The Wounded Healer

One night my father, Raphael, sitting in his favorite chair, screamed that he could hear a voice telling him to write down what he hears. To him it was a powerful voice with authority that made him feel obligated to obey. He kept screaming; There is a legend among the people that the broken will be fixed, the silent will proudly proclaim, the fighter will find peace and the writer will become a prophet all of this because of him. Father had it written all over his bedroom walls and throughout the pages of his collection of journals. It was painful to watch my dad seemingly go insane. He had been through a rough divorce years ago after his dreams of being a successful author didn’t follow through. In order to make money to sustain us, dad took up fighting at amateur nights. Most nights he would win and we would have a roof over our heads and food to eat, other nights he would lose and he could barely walk home without my help. On both nights Raphaels head was clearly hit too many times apparently. Now he thinks he’s some type of prophet… I guess when you fail at writing anything to attract an audience, go for shock and awe?

I didn’t know what to make of it myself. On one hand I wanted to believe the poor guy after all he is my father and it would have been nice to have some good fortune rain down on us. But on the other nothing in his life was going his way, so convincing me of the inprobable was nearly impossible at this point. I did what I thought was right and called the town police. Shortly after their arrival they came to the conclusion that he was on some type of drug and brought my father in to be checked. As fast he went, he came back, the cops openly mocking him to his face about the legend he received. It hurt to see my father this way but there was nothing I could do about it. Periodically Raphael would talk about it but I thought it was best to ignore him. This only made matters worse because when you believe in something so intensely and even the closest of kin don't understand, you become desperate for connection from anybody...from anywhere. Sadly Raphael would find someone to vent to and unfortunately he chose his boxing ring “friends”, only to be mocked. Whether dad had a fight or not was no longer the determining factor on if he returned bloody or not. It seems my father had constantly been getting into fights because of being mocked by other fighters, especially a fighter named Kaiden.

Kaiden had been a friend of my fathers trying to help him stand on his feet but to no avail. My dad was hell bent on becoming the a successful author but nothing would sell. Eventually Kaiden gave up on changing my father and now took up a full time position of ridiculing him. Rumors began to spread around town about that cryptic night and it caused not just Raphaels immediate circle to judge him but it was everywhere. People would mockingly repeat the legend with staffs and halloween beards pretending to be some failed biblical prophet, or artists would leave graffiti on the side of buildings presenting the delusional prophecy in colorful fashion. My dad became the laughing stock in town overnight. This caused me even to be ashamed of him, I had to deal with school bullies myself because of this. I was known as the son of a idiot and this torture followed me until I went away for college, to continue my life far from this pain. But the straw that broke the camels back had to be when the local news mentioned it. Now even the little birdies knew. Dad had a hard time walking around in public, it seemed like everyone was taking jabs at him. He became violent and walked around with clenched fists waiting for someone to hurl an insult his way and to give them their just desserts. It lasted for a long time, however each decade that passed the rumors and the joking dialed back but the damage was done. My father was shattered and I could feel it in my heart.

My father was depressed in his older age, he stayed inside mostly, only to come out as far as the porch when most people weren’t walking about. He was hunched over most of the day rarely speaking to anyone even me when i would visit. One visit I decided to take my father for a stroll through town. My once tall father is now weakened by age and sitting in a wheel chair. It's hard to imagine that 30 years ago was that cryptic night now fallen silent just as my father is. As we move throughout town Raphael stares at the ground meanwhile clenching fists as people pass by thinking they will poke fun at him. I tell my father to relax, those days are long gone little fighter. I assure him that people have moved on with their lives or have forgotten the old tale. It’s hard for me to look into his eyes because I can see the pain and tension from all the years of bullying. Sometimes I have to break eye contact or I myself being to weep for him. My father didn’t deserve this and I helpless to fix it.

On our way through town an elderly man is walking slowly with his cane, crying loudly and coming towards us. As the person draws closer Raphael begins to recognize him;

“Kaiden… is that you?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s me!” Kaiden shouts.

My father tightened fists loosen as he remembers his old friend that once fought for him. Kaiden informs us that he met a tall man that spoke with authority and told him things about his life that he had forgotten. Kaiden explained that he was chastised by the stranger but the correction brought peace that he was desperately looking for. He said it reminded him of the legend. That statment alone brought tears to my father. Kaiden embraced my father and apologizes for everything he did to him. Raphael was slow to reciprocate the emotion but in time he too became overwhelmed and seemingly let his rage go for peace. They hugged and conversed for a few minutes and we went separate ways. My heart was pounding with terror and excitement at what I witnessed. It was like the depression was sliding off of my father. Like the darkness was being replaced with light.

Immediately afterwards we hear a group of girls screaming from an alleyway and I rush to get over there in time to help. A see turn into the alleyway, we see a group of three teenage girls shouting;

“It was him! It was him!It was him!” they exclaimed.

My dad excited to know if it was the same man who helped Kaiden asks the girl with the chain necklace with the name Abigail written on it.

