Summers, you spent in Chicago under the sponsorship of your aunt Jinny, who liked the sauce and loud parties, too, though you supposed for different reasons. She got you a couple of acting gigs on the radio and pointed you in the direction of various theaters, where you were cast in a few productions. There were always plenty of people around, and glamorous women, who liked you when you were at that pleasant pitch. Sometimes, you tricked yourself into believing you felt good.

But this time: this summer. That sickness in your gut. What am I going to do? Now? How can I go on? Why? When the structure holding you together, that you’d relied on, was gone. Just like that. Just like your leg: It felt that sudden and violent. Gone. Though you should have known it was coming.

Aunt Jinny had a part lined up for you on her soap opera, just a couple of lines one day, but you showed up skunk-drunk and got fired. A few days later, she came home to her upscale apartment to find you passed out on her couch and every one of her dozen mirrors smashed. When you woke up, she had your bag packed for you. You tried to charm her, but she didn’t fall for it.

You had to go somewhere, though you wished to go nowhere. You went to stay with a frat brother who was spending the summer with his family in Oak Park. And there was trouble there, too: the younger sister. She was all points, her elbows, knees, small breasts, freckled nose, not to mention her personality. The trouble was that you got up to use the bathroom in the night and got confused. The house had an extremely long hallway, and all the doors looked the same. You climbed into her bed. You honestly thought it was your own; you weren’t even aware of her presence. But the clunk of your crutches hitting the floor woke her, and when you dropped onto the bed beside her, she let out a piercing scream, never mind that you were snoring before your head even hit her pillow.

“Sorry, man,” said the frat brother, leaning on your car to bid you good-bye the next morning, while the father stood by glowering, the mother glaring, her arm around the sniffling sister. “I tried to tell them you used to do that at the frat house. Wander.”

Had you? You couldn’t remember.

In hindsight, you were glad that at least you hadn’t climbed into bed with the father.