
The doctor sighed and shook his head. For a heartbeat, there was something familiar about him, but it flitted away. “Kid, I wish there was more I could do, but you need to figure this out on your own. I’ve seen too many good people die because someone didn’t accept their dick. Don’t let yourself be another.”
Again, I wanted to punch him. What the hell did he know? He’d never met Rose! How dare he talk like he understood!
Doctor Cox exhaled, a melancholic jingle of a sigh. Then he walked out and left me alone with my shattered love and dying body.
Outside the door, I heard the clattering wheels of a gurney and a muffled voice over the PA system. I thought I caught snippets of my dads’ voices and my stomach flipped. What was I going to say to them? How the hell do you tell your parents that you ignored the best advice they’d ever given you?
Hours and minutes bled into each other. My head swam in a dense haze as I went over again and again what’d happened. Replaying it. Imagining it going better. How I could have made it go better if I’d tried, but that became too painful too quickly. The whole thing was too painful.
I had to have fallen asleep a few times, because the sun kept deciding it wanted to be somewhere else in the sky outside my window every few instants. Days might have passed or just a few hours. Suddenly, my dads were at my bedside. One – the man I called Pop – was bleary-eyed, dabbing at his tears with a hot-pink handkerchief. His white hair was frizzled, and the unmistakable spicy scent of hot Cheetos hung about him. He’d been stress eating.
Next to him was the man I called Dad. He was frowning, his forehead creased, his green eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He didn’t smell like Pop did, but he’d always been better at controlling his feelings. When he looked at me, I think he saw something I didn’t.
“G-guys?” I choked out, my first words since coming to this sterile hellscape. A coughing fit decided to cut in. My parents stared silently, their throats bulging.
“Son,” Dad said when the fit subsided, clipped but nervous.
“Son,” Pop repeated, his voice three octaves higher than usual.
“Are you all right, son?”
“God, I wish,” I said weakly. I wanted Dad or Pop to hug me so bad but I wasn’t ready to say that out loud.
Pop barked scathingly. Dad glowered at him and my stomach lurched – I’d been afraid this part was coming.
“Oh, you wish? You wish? You damn well better wish!” Pop shrilled, making the word “wish” sound like a curse. “I gave my penis to men before your father, but did I wilt like a dainty little daisy if they said no? Of course I didn’t! I thought I’d raised a man, not a – a-” he gagged, choking on his own tears.
I glared, heart jammed in my throat. A cacophony of beeps blared – my monitor was going haywire, but I didn’t care. I channeled every bit of feeling I had left into the unspoken command roaring behind my gaze: Say it. I dare you.
“Honey-” Dad tried to intervene, but it was too late.
Pop snarled, fear and love with no other outlet. For a heartbeat, everything hung in the air. Wide-eyed horror flashed across his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll be right back.”
Dad’s lips pursed, his intense gaze following Pop’s retreat. Tears blurred my vision, but I noticed the lines ringing Dad’s eyes and tried to shove down my anger.
“He shouldn’t have said that,” Dad said, then sighed. “Just… He might not be showing it right now, but we do care about you. You know that, right?”
I knew. Sweet God, I knew. My shoulders trembled. I really wanted Dad to hug me. Instead, he gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “We believe in you, son.” He stayed by my bed for a while in loving, awkward silence.
I think another day passed. I’m not really sure, but I had a weird sense that I saw the moon outside the window in a moment between blinks. It was all blurry. Whenever I woke up, it was harder and harder to move or even think. At some point, they attached a breathing mask to me, which wheezed like a geriatric. I couldn’t even be mad since it really did help. Sometimes, when I was awake but seemed asleep, doctors would come in with medical students and remove my blankets to showcase my penis-free groin.
“This is an excellent model,” one doctor whispered, “upon which to base our understanding of Male Rejection Syndrome. You can clearly see the complete lack of manhood.” A few students snickered.
Once, I might have fumed, but now, I couldn’t be bothered. I half-wanted to open my eyes and tell them to fuck off but even if my voice wasn’t so weak, I didn’t want to talk to them. If they were this cruel to someone who was this vulnerable, they weren’t worth the effort.
Rose’s laughter rang in my ears. The undertow of pain threatened to drag me into the depths again. Rose had – no. She hadn’t, I realized. She’d rejected me, but she hadn’t been cruel. She had looked hurt, too. Like she was tired.
