A short story about the unexpected.

WATER.

He decided to stop at the coffee shop on the corner to kill the twenty-five minutes he had until his 1pm appointment. 

Before he could exit the rain soaked sidewalk, he heard a voice yelling, “Don’t you ever lie to me again,” accompanied by the sound of a slap, and he turned to see a boy of about seven hit the ground. 

He sat at the counter. The waitress put a glass of water in front of him as he ordered a black coffee. 

The water reminded him of the truth. He thought of it that way. An essential element. You needed it to live.

It was best in context. Like in a pool or a glass or a marriage.  

Out of context, it could be difficulty grasp. Sometimes there is too much of it, and sometimes there is too little. It was hard to hold on to and it could slip through your fingers. It could burn you. It could be too cold. Sometimes there could be long dry spells. It could be natural, or suffer  manipulation. It could be exactly what you’re looking for, or you could drown in it. 

The voice indicated the  boy was hit for lying. For not telling that man, (his father?) the truth. Was that true? Why did the man have to hit the boy? A reprimand for lying could take many forms. Like water.

He asked for the check, please. 

On the way to his appointment, he passed by where the boy had hit the pavement. The incident  continued to become increasingly familiar to him, slowly awakening an over fifty year old memory. 

There was a father. An accusation of lying. A boy. And, a slap. There was no sidewalk, but, there was a bedroom. The memory was muddied by so much. It was hard to recall the true facts. He does not remember lying. Or, what any of it was about. Now, he recalls he was fourteen when it happened, and that it hurt, in many ways. 

But what was the truth of it all? What had actually happened? What was the truth behind the violence? Isn’t a slap worse than any lie a child can tell?

He is sixty-eight now, and he wondered if there were other past truths he may have evaded. But he knew it was true that he never wanted to fully remember the bedroom slap. 

It started to rain again, and now he did not feel much like keeping his appointment, or thinking more about his father, but he would do both. 

He had less than one block to walk in the rain and he realized he wasn’t sure if the slapped boy cried or not. 

WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?