RECONCILIATION

by Thom Gabaldon

A walk in the rain never hindered John. He always felt he deserved it, somehow. Now more than ever it felt fitting. With no jacket and no thought to ever carry one (as it was sunny an hour prior, Phoenix during monsoon season had away of surprising people like that) he became drenched. His black shirt clung to his oversized body, almost exaggerating his frame, especially his man boobs. His long blonde hair matted, making him look like a fifth Beatle in a sense, covering his face.

Although his clothes were past saturated becoming heavy and cumbersome, his soul felt heavier. His girlfriend of nine months had just thrown him out. Well, he actually had until that Friday, when he got paid, to move out. Each slosh of his steps reminded him of almost every word said. Each whoosh sounded like an angry voice.

�I want a man!� Oh how those words echoed in his head, his heart, his being. It was a while before he realized he had walked about two miles in the downpour. Finally, he felt the wetness of his surroundings, the weight of his clothes, and when it finally sank in, he began to shiver from the cold. Fuck. Now what.

He looked around and would have had a clearer view of where he was if it weren�t for some dickheads in a large Ford F-150 passing by and splashing him. The insidious bastards could be heard laughing at their random victim of the hour. This also had to be part of the punishment for breathing. Somehow the anger John had in him towards the assholes du jour passed quickly as the memory of the hours preceding set back in.

Ok, focus, he thought to himself. John had no strength to speak aloud, even if it was to himself. His arms now clutching him from shivering, it took a second inconsiderate jerk off to douse him before he realized he needed to may be move more inland from the curb. His obvious punishments were coming in a fury now.

A nice dry place, a nice cup of hot chocolate, a nice warm place to think his cold thoughts through. Viewing his surroundings, he took in and weighed the value of a Taco Hell, Kentucky Fried Crap, the mall food court (no doubt loaded this time of day with the finest teen degenerates this neighborhood had to offer), and a major anchor store with a small food court. Great. Unfortunately, even though many other people will be soaked from the sudden cloudburst, he being the only �freak� of any place would not fit into any environment. Ok then, what cage will they stare at the monkey the least. It was still raining hard, but John knew it would let up soon (though in his world it never stopped raining) he had to make up his mind fast. Taco Hell sounded the best.

Wiping his hair from his face, John carefully carried his hot chocolate to where he decided he would be most hidden from public view. When he was in third grade, John�s mother spirited him and his two younger siblings to a shelter when it got bad between her and his dad. His dad had gone a major drinking spree and had gotten extremely violent with his mother.

During their tenure there she asked him to get a cup of coffee for her. John was always eager to oblige his mother�s requests, even if he didn�t feel comfortable doing so. Somehow, he had gotten careless, and turning a corner towards their room (all four had to sleep in a space no bigger than a flophouse studio) the cup slipped, hot drink spilled down his right leg, and his eyes widened in witness of the whole horrific scene. He was in more shock than pain, being as the scalding drink seems to deaden his nerves but what does an eight year old know about that, and they quickly rushed him to the hospital. John�s mother decided to drive him there, being as funding for the center wasn�t able to afford a car or van yet. Another public funded nightmare.

To this day he wondered how there was no permanent scarring. He remembered the outer calf blistering, peeling, and bubbling. John couldn�t take his eyes off of it. He long stopped crying and just witness the transformation of his leg. Would he be able to walk after wards? Would it keep peeling off and be nothing but bone? Would he need crutches? And how much cooler was this going to look?

It didn�t take long for the doctors to see him, after all, an eight-year-old with a coffee burn was more important than a twenty three-year-old with a bullet wound. The doctor was a kindly gentleman of about forty, noticing John�s fascination with his injury. Yup, those were third degree burns. Degree? He barley learned about longitude and latitude, and the weatherman had always said things in that term, but, burns come in degrees too? Some salve and a bandage, he could go about his way, to be the brat the doctor knew he could be.

Ever since then, every hot drink would bring him back to this part of his life. This as limited to hot chocolate since coffee made him wretch and those refreshments were carried slowly, carefully, about a good foot away from his body, until it was set on the table. And then, he would slowly sit as not to disturb the volatile substance. He couldn�t understand why, of all things, that would stick out the most from his memory.

But that was ancient history. This was a new nightmare with fang all its own, tearing into him as he blew, then sipped gently his refreshment. The usual post-breakup questions flooded his mind. How did it all go wrong? What did he do to piss her off so severely? How will he find a place so soon?