I shouldn’t have to choose like this.
Maybe she had cared, after all. Just – not in the way I wanted her to.
When my eyes snapped open – when I realized I’d been asleep – I felt… fine. Not good; my temples still felt tight, and my stomach kinda hurt, but my fever had vanished and there was a welcome strength in my muscles. For the first time in over a week, I sat up. Shoulder blades stiff from a week of bedrest protested, but otherwise, I was okay.
“Holy shit,” I mouthed, eyes wide, but in a good way. Doctor Cox had said that if I recovered, it would grow back. Did I dare check? I swallowed, unsure if I wanted the answer, then looked anyway.
“Ah, you’re awake.” Doctor Cox appeared out of seemingly nowhere, but after everything that happened, I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to be startled as I poked my head out from under the covers. “And it seems like you’re feeling a bit better too.”
“I… I think I might be okay,” I admitted with a nod. The thought felt alien to voice.
The doctor nodded eagerly. Before I had time to be nervous, he hurried over to the machine, pressed a few buttons, “hmm”-ing as he read data. He wheeled around, a joyful grin illuminating his face. He didn’t have to say a word for me to understand.
“HELL YEAH!” I boomed, then coughed – I’d inhaled a ton of air through the mask. Doctor Cox sprung into action, helping me undo the mask and shutting down the machine. From there, I had to sit still while he peeled the wires off my chest one at a time.
“You must feel quite relieved. I’m proud of you, you know. Not everyone is strong enough to survive this.”
I let out a laugh despite myself – not a cruel one, but one tinged with disbelief. “I don’t feel very strong. I hate that I got so sick from this.”
“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, I think.”
“That’s the thing, though!” I exclaimed, and stopped. Doctor Cox stopped, too, staring, silently imploring me to continue.
“I…” What was I thinking? I knew what a risk this was… Maybe that was why I had to do it. “Doctor. I need to become stronger – really, truly stronger. Will you help me?”
I stumbled around for words at first, but as I spoke, my plan took shape. The whole time, he listened, nodding, and when I finished, he pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” he snapped. For a second, not anger, but fear pulsed in my ears. Would he say no? Then he flashed me a mischievous grin.
Three weeks later, Doctor Cox and I stood on a stage in a small conference room at the university’s Student Rec Center. “Special experimental treatment,” he’d told them. It was cold outside, but in here, I was sweating.
From the gap in the velvet-red curtains, I spied my audience, composed of my dads, a few students I shared my lit major with, and some hospital staff Doctor Cox had invited, all seated in folding chairs, engrossed in buzzing pre-show conversation.
Then, just as the last guest trickled in, in the two seconds the door was open, I saw her. She was with her friends, two girls I recognized from class. They were all smiling, Rose brightest of all, drenched in a workout’s sweaty afterglow, laughing. Even two weeks ago, my heart would’ve lurched in betrayal. I had loved her, once, but she didn’t have to love me.
I smiled, hoping that if I wished her well hard enough, that it would come true.
Doctor Cox tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to do great. I’m sure of it.” He let out a gentle laugh, warm as apple pie. Suddenly, he looked so much younger, like a high schooler. I thought that maybe I could be friends with this man who was pulling me in with his golden gravity.
“I always looked up to you, you know.”
“Huh?”
“I wanted you to notice me. You always seemed so self-sufficient, like you didn’t need anyone. I wanted to be like you.” For the first time ever, his lilt had a note of bitterness.
And just like that, the pieces fell into place. No wonder he’d wanted to help me so much. “Doctor Cox, I don’t-”
“You know that’s not my name.”
He went up in a puff of wispy, acrid smoke, leaving only his penis behind. It flopped to the stage floor, a gift for me and me alone. I allowed myself maybe a minute to breathe and to stare at the spot where he had just stood, to stand and to understand. Reaching a steady hand out, I pocketed his veiny, vulnerable dick. It was warm to the touch.
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” A single tear streaked down my cheek – liquid connection.
And so, I emerged from behind the curtains, standing as confidently straight as I could, facing the crowd even though my heart pounded in my chest. I had a job to do, for my sake and anyone else who might need it.
