Amp'd by Ken Pisani Page A

nothing left to cut off!”
    â€œNobody’s getting gangrene,” I declare to Jackie with the supreme confidence of a man about to succumb to gangrene.
    â€œIt’s just nature, is all I’m saying,” Mom continues. “When the big, stupid Tyrannosaurus rex —or two of them—knock over a thicket of trees, or eat the helpless baby dinosaur, you don’t get mad at them. That’s what they do! They’re not acting with malice or anger, or even forethought. It’s simply the act of a dumb, unthinking creature. So when we expect them to behave differently, we’re disappointed. And that makes us unhappy.”
    Jackie stabs at her food.
    â€œOr angry. The key to not being those things is to manage expectations and to accept the natural limitations of things. Pass the potatoes.”
    â€œ How could you let him get that? ” Jackie finally shouts at Steve.
    â€œWhoa! I’m not the boss of him.”
    â€œ And who does that? ” Jackie shrieks. “Who would tattoo a … a … a stump?”
    â€œAre you saying people with stumps don’t have the same rights as non-stumpy people?” I object. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
    â€œShut up! Isn’t it illegal to give a drunk person a tattoo?”
    â€œYou can’t tell me to shut up and keep asking questions.”
    â€œBe nice to your brother, he’s been through a lot,” Mom mediates. “Also, he’s stupid.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    â€œHave some more broccoli. It’s a superfood, good for your tiny brain.”
    I accept the bowl and immediately pass it to Steve.
    â€œI wish I could shed some light on this, but I remember nothing after leaving the bar,” I strain to recall. “Actually, I don’t remember leaving the bar either.”
    â€œGreat!” Jackie enthuses. “We can add alcohol blackouts to your litany of recent problems.”
    â€œOr you can stop keeping score. No one asked you to come here.”
    What follows isn’t the good kind of silence—a quiet, peaceful respite—but the kind that immediately precedes explosive confrontation or foreshadows lifelong estrangement. As if sensing this, Dad attempts to redirect Jackie’s fire to a different target.
    â€œWho drove last night?” he asks no one in particular. “Weber?”
    â€œI did,” Steve boasts.
    Jackie’s head swivels, an angry tank turret. “Really.”
    â€œWhoa, I wasn’t near as fucked up as those two. I remember everything.”
    â€œBring me up to speed,” I urge him. “There’s not enough liquor under Dad’s sink to make me want a tattoo. What the hell happened?”
    â€œYou weren’t going to, but then the tattoo artist started talking about tribal tattoos and manhood rituals and how some cultures use them to mark life changes, and some other shit. And then you both creamed your jeans over this Sunny Lee chick.”
    â€œ We did? ”
    â€œJesus God,” Dad exhales.
    â€œWho’s Sunny Lee?” Mom perks up, genuinely interested.
    â€œ What? ” Jackie shrieks. “I went to school with her. What does she have to do with anything?”
    â€œYou went to school with Sunny Lee?” I’m stunned.
    â€œThe tattoo artist was a big fan of this Sunny Side Up, or whatever the fuck it is,” Steve remembers perfectly. “You were like a couple of girls sharing lipstick. Then we all did shots, and he got to work. You went first.”
    â€œIt’s called The Sunny Side .”
    â€œWhatever,” Steve says, bored now.
    â€œShe’s on the radio,” Dad explains to Jackie. “Weird facts, science, history, that kind of thing.”
    â€œI’m in love with her,” I announce.
    â€œDo you even know her?”
    â€œNo! But she’s your friend; you can introduce me.”
    â€œI haven’t seen her in twenty years! She