The wetness dripping off his head and onto his cheek masked new tears that dropped unsuspecting from his eyes. Why should he be crying? Surely he had to have seen this coming. The tension that grew between them was only thickening.

And it didn�t help he was brazenly girl watching in front of her.

So now it was a new life yet again. Luckily this one spawned no new offspring like his disastrous marriage. But still, this held promise. They met at a cab company, she left, he remained, they lost touch , then reunited there again after a few months. It only seemed right. What was the phrase she used? Oh, yeah. �I feel so comfortable around you.� So much for comfort.

So the decision was to grab a newspaper when the rain cleared up. Time once again for the flophouse specials. This, John was no stranger to. The first one he ever lived in was when he was kicked out of his mother�s house the day after he graduated. Spending two days homeless (one in the rain), he then found a lovely roach infested room in a motel in downtown Des Moines. Seventeen and armed with a voucher that would cover a room for thirty days (and sixty five dollars in food stamps, all received the same visit he applied at the human resources center. New term learned: emancipated minor), then he was on his own.

After the separation from his wife, it was another hotel in the burning purgatory known as downtown Phoenix (although Phoenix was supposed to be going through a facelift at the time, nothing could help the image that was already set in place. And why s always downtown areas? It�s as if �they� are placing the displaced in a central area to watch over them or shut them off from the rest of the world to spare everyone from such a visual blight). This time no roaches but heavy loneliness. Often, he would sit in his room not watching but just staring at the television, to have noise in the room to cut the empty, desperate silence. That was for one week. Then he moved into a weekly rental (inn, yeah right) off the freeway. Well kept, but places like that brought in the worst, no matter how hard the owners tried to keep them out. Sometimes, that�s what happens when you don�t do credit checks. The vermin seep in and although clean, they still live dirty, making the place as drab as any other. Or so John thought.

Not that his credit was spotless, nor did he ever clean his place well. In fact, he let it go to shit. He could only imagine what it was like when they came to clean his room after he left. And it was the place where he reunited with Sharon. More like it was her sixteen-year-old daughter that saw him and reported the news to her mom. After some talking, she asked him to move in with her into the new place she found. This floored John and he accepted with a �Sure. Why not.�

His ass hurt where those words bit him.

Looking over the empty lobby, he caught glimpse of a discarded newspaper. His interest piqued, he went to retrieve its contents. What luck! It was all there. He left behind the sports section and ravaged through the comics first. Can�t just focus on one bad thing, got to let the mind rest, somehow.

The last thing he read was the rentals. It was just like him, no matter what the situating was for him to do what was important last. John found a place in a crack neighborhood off nineteenth Avenue and McDowell. No vouchers this time, it was plain old cash from that Friday�s pay. And he had to work that day as well. How exhausting that was going to be. He sighed. It was the his first comment he made since he went inside the place.

The rain outside finally subsided, John being correct in his assumption about Phoenix rains, the sun will win out all the time. Only now it�s one hundred thirty degrees with ninety-nine percent humidity. And John still had soggy clothes on.

Downing the last of his long cooled beverage, he embarked on his journey to nowhere and everywhere. As he stepped outside, he shook himself off like a dog trying to get rid of some of the damp that clung to him. No avail. Oh well.

Back out on the sidewalk, his puzzled, troubled, and working a kilometer a minute mind was in full swing of trying to answer the question of what now. Even though he did catch that flophouse, he really wasn�t paying too much attention to any of the other ads in the paper. For some reason, he couldn�t accept the fact that it was over. To actually set himself in looking for a new place would admit another defeat in his already torture existence. Why? Why couldn�t this work out like he wanted? It seemed so right. And it fell apart like so many other things in life he was trying to acquire.

His mind became convoluted with thoughts of despair mixed with a million answers to what now. What now. What now? He kept asking and thinking to himself as he stepped off the curb�

He was gone. That�s all that mattered. How could she have ever loved him? It was she that came to him ad admitted her feelings for him. She initiated all the sex. And how does he repay her? Whimpering, crying, talking of feelings. What a pansy.

Still, he was good lover when he got going. And he was smart. And he never hit her. He could e a bit demeaning. He couldn�t see how that was so fucking frustrating. He had away of talking down to people as if he was the most important person in the fucking world. That was aggravating.

With him out of the way it was back to play. Sharon met many a fine man on the Internet and tomorrow was her first date with one of them. God he was gorgeous and hung like a donkey. She took a drag from her cigarette, thinking on what she�d do to him. The radio was blaring Motown oldies. She tapped her fingers in time, singing out of tune.