“Everyone,” I said, projecting as best I could. Dad and Pop caught my gaze from the front row. Both of them, but Pop especially flashed me smiles as bright and warm as the summer sun. Embedded was a message of care: Be kind to yourself. We love you. Maybe one day, they’d find a way to put it in as many words.
I returned their smile. “Thank you all for coming here tonight. As you know, I recently survived an acute case of an often-deadly disease. It’s a miracle that I’m still breathing right now.”
A few people nodded. They probably expected some trite speech about how I had discovered the strength to live with my heartbreak. But real life was more complicated than that. So, I had to leave the script.
“To be honest, my rejection has left me wounded – scarred. I’m still not healed yet. Which is why…” I pulled a lever on the wall. With an electric buzz and a whoosh, the curtains pulled themselves back. Silence fell. Everyone stared, slack-jawed, too stunned to be concerned. At last, the purpose of this whole exercise was coming to fruition. You see, upon the stage sat a three-foot tall, clear box, filled to bursting with three weeks’ worth of my detached penises.
“I’m showing all of you my most fragile part tonight! All three hundred and eighty-seven of them! In fact…” I bent over and reached two hands into the box, grasping what was once my own sensitive flesh. “I invite you all to share yours with me, too!”
I flung the first two fistfuls into the crowd. Ten or so of my dicks, some hard and some soft arced through the air. Some landed on the ground with deafeningly soft plops, but more made direct contact with peoples’ faces. Whatever noises they might have made were subsumed by wide-eyed stares and open mouths.
“Don’t feel shy! Share yours, too! We can juggle them, use them as building blocks, even poker chips!” I yelled and lobbed another phallic volley. This time, screams erupted as people scrambled to get out of the way. I’d kind of suspected that part would happen – but it still hurt.
Yet I continued. I had to. I threw more and more of my penises out into the world, more parts of me for people not to like. For people to hate. To reject. The shrieks of horror dwindled as my audience fled the room. But that was okay. It didn’t hurt so much after a while.
And actually, some of my classmates pocketed a penis or two awkwardly, looking somewhere between embarrassed and bewildered. Then, they hurried out the door, muttering that they needed a drink or a blunt.
As for my dads? Well, Pop was laughing his heart out. “You’re doing great, son!” he shouted, waving an arm above his head, showcasing my unmentionable for all the world to see, fiercely proud. Dad shot me a double thumbs up, beaming.
In the end, nobody detached their penis but me. But not everyone left, either. The people who did stay eventually started throwing my dicks at each other like snowballs. After a while, I joined in too, grinning. Maybe I hadn’t been so normal tonight. I definitely hadn’t been very masculine. But so what? I was still lovable. And I always would be.
That day on the grassy lawn in front of the school, trees wept brown and auburn leaves. The crowd of mourners huddled together in the dim, late-autumn light. Nobody cried, but their unshed tears seeped through the silence like a ghost. I hung back, leaning against a tree, arms crossed, frowning.
This wasn’t his actual funeral, but for most of us, it was all the goodbye we’d get. Two mornings ago, the principal had broken the news over the loudspeakers, and invited us to grieve, assuring us counseling was available if we needed it.
Whispers caught the edge of my hearing. I looked up, and saw two kids from the school’s woodworking club, their heads bowed. I looked the other way, but I didn’t try not to hear.
“Do you know who he tried to give it to?” one asked with a decidedly non-mourning tone.
“Some random chick from Palette Ridge Academy. I heard they hooked up at a party last week and he was super into her. I hope she’s freaking happy.”
The first kid scoffed. “It’s his own damn fault. What a dumbass thing to do.”
Part of me wanted to waltz over and punch him right in the jaw. You straight up didn’t badmouth the dead. But I didn’t listen to that part of me. Richard had tried to give away his penis to a total stranger. What’d he think would happen? From the moment I’d been old enough to know what sex was, much less start dating, my dads had repeated, “Don’t detach unless you’re already a match,” over and over until the maxim hummed in my bones. Didn’t Richard have a dad to tell him the same thing?
Still, he’d taken the biggest risk you could. The least I could do was actually mourn him.
Three years later, in my sophomore year of college, I lost my virginity. I’ll keep the steamier bits to myself, but basically, her name was Rose, she was a zoology major, and she was smart and gorgeous and funny and the sex felt really, really good.
