Jeremy Bastard is a New York City based producer, musician and DJ. True Mother Records lets him do what he wants.

Supplemental Reflections Vol. 1 - Phantom Limb

A Florida Vacation Rental Man comes and knocks on my door… He is almost definitely a white man but of an uncertain ethnicity. Dark hair slightly long in the back, it looked like it had been meticulously groomed with remarkably little success. He is wearing a polo style shirt (white) with Khaki shorts which are uncomfortably short. Surely uncomfortable for him, but absolutely uncomfortable for me.

He doesn’t speak at first. Eventually, he asks through mostly a series of gestures if I would like to come and see his rental unit.

I do NOT.

The man persisted in making several nagging attempts to coerce me to go by repeating the same arm motion." I reluctantly conceded to his will and entered his condo which was as I had expected, identical to my own. Two other men are with him. both are at a glance, dumpy but dressed identically to the first man. White polo. Impossibly short shorts. The man with whom I interacted initially seems their elected representative. Evidently, he was the one with “people skills.”

After a brief silence, which I am forced to break, I ask if he’s on vacation. He says “no, just filming”

“Commercials?” I offer,

“.....nah” he muses and physically brushes off the question. It’s early morning and very stuffy. With each passing moment, I am growing in my discomfort yet I have somehow less information then I had upon arrival.
I want absolutely as little information as possible, I want to do is LEAVE immediately.

And then... it happens.

Without any heed, He starts rolling around the room, very fluidly. Head over heels. All over the room. On each and every surface, though inexplicably not disturbing any of the contents of the rooms. Not a lamp budges nor an end table shakes. He certainly looks to be on each surface but with said surfaces, he does not physically interact.

I giggle at first because it is incredibly bizarre to see. but the two other men do not react, except to make their facial expressions as humorless as possible...so I stop giggling.. at this point, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room.

I panic, and with a dry hoarse voice make an excuse and leave. I am well aware of how rude I must seem. Neither of the two men seems to notice when I slip out, their gaze is fixed on the deeply occupied somersaulting man.

I lock my door on the way back in but turn around to find that he’s peeking through his blinds at me. I pitch myself into a different room.. at this point I can feel my pulse in my temples, I grab my phone and call a friend to try to explain what just happened, but she’s too busy to really grasp the gravity of it. Her conventional busyness is comforting to me, I hang up feeling slightly relieved.

Then the tapping on my door starts.

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap.

I am sure that it is him, but I am too terrified to turn around at this point.

Suddenly the arm that I thought was holding my phone has disappeared.

I had never made the call. My arm is missing. Not only did I have it earlier, but I had made a telephone call using it. I’d had a full conversation.

All I can think is “that man stole my arm.”

J.B.