The Octopus of My Heart

In the first grade I knew something must be wrong. I was obsessed with a ginger haired girl named Gabby. The heartache didn’t go away for the longest time. She was the first girl I imagined naked. Not that a boy of six knew the first thing to do with a naked six year old girl. I couldn’t even form a complete picture, if you know what I mean. My fantasy image of Gabby resembled that of Casper the Friendly Ghost, but with pink skin and red hair. Not having experience with female genitalia at the time, there was nothing down there, in my mind’s eye.

Pining over Gabby was painful. A coward in love, I could do nothing. I had no problem on the playground pretending to be an airplane to make Renée giggle. But I wasn’t in love with Renée. I don’t think Gabby noticed me. She thought of me the way a sea turtle thinks of a sponge diver, which is to say, not at all.

Later it would be Esperanza, and then another Mexican girl named Lisa (I guess I had a thing for Mexican girls, perhaps because there were so many in Los Angeles). Lisa would be replaced by Joni, my secret sweetheart for years to come. Until Leila came along, that is, and then Valerie, and eventually Erin. I held Valerie’s hand for one minute on the school bus to win a 25 cent bet with Cindy Arigoni. Cindy laughed at me, and didn’t pay. Cindy wanted me, but I didn’t want her. She wanted me to feel her up on the winter hay ride in Kevin Dodge’s Diamond T dump bed. I could have easily taken Cindy, but I told her I wanted Erin.

“You don’t have the balls to ask Erin,” Cindy dared.

I couldn’t let her dare go unanswered. I made some very crude moves on Erin, who rightly pushed me away in disgust. Years later, Erin did let me take her out, and visit her at home. We saw An Officer and a Gentleman together, and Rocky. But the heartfelt letter I mailed to her was just too corny, I guess.

“I can’t give you the answer you want,” Erin wrote back.

“Doctor,” there’s something wrong with my heart.”

“I could give you an octopus transplant,” he advised.

“Octopus? Hmmm, I never heard of that.”

“Very rare,” he said. “Only recommended for the most desperate cases.”

“Ok, give me that old octopus, Doc. I’m hurtin’ real bad.”

The operation used up almost all the Obamacare I had saved. Now I’d never be able to finish my degree, but I would probably feel much better, I told my friends.

They let me stay conscious during the operation. The octopus was a good looking one, all pink and purple, and squiggly. Its big, knowing eye looked directly at me just before the surgeon tucked it into my rib cage. I hoped that wasn’t a mocking glare; it might do all kinds of mischief inside if I let on it had the upper hand...or tentacle, as it were.

You might think having a mollusk for a heart is a squeamish idea, but not really. If it was a snail or slug, well then maybe I would mind. But octopus is less like a parasite than a helper organism. Its eight tentacles are always searching, always touching, so they manage my feelings. Eight passions at once, if I have the energy for it. They reach out, through my veins, my viscera, my brain. They manipulate my endocrines and my pancreas and liver, kidneys, and everything. The octopus is real good at managing my emotions so I don’t have to.

Cousin Steve has a slow metabolism. Steve’s Daddy always tried to get Steve whatever I and my brothers had. If we got Sorrel boots, Steve’s dad bought him Sorrel boots. Did we get a Hodaka motorcycle? Steve’s dad bought him a Yamaha. Steve’s dad wanted to buy Steve an octopus heart transplant, but the doctor told his dad no, on account of Steve having a slow metabolism. The octopus would kill Steve. He recommended a clam instead, so Steve got the clam transplant. Nice big one, too. The clam couldn’t handle as many passions at one time as my octopus, but then Steve couldn’t chew gum and tie his shoes at the same time. He married his cousin Linda, ten years his senior. Yep, the clam transplant was just right for Steve’s needs. Uncle Stan went to his grave resenting that his son couldn’t handle an octopus transplant, and by extension he resented me for getting what his son couldn’t have.