Afterwards, we lay there in my darkened dorm room, smiling into each other’s eyes, smelling of salty-sweet sweat. My roommate was out for the evening at his study group, which meant Rose and I had time to hold each other in our arms and just sorta vibe together.
No moment that magical lasts forever, though. “Hey…” Rose trailed off, pulling away to fiddle with a lock of her dyed-blue hair.
Sleep’s haze still blurred the edges of my consciousness. “What’s up?” I said, blinking myself awake.
“Listen, I wish I could stay, but my Chem professor’s idea of teaching is assigning 100 problems every class. I gotta put a dent in them or I’m legit screwed. Wanna walk me back?”
“Your wish is my command.” Before I knew what I was doing, my lips brushed her forehead affectionately. She kissed me back and I kissed her back and she kissed me again, each time on the forehead, and this went on a few more rounds until we giggled in a weird sort of conspiratorial solidarity.
Yeah, it sucked she couldn’t stay the evening, but I wasn’t too sad. I loved everything about Rose, from the bear-brown mole on her cheek to the way she always asked all the smartest questions in class, and she had wanted me! Sure, we couldn’t sleep in the same bed, but I was still the luckiest guy ever.
Twenty minutes later, the approaching outline of Whittier Hall stood tall against the snowy night, yellow light pouring out the ground-floor windows. Winter-dead trees guarded either side of the entrance, halfway between welcoming and ominous.
As we got nearer, I caught our reflections in a window, covered head-to-toe in blue parkas and navy scarves and gray puffy pants. “We look like Arctic peacocks.” An unwilling girlish giggle clawed its way out of my mouth. Rose quirked an eyebrow.
“An excellent metaphor, Mr. Lit Major, except you know, peacocks don’t live in the Arctic.” She swatted my shoulder playfully. I snorted again, trying to think of a funny comeback.
But, facing each other in front of the glass dormitory door, cold biting at our exposed faces, no one there but us and the leafless, snowcapped trees, all that mattered was her. I took a dainty, firm gloved hand in mine, a precious treasure. Even through the soft fabric, just the fact of touching her was like getting drunk.
Rose’s lips curled gently upwards. When she spoke, the air misted. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”
Something sparked. Something burning, something hungry, but a very different hunger from the kind we’d fed just shy of an hour ago. In that moment, I understood why men gave their penises away. And in that moment, I knew who I wanted to have mine.
I glanced from side to side. The night hung still, devoid of oncoming footsteps. You were technically supposed to do this sort of thing in private, but beneath the hungry spark, there was a nagging feeling, an itch. A need to know.
“I want you to have something, Rose.”
I didn’t wait for her response, and I definitely didn’t stop to think. I just closed my eyes and unzipped my fly, exposing my flaccid length to the cold. I focused, sharp winter air prickling my lungs. Then, with a pop, my penis separated from my body, leaving my hairy balls and pubic mound behind. I opened my eyes and held it out to her in my palm. It was still soft, the glans hiding away in the wrinkly sheath.
“You are so, so important to me. This is for you,” I whispered, feather-soft. But then I saw the look on her face. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes had gone wide. She looked at my palm, then up to me, then to my penis again, then back to me, an awful mirror of our forehead kissing game.
“Listen,” she sighed, voice red with stop sign disappointment. “You’re really nice, but… God, I knew this would happen. I didn’t want to think you were so-”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
Rose hugged herself and looked away, frowning. “I shouldn’t have to choose like this.” And so, she tromped through the crunching layer of snow before the dorm building swallowed her whole.
I stood motionless. Black spots popped in my vision. Everything spun. My knees wobbled. Buckled. The world capsized and slipped into darkness. My last thought before unconsciousness enveloped me was numbly bitter: my hunger didn’t burn anymore – it incinerated.
Next thing I knew, I was in a bed – definitely not the one in my dorm room, though. This mattress was too lumpy, and there was a weird beeping rhythm. On top of that, there was a voice I didn’t know. After a moment, I realized it was calling my name.
My eyes snapped open and everything washed over me in a torrent of agony. Someone might as well have taken a chisel to my forehead and tried to sculpt a statue out of my brain. Through burning-hot eyelids, the world slowly came into focus. I was in a small, bleach-smelling room with a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling. A machine was hooked up to my bed. No – hooked up to me! A labyrinthine bundle of wires seemed to sprout out of my bare chest and feed into the machine, the beeping noise’s source.
