Part 16

WITH THESE HANDS

"I know it's a little early for Christmas, Edward, but I have a present for you."

Edward Scissorhands was just like anyone else, in that he was no stranger to adversity. However, even after all he'd been through: even after the neighborhood, convinced he'd assaulted Kevin, chased him with furious eyes, back to whence he came, even after Jim's murderous vendetta, even when his heart was stabbed when Kim hadn't returned for him, he still instinctually referred back to his father's death, just before his hands were to be attached, as the great turning point.

When his father was alive, innocence and love was all he knew, and the hilltop mansion was their Paradise. After the inventor's passing, right before his eyes, Edward became aware that this world was, for some reason, twisted, bent and fallen. Grief settled in him where none had existed before, grief that he'd grown around but could never surmount, his father's last words hanging inside his soul forever.

Gaining hands could not bring his father back to life. Edward accepted that. But perhaps they could make his stay on earth a bit easier, at least in some circumstances.

After exiting the bus, he walked two blocks until he reached the glass-box office complex where the doctors worked. His throat had a lump in it and his breathing was tense and uneven as he walked into an office.

Soon, Edward found himself in a small, sterile room, reclining in a medical chair as a technician examined his scissors with a handheld magnetic resonance scanner.
"Hmmmmmm." The technician scribbled notes on a pad. Another long "hmmmmmm".

Edward tried his best to look pleasant and functional. He smiled slightly and his youthful eyes danced with wonder. Then, the technician looked him right in the eye. It seemed she was going to give him the lowdown on how to get hands, and he was more than ready to hear. Instead, she just went "hmmmmmm" again and continued jotting down notes.

Edward started to become impatient and had to restrain himself so he wouldn't fidget.

The prosthetist eventually spoke with Edward; his speech seemed like he was attempting to be accommodating, but was botching it and instead came across as condescending:

"So Edward, I'll explain: the MRI scan confirmed that the scissors are attached intimately to your nerves, muscles, tendons…that they're controlled by your brain, just like anyone else's hands."

Edward nodded.

"To replace the scissors with anything, an amputation would be necessary. After that, there are many aesthetic styles of hands we could fit you with. Does any style particularly interest you?"
"I'd like hands that I could wear sometimes…and scissors that I could wear other times."
"There's not a manufacturer in existence that makes prosthetic 'scissor hands'.", the doctor explained, with finger quotes.
Edward was in disbelief. "My father did", he corrected the doctor assertively. "My father made my hands."
"Then your father must've be one heck of an inventor. A real Nick Tesla. Because this is…over my head. I didn't learn anything in school about this."

In one fell swoop, a good portion of Edward's desires had been dashed. How strange, he thought, that his father was capable of things that "medical experts" were not.

So, he inquired into the second, less ambitious plan. "Could you show me the hands?" Edward asked.
The doctor reached into a file folder in a cabinet, and produced laminated photographs of prosthetic hands. Edward looked at them for a few moments…and was underwhelmed.

While these hands would unlock some of the doors of ordinary life to him, the cost was steeper than he'd expected. The only humanoid-looking hand in the catalog was rather plastic; it didn't resemble flesh. There was another hand which seemed to originate with a primitive robot, and another which could only be described as a "space-age winter mitten". These hands had none of the advantages of scissorhands and also seemed inferior to human hands. As imaginative as he was, Edward couldn't imagine that his life would be better by trading his scissors in for anything here. His mind, once set on hands, had lost its enthusiasm.

"Edward?" This time, the doctor's voice seemed less condescending and more genuinely caring. "Those are your options if you choose us. I know this is a big decision so, why don't you take some time to think it over? If you're still interested, you can schedule another visit and we'll get the ball rolling then."
"Thank you, sir." Edward's voice had gone flat as he walked out the door to the doctor's office, out of the office complex, back to the bus stop.

He was pensive on the ride home, barely acknowledging his physical surroundings, still a bit stunned by the anticlimax that had arisen. One thought his mind kept returning to was his exchange with Salvador during storytime in the employee's lounge, and his words: "It's called survival.", which in turn shifted his mind to Jim. Jim had snickered at Edward's hands, but that wasn't actually relevant. As long as Jim had perceived Edward as a threat to his relationship with Kim, he'd hate him and start conflicts, regardless of whether he had hands or scissors. The scissors just happened to be the most convenient excuse.

Edward would've been presumably defenseless with hands. However, with scissors, he could easily defeat a predator. He knew that, just as with the suburbs, there were predators lurking in Los Angeles, and assumed it'd be only a matter of time before he'd encounter another one. This made him feel better about his decision not to accept the hands.

He went to the Home for the rest of the day, deciding to bask in the backyard garden. It was looking particularly resplendent at this time, shards of afternoon sunlight filtering through the treetops to touch the ground, as the zephyrs glided in, heralding the coming springtime. Noticing some coconut palms in need of a trim, he began pruning them, something that would've taken several times longer with hands.

After a couple of hours, Kim spied him from the kitchen window and rushed out the door to give him a great big hug. She was eager for an update on the doctor's visit.

"They don't make scissorhand prosthetics."
"Right…"
"And I didn't like any of the hands they showed me."
"So, are you going to stay the same for now?"
"For now, I think so. Maybe later I'll find what I'm looking for."
"I think that's good. You know, while you were at the doctor's office today, I was thinking: what would your bosses at work say if you got hands?"
"They'd have to accept that."
"Right, but the reason you work for them is because you bring something unique to the table. I'm just worried they'd fire you."
"Maybe one day I'll start my own business, like Bill said."
"That'd be so awesome…"
"In the meantime, I'm okay with having scissors. Especially…"

Edward suddenly unleashed his inner romantic, snipped a red hibiscus flower from a bush, and presented it to her.

"When I'm with you."
Kim's blush was as red as the hibiscus.
"I can't hold you the way I want. But you seem to like how I hold you."
"Oh, Edward…I love how you hold me. I'm so happy to be yours. Not only are you fascinating and strong and mysterious, but you have the purest heart. I couldn't ask for more!"

She moved closer to him and held his wrists in her hands. They rocked back and forth slightly, doing a sort of gracious slowdance in the lush garden foliage. The sun didn't hasten to go down; the afternoon hovered for a gloriously extended length. They were young and life was long. There was no rush to decide anything more, only a journey to take.

With these hands, I will bring to you
A tender love, as warm as May
And with these hands, I'll provide for you
Should there be a stormy sea, I'll turn the tide for you
Oh, and I'll never let you go
-Tom Jones