It was no one’s fault: a catch and a lurch as he sat in the back of the truck, legs dangling, half asleep. The planet stopped him or he would still be falling. No cars came by, but evening did – softly -as he lay there. A maple tree grew at the side of the road. The moon grew from a branch of the tree, detached itself and floated up to clouds where it became embedded in the misty horizontal filaments. But this was all a dream to him as he lay in the middle of the road.
An ivory hand, soft and cool, touched him. The moon was now a stark, unforgiving 60-watt bulb in a motel room, the sky a smoke-stained ceiling. The road had become a shapeless mattress on an untrustworthy frame. He raised his hand to touch the smooth, vague fingers floating above, but failed. He could not tell if his eyes were open. He stopped trying.
A dull sun and duller moon bookended an indecisive sky as the natural man sat on the edge of a bed that would groan under the weight of a heavy thought. He had his elbows on his knees; you could count the vertebrae of his spine; his ribs; old black bruises; scars that had healed as pink or white, mementos of actions or reactions accidental or intentional to or from man or nature. Though other men bore reciprocal scars, nature showed none.
Once, he took a sledgehammer to a car that ran out of gas between Marlene and Deanna. He kicked a road that went on too long. He pissed into the gully that ate his home in a mudslide. He slugged the mirror off his motorcycle when it decided that it had gone far enough.
These battles were the inescapable gadflies that kept him moving. Actually, the relationship was the reverse: it was the moving that created the gadflies. Psychologists would say he was the pursuer and the pursued. So would your average bartender.
He tried to raise himself: he wasn’t ready. He fell back into the sprained bed and it resumed the shape of a hammock. Fine with him.
He was dreaming about a book, of all things. He wanted to see the cover. The book would not cooperate: he could only fumble through the pages. He could never get the cover to face him.
Light came and went, shadows rolled over him, he recognized thirst and pain, vertigo and inertia. A hand felt his head, but he could not see the face. He looked up at the window, but could not tell the grey of dusk from the grey of dawn, and for some reason he wanted rain. He wanted to hear it. He wanted to feel it: maybe a little thunder and lightning could break this grey fog.
The knock on the door was heard a million miles away. He couldn’t find his voice. The door opened slowly and someone – a woman – looked in.
“You’re awake. How you feeling?” It was the woman’s voice. He couldn’t see her yet. He thought he heard himself reply, but the voice didn’t sound like his.
“How about some coffee? I got some donuts here, too, if you got any appetite.”
“Sounds fine. Could you lower them lights a bit? “
“Sure. Sure I can.” She shut one of the two ceiling lights, the one that was directly above him. “How’s that?”
She watched him reach carefully for the coffee. “I put some milk in it to cool it down.” He sipped the coffee, sighed deeply, and took another sip. Life. She sat in the other chair, leaned over and broke one of the donuts into small pieces. “Try a little. I bought ‘em fresh. They’re still pretty soft.” He took a piece and let it dissolve in his mouth. He closed his eyes.
“Good, huh?” He opened his eyes and turned to look at her.
“You the one been looking in on me.”
“Yeah.”
“You done a good job.”
“Maybe. You were a mess. You still don’t look so hot.”
“You sweet-talkin’ me?”
“Maybe I am. But you aren’t ready.”
He looked her over. She was an older woman. Nothing wrong with that. He took another piece of donut, dipping it carefully in the coffee. He felt better.
“When’s the last time I ate something?”
“Don’t know. At least two days. You been here that long.”
She knew he needed a little quiet, so she went about her business, barely looking over at him as he sat silently.
Another day went by. It was time to go. Love is fleeting, so why wait. The natural man leaned over and kissed the woman. Their lovemaking was a sweaty, musky, heavy affair.
The morning was cool. She touched the scars on his back as he sat and she lay in the bed. “You coming back?”
“Depends on where the next truck throws me.”
“Maybe you could lose your balance, help it along. Think of me.”
“That’d make me lose my balance, all right.”
“One for the road?” she asked.
“One for the road,” he said.
“May it take you where you want to go.”
“May I never see the day.”
They rose to it.
Image: empty road among the trees from Pixabay.com
literally stories 
Beautifully weird in the way dreams can be, with some gorgeous turns of phrase. One to turn over and over in your head as we slip into the weekend. Nice.
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Thank you, Steven. I am so grateful for your kind words, and especially appreciate the comparison to dreams. You are correct – exactly so. Enjoy your weekend. -TA
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This is one of those stories that doesn’t really have an arc as such but is complete anyway. We know things have gone before and we know things will follow afterwards but this time, right now, is where we are. I thougth the characters were well drawn for such a short piece and all in all it was excellent. Thank you – dd
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Dear Diane, thank you for understanding the story so well. I am extremely grateful for your comment. Be well! – T.A.
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T.A.
The now is what means something to the MC. Elusive as life. Well done.
Leila
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Leila, your comment is spot on and beautiful. Thank you for your kindness. – T.A.
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Hi T.A.,
The MC’s history and the lady’s humanity make for a very curious but human story.
Excellent.
Hugh
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Hugh, thank you for your response to the story. In a few words you’ve summed up the essence, and I am grateful for your perceptive and kind words. Be well – T.A.
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T.A.
I truly enjoyed the point of view in this story. What to leave out is a very important thing in short fiction, or any writing really, and this tale handles that crucial aspect with aplomb. It’s great that we don’t know too much about these characters and just get plunged right into their worlds. Somehow this story is well-grounded with enough details to make it happen while the leaving out of much creates a great sense of mystery. Good finesse, grace and balance. An excellent, poetic work.
Dale
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Dale, I am touched by your perception and your understanding. Honored by your good opinion. Thank you and be well – T.A.
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A mysterious and well-crafted character study. Very nice.
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David, thank you so much for your good words. This story means a lot to me, and I’m honored by your comment. Be well – T.A.
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T.A.
Some stories give witness to themselves. Like yours. It wasn’t the world of Natural Man that interested me, but the words of it. And at the end, he and they rose to it together. — gerry
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Gerry, your beautiful and generous comment will make me happy for a month. Well-expressed, heard, taken in, and greatly appreciated. The very best to you – T.A.
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I’m a sucker for brevity. The Natural Man appears to be a scaffold upon which a reader can create a story, or the writer or any writer can expand. He got into a physical fight with his boss, now he’s on the move until the scenery looks right. She’s someone who has a weakness for tough looking losers. Sorry, it’s not my story.
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Thank you for your comment. I’d never thought of the piece as a scaffold, but this is extremely intriguing. All the best – T.A.
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This line, ‘A dull sun and duller moon bookended an indecisive sky…’ arrested me; redolent with brooding somnolence. The whole story moves like sleepwalker. And boy, do I hope that woman (whoever she is, she is beautifully kind) rescues him, and maybe herself.
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“Sleepwalker” – an apt image! Your comment is so beautifully expressed. I often wonder: do we write the sequel, or let the open-end stand, to provoke or disturb thought? Good question. Thanks so much for your thoughts.
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Hi T.A.
You captured me with this line “ The moon grew from a branch of the tree…” I enjoyed the economy and significance of the language in this curious story. A bullet point in the life of a roamer.
my best, Maria
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Thanks for your comment and your good wishes, Maria. Both mean so much to me. All my best to you as well – T.A.
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