It hit me: I was in the hospital. I’d offered the most precious part of me to Rose… and now I was in the hospital. She hadn’t wanted me. A sob hitched in my throat as a wave of chills shot up and down my spine. I was too weak to yowl. All I could let out was something between a groan and a whimper.
The machine must have picked up a reaction anyway, because a svelte, pale-skinned man strode into view. From where, I didn’t know – I couldn’t find the energy to turn my head. He carried a clipboard under his arm and looked at me with sickening compassion.
“Easy there, fella. You’ve been out cold for thirteen hours. I’m Doctor Cox.” He held out a hand. When I didn’t take it, he frowned.
“I know you must feel awful, so I’ll get straight to the point. You’re experiencing Rejection Syndrome – more commonly known as heartbreak. I know that whoever you tried giving your penis to seemed like they were important – like they were the only one you’d ever need to want you.”
I had the sudden urge to slug him. Lucky for the doc, I was too weak to move.
“If you recover, your penis will grow back. It might be shaped a little different or be a different size – but it’ll still be able to do everything your old one could.” He paused. “This next part’s important, so listen and listen good: if you can’t find a way to accept what’s happened, it’s going to kill you from the inside out, and soon.”
I said nothing, feeling pathetic and caught between wanting to ask questions and my own anger and grogginess.
The doctor sighed and shook his head. For a heartbeat, there was something familiar about him, but it flitted away. “Kid, I wish there was more I could do, but you need to figure this out on your own. I’ve seen too many good people die because someone didn’t accept their dick. Don’t let yourself be another.”
Again, I wanted to punch him. What the hell did he know? He’d never met Rose! How dare he talk like he understood!
Doctor Cox exhaled, a melancholic jingle of a sigh. Then he walked out and left me alone with my shattered love and dying body.
Outside the door, I heard the clattering wheels of a gurney and a muffled voice over the PA system. I thought I caught snippets of my dads’ voices and my stomach flipped. What was I going to say to them? How the hell do you tell your parents that you ignored the best advice they’d ever given you?
Hours and minutes bled into each other. My head swam in a dense haze as I went over again and again what’d happened. Replaying it. Imagining it going better. How I could have made it go better if I’d tried, but that became too painful too quickly. The whole thing was too painful.
I had to have fallen asleep a few times, because the sun kept deciding it wanted to be somewhere else in the sky outside my window every few instants. Days might have passed or just a few hours. Suddenly, my dads were at my bedside. One – the man I called Pop – was bleary-eyed, dabbing at his tears with a hot-pink handkerchief. His white hair was frizzled, and the unmistakable spicy scent of hot Cheetos hung about him. He’d been stress eating.
Next to him was the man I called Dad. He was frowning, his forehead creased, his green eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He didn’t smell like Pop did, but he’d always been better at controlling his feelings. When he looked at me, I think he saw something I didn’t.
“G-guys?” I choked out, my first words since coming to this sterile hellscape. A coughing fit decided to cut in. My parents stared silently, their throats bulging.
“Son,” Dad said when the fit subsided, clipped but nervous.
“Son,” Pop repeated, his voice three octaves higher than usual.
“Are you all right, son?”
“God, I wish,” I said weakly. I wanted Dad or Pop to hug me so bad but I wasn’t ready to say that out loud.
Pop barked scathingly. Dad glowered at him and my stomach lurched – I’d been afraid this part was coming.
“Oh, you wish? You wish? You damn well better wish!” Pop shrilled, making the word “wish” sound like a curse. “I gave my penis to men before your father, but did I wilt like a dainty little daisy if they said no? Of course I didn’t! I thought I’d raised a man, not a – a-” he gagged, choking on his own tears.
I glared, heart jammed in my throat. A cacophony of beeps blared – my monitor was going haywire, but I didn’t care. I channeled every bit of feeling I had left into the unspoken command roaring behind my gaze: Say it. I dare you.
“Honey-” Dad tried to intervene, but it was too late.
Pop snarled, fear and love with no other outlet. For a heartbeat, everything hung in the air. Wide-eyed horror flashed across his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll be right back.”
Dad’s lips pursed, his intense gaze following Pop’s retreat. Tears blurred my vision, but I noticed the lines ringing Dad’s eyes and tried to shove down my anger.
