Read Online The Walking Man by Wright Forbucks - Free Book Online

to me to read about Michael Dukakis, or George Bush?"
    "Dukakis," I said. "I think we've had enough excitement."
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    I knew Maria was right. I needed help. I was a mess. But I couldn't turn to Dr. Bonjour. I lived in fear of the man. I spent half my nights waiting for him to enter my room with a pillow under his arm.
    The day after I disclosed my badness to Maria, Father Frank Malarkey entered Room 302 to console me about the loss of my long-time roommate. Father Frank, as he was known, made the rounds a couple times a year, usually around Christmas and Easter. He was the sole parish priest at St. Beatrice of Shyshire. It was difficult for the good Father to visit the one hundred plus quadriplegics at the hospital who claimed to be Roman Catholics. So in general, Father Frank just said hello then sprinkled our legs with holy water. My guess was Nurse Judy asked him to pay me a visit.
    "I hear you are troubled, my friend," Father Frank began.
    "I am."
    "Would you like to make a confession?"
    It'd been a while so I asked for a clarification.
    "You tell me your sins, then I'll forgive you in the name of God."
    "So if I tell you I killed a man, you'll forgive me."
    "Yes, my son."
    "Then what?"
    "I assign penance, typically a series of prayers. Usually five Our Fathers and three Hail Marys."
    "Sorry, Father," I said. "I think I'm going to pass on that one."
    "Not sure you believe in the sacrament of penance?" Father Frank asked.
    "Actually, I'm not sure I believe in the whole God thing," I responded. "At best, I think He's on an extended vacation."
    "I see," Father Frank said, without the slightest hint of disappointment. "Sprinkles?"
    "Sure."
    "Very good." Father Frank smiled as he spritzed me with a Windex bottle turned holy water dispenser. "See you next Christmas."
    Today, I'm still not a religious man, but I do believe in miracles and I'm open to the whole Jesus story, angels and all. The main problem I have with faith is that you have to believe in nonsense to get some. I think any honest person endowed with a minimal level of deductive reasoning would have to conclude we simply don't know shit about anything, and religions happen to convince us otherwise. This being said, I'm fairly certain some sort of spiritual world exists. I say this because the extent of my awfulness during the 1980s was so thoroughly inexplicable that I have reluctantly concluded it was partially powered by an external force best described as evil. I can come up with no other explanation for my obsessive desire to harm a fellow quadriplegic, regardless of his distinctly nasty disposition. Also, I am one hundred percent certain evil has a counter force that connects people in a manner that extends far beyond the constraints of a human body. And as the song goes, it is the power of love.
    In my life, I've been fortunate enough to experience varying degrees of love, including my passionate love for Maria, a child's love for my parents, and my brotherly love for Hal. I've also experienced a warming love generated by memories of friends who have come and gone, including the numerous patients and nurses from Leicester County Hospital whom I've remarkably out-lived. And strangely, despite my condition, I'm also familiar with fatherly love for I have two unofficially adopted boys. Their names are Smitty and Rodrigo.
    Following the death of Arthur Slank, I was slow to recognize the power of selflessly connecting with others. Consequently, I formed relationships based upon my needs; friendship was always a secondary motive. It was during this particularly selfish phase of my existence that I "befriended" Smitty and Rodrigo.
    I call them my boys, but I never knew the childhood versions of Smitty or Rodrigo. When I first met them, they were grown men, albeit teenage inmates at the Leicester County Correctional Facility. Originally, as a backhanded reminder of my inability to father a real son, both my boys referred to me as "Daddy." At first I was put