Never a Hero

directly above her piano, and think about how I could learn to love a woman like her.
    But now here she was, moving out.
    I watched out my window as she loaded boxes into a truck. She had help. Two men and one woman. I barely noticed the woman, but I studied the men. One was smaller, studious looking, glasses perched on his nose. A bit twitchy about touching the boxes or going in the house. I dubbed him The Academic. The other was bigger. Huge, in fact. Clearly one of those men who spent hours in the gym. He lugged boxes out to the truck two and three at a time.
    The Hero.
    Not that he was Regina’s hero, though. The men were obviously a couple, although I tried not to notice how happy they looked together. The lingering glances and the secret smiles. For three years, I’d lived only a few blocks from the Light District in Tucker Springs, and for three years, I’d told myself it wasn’t the place for me. That all I needed was to meet the right woman, and maybe all those other thoughts that snuck into my head late at night would disappear. That she could help me erase the embarrassed regret of my high school years, and the loneliness that had haunted me since college. If Regina and I were a couple, I’d told myself, her playing would get me through the tough times. Whenever I’d start to wonder how it felt to be on my knees in front of another man, whenever I’d start to think about what I really wanted, I could turn to her and say, “Play something for me.” And she’d smile at me, pleased that I wanted to hear her latest piece, and as her fingers would dance over the keys, teasing Bach or Beethoven or Mozart from that big square box, I’d fall in love with her again and forget about the fact that it was men who turned my head, time and again.
    Except now she was moving.
    I pulled the shade down and turned away. I didn’t want to watch her leave.
    I also didn’t want to watch two men who could openly admit they were in love.
    “Owen, you’re an idiot,” I told myself. After all, a braver man would have offered to help. A more confident man would have taken this last opportunity to talk to her. Maybe get her phone number. A forwarding address, in case there was mail or a package. In case she wanted to have dinner some night. A whole man would have offered to help her move. An undamaged man wouldn’t have been afraid to walk out and say, “Hey, let me lend you a hand.”
    I laughed suddenly at my own thoughts. How ironic that I’d think of one of my least-favorite phrases in the English language. I didn’t exactly have an extra hand to spare.
    I looked down at my left arm, where it ended in a smooth tapered stump just below my elbow.
    “Let me lend you a hand,” I said out loud. “But only if you give it back when you’re done.”
    It wasn’t as absurd as it sounded. I could have helped. It wasn’t like I was incapable of carrying a damn box. Not two or three at a time, like The Hero, but that didn’t make me worthless.
    No, it wasn’t my missing arm that stopped me from helping Regina move. It was the way they’d all react, sorting carefully through the boxes, deciding which ones I could carry. Nothing too heavy. Nothing breakable. Certainly not the glassware, or the boxes of books. Linens, though. Linens they might let me carry.
    Or pillows. Even a one-armed man could carry pillows.
    I’d never be anybody’s hero.
    “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I muttered.
    I was startled by a knock on the door. I was even more surprised to open it and find Regina on the other side. I stood as I always did, with the left half of my body hidden behind the door. Certainly she knew by now about my missing arm, but I’d learned people didn’t like to see it.
    “Hi, Erwin!” she said. It was an indicator of how little we’d actually talked. She didn’t even know my name.
    I was slow to answer, making sure my tongue was ready to move. I’d beaten my stutter years ago, but it still appeared sometimes. Usually at the least-opportune moments. “Ready to go?” I asked her, gesturing toward the truck.
    “Yep, this is it!” She held a set of keys out for me. “I told the landlord I’d leave the spares with you.”
    I held out my right hand and let the keys fall into my palm. I thought about the one thing I hadn’t seen The Hero carry out her door. “What about your piano?”
    She shrugged and ran a hand through her short hair. There was more gray in it than I’d realized. When I’d