“He shouldn’t have said that,” Dad said, then sighed. “Just… He might not be showing it right now, but we do care about you. You know that, right?”
I knew. Sweet God, I knew. My shoulders trembled. I really wanted Dad to hug me. Instead, he gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “We believe in you, son.” He stayed by my bed for a while in loving, awkward silence.
I think another day passed. I’m not really sure, but I had a weird sense that I saw the moon outside the window in a moment between blinks. It was all blurry. Whenever I woke up, it was harder and harder to move or even think. At some point, they attached a breathing mask to me, which wheezed like a geriatric. I couldn’t even be mad since it really did help. Sometimes, when I was awake but seemed asleep, doctors would come in with medical students and remove my blankets to showcase my penis-free groin.
“This is an excellent model,” one doctor whispered, “upon which to base our understanding of Male Rejection Syndrome. You can clearly see the complete lack of manhood.” A few students snickered.
Once, I might have fumed, but now, I couldn’t be bothered. I half-wanted to open my eyes and tell them to fuck off but even if my voice wasn’t so weak, I didn’t want to talk to them. If they were this cruel to someone who was this vulnerable, they weren’t worth the effort.
Rose’s laughter rang in my ears. The undertow of pain threatened to drag me into the depths again. Rose had – no. She hadn’t, I realized. She’d rejected me, but she hadn’t been cruel. She had looked hurt, too. Like she was tired.
I shouldn’t have to choose like this.
Maybe she had cared, after all. Just – not in the way I wanted her to.
When my eyes snapped open – when I realized I’d been asleep – I felt… fine. Not good; my temples still felt tight, and my stomach kinda hurt, but my fever had vanished and there was a welcome strength in my muscles. For the first time in over a week, I sat up. Shoulder blades stiff from a week of bedrest protested, but otherwise, I was okay.
“Holy shit,” I mouthed, eyes wide, but in a good way. Doctor Cox had said that if I recovered, it would grow back. Did I dare check? I swallowed, unsure if I wanted the answer, then looked anyway.
“Ah, you’re awake.” Doctor Cox appeared out of seemingly nowhere, but after everything that happened, I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to be startled as I poked my head out from under the covers. “And it seems like you’re feeling a bit better too.”
“I… I think I might be okay,” I admitted with a nod. The thought felt alien to voice.
The doctor nodded eagerly. Before I had time to be nervous, he hurried over to the machine, pressed a few buttons, “hmm”-ing as he read data. He wheeled around, a joyful grin illuminating his face. He didn’t have to say a word for me to understand.
“HELL YEAH!” I boomed, then coughed – I’d inhaled a ton of air through the mask. Doctor Cox sprung into action, helping me undo the mask and shutting down the machine. From there, I had to sit still while he peeled the wires off my chest one at a time.
“You must feel quite relieved. I’m proud of you, you know. Not everyone is strong enough to survive this.”
I let out a laugh despite myself – not a cruel one, but one tinged with disbelief. “I don’t feel very strong. I hate that I got so sick from this.”
“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, I think.”
“That’s the thing, though!” I exclaimed, and stopped. Doctor Cox stopped, too, staring, silently imploring me to continue.
“I…” What was I thinking? I knew what a risk this was… Maybe that was why I had to do it. “Doctor. I need to become stronger – really, truly stronger. Will you help me?”
I stumbled around for words at first, but as I spoke, my plan took shape. The whole time, he listened, nodding, and when I finished, he pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” he snapped. For a second, not anger, but fear pulsed in my ears. Would he say no? Then he flashed me a mischievous grin.
Three weeks later, Doctor Cox and I stood on a stage in a small conference room at the university’s Student Rec Center. “Special experimental treatment,” he’d told them. It was cold outside, but in here, I was sweating.
From the gap in the velvet-red curtains, I spied my audience, composed of my dads, a few students I shared my lit major with, and some hospital staff Doctor Cox had invited, all seated in folding chairs, engrossed in buzzing pre-show conversation.
Then, just as the last guest trickled in, in the two seconds the door was open, I saw her. She was with her friends, two girls I recognized from class. They were all smiling, Rose brightest of all, drenched in a workout’s sweaty afterglow, laughing. Even two weeks ago, my heart would’ve lurched in betrayal. I had loved her, once, but she didn’t have to love me.