And what was that shit he listened to? All those bleeps, screams, and hateful lyrics. How can anyone go through life with such atrocious noise blasting out that filth. No wonder he was always so dour. God just get over it. Life is not that bad. Shit, she had a rotten life, one no child should ever go through, and she�s doing fine. Problem daughters maybe, but nothing to go nuts over. John just made the smallest thing so big. Except that small thing. She giggled to herself over that one.

But now he�s gone and Friday will be the last day she�ll have to hear him whine on stupid shit. Trial separation? Was he serious? He was out out out! And her new life was already in full swing, which actually just paralleled the life she led before she met him. It was if the black cloud dispersed and sunshine the shape of hard cock was shining down on her.

Her thoughts kept going back and forth from her new lovers to her old one. The argument still fresh in her and her finally screaming �I want a man!�. Sure he was a nice guy, but what did she see in him really? If she knew what pussy he was she never would have entangled her life with his. And he and her daughter were so headstrong that they always clashed. That got old fast. Even though she did admit she wanted to emancipate the young one, but then what of her grandson? She was already taking care of him mostly. It was becoming too much to bear so she did as she always does when things get that way, she shut it out.

The song was over and the next one started but it sucked. She bent over to change the channel�

June 27th

Okay, I�ve always wanted to start a book that way, but, little did I realize that it would be about me. But then, aren�t most authors putting a little of themselves into these things? Especially when you�ve read something like Walter Tavis� The man Who Fell to Earth, or Thomas Pynchon�s Gravity�s Rainbow. Books that drip despair so real, so true, you just cry. You know that pain. You are living that writer�s heart, soul, and being. You ask, �My god what happened to you?�

And isn�t it funny that in may of these, the main character is an alien, or human in an alien situation? The outsider, the stranger. It only makes the emptiness deeper. You have no place to fit into. You are on your own. The shit creek thing ringing loud and clear. But I know this is all academia and I�m telling you nothing you don�t already know and are you are sighing �No shit.�

And this will be nowhere near any of those. I�ve just always been attracted to tales like that and everybody�s got a book in them they say. It seems like everybody I know is writing one as well and that kind of intimidates me and sometimes makes me want to stop this. But I�ve just had an awful experience and I only am able to write when such things occur. Believe me, I have tried writing when I was happy, in love, or whatever and it always came out sounding so gooey, sappy, and just plain dumb to me.

So what happened? Shouldn�t hat have been obvious? I�m writing in the Scottsdale Memorial Hospital, Osborn Division. I was out for a week. I woke up a few times, head pounding, disoriented fo course. Sleep was welcome and I was more passed out than really sleeping, as in it was dreamless. Total black. The incident seemed like a dream and I�m sure you saw that particular clich� coming. But truly, you don�t dream, you don�t get up to pee, and you don�t realize anything has happened until you regain not only your consciousness, but focus. You see the room coming into view. Then you see the tubes, wires, hear the EKG beeping away.

Then you try to remember the last moment there was before all went black. Memory is such a fragile thing. The bump your head experiences can be compared to an office losing files after an earthquake. Stupid, huh? But that�s the only thing I can compare it to. I got jostled, I got things misplaced. Oh, the usual shit was asked when I came to. Who am I. Where am I. Why am I. All answered slowly of course. Certain things get misplaced, but can be retrieved, but only when you realized they actually are supposed to function. Sight, speech, thought all clinging on to their own dear lives to make themselves heard sooner or later. They don�t want to give up a easily as the heart does.

So piece by piece , it was all coming into place. I was in the rain. I was drinking hot chocolate. I was walking back out into the rain. No, wait! It stopped raining. That�s right. I went back out. I stepped off the curb. I�m in the hospital. Now the mental searching for what brought me here.

So, micro piece by micro piece, it was all coming back into place. I stepped off the curb. Did I slip? Was I pushed? I was in my own world. That much I remembered. Then I remembered the pain that delivered me to reality. It was sent by hood ornament. My vision became extremely blurry, what with my wet hair in my face and me being thrown over a car. My back hit the windshield while my head snapped back over the passenger side, hitting the rear view mirror. Okay, that explains the pains, back brace, and another brace on my neck.

I then remember sliding, slowly, over the hood and landing on the street. Since I was thrown (no pun intended) into this situation to begin with, I didn�t brace myself for that fall. That explains the cast on my right arm. After that I don�t remember much. Many people looking over me. Someone woman screaming �Oh my god! Oh my god!� And some woman�s voice crying, �I�m so sorry.�

I was in too much pain to gather any more information as to who or what was around me.