“Who was it?! Was it a man?!” Raphael demanded.

One girl said he was tall, the second girl said he had scars all over him especially his hands. The third girl, who was Abigail, pointed behind us and yelled with excitement.

“It was HIM!” she said.

Raphael and I glanced behind us to see the graffiti of the legend still on the wall but a little more aged than the last time we viewed it.

“It was HIM!… He put his hands on our foreheads and said;

“Will you have mouths and remain silent forever?”

Abigail, now in tears beings to explain that she and her siblings haven’t spoken in years because of childhood trauma but when the man finished speaking she felt life come back to her and their mouths were filled with words again. Eventually the Abigail left with her sister shouting with joy down the street. At this point I am starting to get freaked out. What man could do such things? Why did he have scars on his hands? As for my father, he was enjoying this. Finally after all these years he has confirmation about the most pivotal part of his life. If it weren’t for his legs being weak, he would be jumping for joy. I can’t explain what is happening but I welcome the results that it gives my father. Excited, my father shouts!

“SEE! SEE! I was right! I am not crazy, son! Quickly, he must be somewhere close! We must find him! He can explain everything!"

Expecting another miracle for the broken as the legend says, we searched for hours in and out of town until I was too tired to move. Even the excitement of my father began to fade a little. Was this all a coincidence? Someone rolling the dice correctly twice in a row but not a third? Could it all be chance? This would destroy my father but as we had no energy left to search we called it a night with our heads hanging low. I stayed another day to watch over my father. I didn’t know how he would react to the prophecy being so close but so far at the same time. I was surprised when I woke up to chanting outside of the house. Scores of people surrounded the house with signs that read: Raphael, The Prophet, Old Fart’s Legend was true and many others like it. I didn’t understand so I rushed downstairs only to see Raphael watching the local news… Apparently they were right outside the front door. Raphael confused but excited told me to let them in, all of them. Reluctantly I obeyed and the TV crew welcomed themselves in as if they lived here and masses of people rushed the door. I hurried to the side of my father so no one would get to close. I was afraid this was going to be a cruel joke to send my father off into the afterlife but everyone’s eyes seemed to admire Raphael.Like they were waiting for my dad to speak because they were hanging on his every word. The TV crew set up the room to their liking with an interviewer, a lady named Genevieve, she was sweet but also direct.

“We have obvious questions first! How do you know him? Who is he? How can he do these things?” She asked with urgency.

“I don’t know that answer to those questions, ma’am." Raphael responded.

“Well… it was nothing but coincidence until we got a lead about a man named Gomer, he was crippled and now he walks… what happened between is that guy you wrote about apparently. That’s three for three!” she chuckled. Geneieve then calls forward her guests and calls them the three witnesses. Gomer, Abigail and Kaiden walk forward and stand in front of the crowd weeping. When they collect themselves Gomer asks Raphael what could he explain about the events. My dad took a moment to think things over and suddenly a smirk came to his face as if he had an epiphany.

"What's in a name, huh?" He began.

“My only experience with him was his voice. I wrote down what he wanted and I didn’t know what it meant either until now. After I was shunned by the society and practically made me a mascot of shame for this town, I had nothing but failures to my name from marriage to the books I had hoped would propel me forward in my career as a writer. I was broken just like Gomer, I was suffering in silence just like Abigail and her sisters, and I tried fighting the darkness to bring me peace like Kaiden. But now I see I am healed …simply by his voice. At first I thought the legend was about other people and finally it would turn my dream of being a successful writer into reality. However it turns out the legend is about me and my journey into my restoration.” Raphael responded emotionally.

After about an hour of questions from the people of the town. Genevieve asked if my father would name the hero something better than “HIM”. To her it wasn't good enough for a headline.

“Well…truth is I don't know much about him. He has wounds on his hands and has the power to miraculous things. Yet and still he still focuses on healing others instead of himself. Why don’t we call him…The Wounded Healer?” Raphael questioned. The title of the mysterious man was met with thunderous applause and a satisfied smile from Genevieve, she had found the perfect headline for her story.

"I got it! It will read as follows... The Wounded Healer, A Legend In The Making...". The crew eventually set up and outside of the property began conducting interviews with the three witnessess. As the afternoon came the crowd slowly drfited away and finally the new teams followed. It was just my father and I now. I held him and he wept thanking God.

"Asher... I can't believe this has happened. No, is happening! Everything I've waited for just landed in my lap! It's like a blessing with no room to hold it...all because of him!" Raphael barely finishes the sentence before his body goes limp in the chair. I rush to his side begging him to wake up but it is too late. He sits in the same chair he received the legend in ironically. Now lifeless in his body but his face with the biggest smile I have ever seen him have. He was restored and though I cant help but miss him already, I count myself most fortunate to have witnessed my dads last moments.

"Thank You!" is all I could muster the strength to say to him... this Wounded Healer.

"Thank You!" I repeated as I wept.