I smiled, hoping that if I wished her well hard enough, that it would come true.
Doctor Cox tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to do great. I’m sure of it.” He let out a gentle laugh, warm as apple pie. Suddenly, he looked so much younger, like a high schooler. I thought that maybe I could be friends with this man who was pulling me in with his golden gravity.
“I always looked up to you, you know.”
“Huh?”
“I wanted you to notice me. You always seemed so self-sufficient, like you didn’t need anyone. I wanted to be like you.” For the first time ever, his lilt had a note of bitterness.
And just like that, the pieces fell into place. No wonder he’d wanted to help me so much. “Doctor Cox, I don’t-”
“You know that’s not my name.”
He went up in a puff of wispy, acrid smoke, leaving only his penis behind. It flopped to the stage floor, a gift for me and me alone. I allowed myself maybe a minute to breathe and to stare at the spot where he had just stood, to stand and to understand. Reaching a steady hand out, I pocketed his veiny, vulnerable dick. It was warm to the touch.
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” A single tear streaked down my cheek – liquid connection.
And so, I emerged from behind the curtains, standing as confidently straight as I could, facing the crowd even though my heart pounded in my chest. I had a job to do, for my sake and anyone else who might need it.
“Everyone,” I said, projecting as best I could. Dad and Pop caught my gaze from the front row. Both of them, but Pop especially flashed me smiles as bright and warm as the summer sun. Embedded was a message of care: Be kind to yourself. We love you. Maybe one day, they’d find a way to put it in as many words.
I returned their smile. “Thank you all for coming here tonight. As you know, I recently survived an acute case of an often-deadly disease. It’s a miracle that I’m still breathing right now.”
A few people nodded. They probably expected some trite speech about how I had discovered the strength to live with my heartbreak. But real life was more complicated than that. So, I had to leave the script.
“To be honest, my rejection has left me wounded – scarred. I’m still not healed yet. Which is why…” I pulled a lever on the wall. With an electric buzz and a whoosh, the curtains pulled themselves back. Silence fell. Everyone stared, slack-jawed, too stunned to be concerned. At last, the purpose of this whole exercise was coming to fruition. You see, upon the stage sat a three-foot tall, clear box, filled to bursting with three weeks’ worth of my detached penises.
“I’m showing all of you my most fragile part tonight! All three hundred and eighty-seven of them! In fact…” I bent over and reached two hands into the box, grasping what was once my own sensitive flesh. “I invite you all to share yours with me, too!”
I flung the first two fistfuls into the crowd. Ten or so of my dicks, some hard and some soft arced through the air. Some landed on the ground with deafeningly soft plops, but more made direct contact with peoples’ faces. Whatever noises they might have made were subsumed by wide-eyed stares and open mouths.
“Don’t feel shy! Share yours, too! We can juggle them, use them as building blocks, even poker chips!” I yelled and lobbed another phallic volley. This time, screams erupted as people scrambled to get out of the way. I’d kind of suspected that part would happen – but it still hurt.
Yet I continued. I had to. I threw more and more of my penises out into the world, more parts of me for people not to like. For people to hate. To reject. The shrieks of horror dwindled as my audience fled the room. But that was okay. It didn’t hurt so much after a while.
And actually, some of my classmates pocketed a penis or two awkwardly, looking somewhere between embarrassed and bewildered. Then, they hurried out the door, muttering that they needed a drink or a blunt.
As for my dads? Well, Pop was laughing his heart out. “You’re doing great, son!” he shouted, waving an arm above his head, showcasing my unmentionable for all the world to see, fiercely proud. Dad shot me a double thumbs up, beaming.
In the end, nobody detached their penis but me. But not everyone left, either. The people who did stay eventually started throwing my dicks at each other like snowballs. After a while, I joined in too, grinning. Maybe I hadn’t been so normal tonight. I definitely hadn’t been very masculine. But so what? I was still lovable. And I always would be.
Daniel Fliederbaum would have been one of the Cool Kids growing up if not for their chronic nerdiness. Now that they’re responsible for paying their own bills, they're getting their MFA in Creative Writing for Children and Young Adults at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Their debut novel, Smash the World's Shell, is now available from Water Dragon Publishing. Between writing sessions, they are a slave to their beloved cat's endless demands for cuddles.
