Free We Are Both Mammals by G. Wulfing

jerky.
    After a moment, Toro-a-Ba murmured, “Daniel
…
    “ You are very
brave.”
    I swallowed with a throat that felt like it
was made of concrete, and shook my head slowly and emphatically,
side to side across the pillow.
    I was not brave. I was a coward.
    Toro-a-Ba was brave.
     
    –––––––
     
    I – we – were bedridden for a total of two
and a half months.
    Most of this time Toro-a-Ba spent in bed not
because he needed to but because I did.
    It seemed like it should have been so easy
for Toro-a-Ba to get up and leave: he was fine; his body had healed
very well and he was back to full health. But of course, he could
never get up and leave ever again. He could never, ever, walk away
from me.
    Actually, it was slightly untrue to say that
Toro-a-Ba was back to full health: his organs were having to work
harder than normal in order to assist mine. This, however, would be
normal for him for the rest of my life.
    Toro-a-Ba asked me if it would hurt me were
he to stand up and move around on his bed, since the hose in his
side no longer hurt him provided he moved carefully. We found that
so long as my end of the hose remained still, it did not hurt me;
and I watched him stand, shake himself and stretch gingerly, and
walk about on the bed. He now had the run of the bed; – his
bed: he did not venture onto my bed. I suppose he felt that he
could not do so without my express permission. He would often sit
or lie in varying spots on his bed, changing position and location
frequently as though enjoying the ability to move again. I envied
him.
    I found myself watching him a great deal;
studying him, as though trying to get used to him. His
semi-prehensile tail, his movements, his mannerisms … the shapes he
made as he moved, and the way he carried himself …
    I would know him for the rest of my life. He
would be by my side until the end of my days; for if he left me, I
would be dead within hours. No marriage, no relationship, was ever
so permanent or so certain.
    The thought made me melancholy,
and a little fearful. What relationship is free of strain? What
marriage is so harmonious that no small disagreement ever arises?
Yet Toro-a-Ba and I would have to agree forever. We were from
different cultures, different planets originally, different species
… we were not even physically similar! It was difficult for me to think of any attribute
that we shared, except for the fact that we are both male, and of
comparable ages … and, as Toro-a-Ba had said, we are both
mammals. And we two disparate creatures would have to find a way to
coexist and cohabit in the most intimate way. We could never be
apart. We could never have separate hobbies, occupations, friends …
I would never so much as take a shower alone again.
    The thought filled me with grief. Yes, that
was the word for it: prior to the surgery I had been alone,
independent; lonely, yes, often, but free. The one triumph of an
orphan: freedom. And now even that had been taken from me. I still
had no family; and now I also had no independence. That was
something to grieve for.
    I refused to regret my decision: early in
life I had made it a rule never to regret: but I realised, as the
days went on, that there was still a lot of ‘processing’, as the
psychologist would say, that I had to do. This new situation was
still difficult, still demanding. I had chosen life, but I knew
with a heavy heart that it would not be easy. Death would certainly
have been easier.
    But I think it is not really in human nature
to take the easy path. Not when it comes to survival.
    The surgeons did not dare allow me to stand
up until they were sure that every organ and my abdominal muscles
had healed sufficiently that they would not be damaged by the
engagement required to hold me upright. The nurses continued to
massage my muscles – everywhere except my abdomen, which could not
tolerate pressure – to prevent them wasting too much, and they
wiped me down every day to keep me