Jonny Zero
a novella by
Philip Gaber
~100 pages, $16.95 (+ shipping)
Projected Release Date: May/June 2026
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1.
Well, after a few tours, I came home from that war in the Middle East. I don’t know what we were fighting for. Minerals? Drugs? Oil? Whatever.
Just don’t tell my commanding officer.
Because he’ll for sure track me down and kick my ass!
Just so you know. This ain’t no Chris Kyle-Clint Eastwood-Bradley Cooper kinda collaboration.
I don’t need anybody to collaborate with me on this story.
I ain’t no hero.
I’m a grunt.
In war and life.
Share that, Pentagon.
2.
Anyway, I don’t even know why I enlisted.
People kept telling me they’d pay for my college; I’d get free healthcare, three squares, and a cot, blah blah blah. Just do your time, hasta la vista, baby.”
Civilians are always so full of opinions.
They just never factored in the possibility that my ass just might end up going to war.
Which is exactly what happened.
But I’m not here to bore you with all those details.
‘Cause you ain’t got the stomach for it, and I ain’t got the patience.
I guarantee you that.
And even if you did have the stomach for it, I’m not here to indulge your vicarious little pussy fantasies.
I’ll write that story someday.
Not today.
Maybe when I’m like eighty.
‘Course, by then, I’ll probably have forgotten the whole damn thing.
That’s OK.
A little forgetfulness is perfectly acceptable when it comes to war.
It’s not only perfectly acceptable.
It’s goddamn necessary.
Post-traumatic stress disorder ain’t no joke.
Ain’t no joke at all.
3.
Long story short.
There was a blast: a mine, a bomb, an improvised explosive device.
It doesn’t matter where it was or what I was doing at the time.
It filled my body with shrapnel.
There were cognitive impairments.
Visual deficits.
I ended up at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
Got a visit from President George W. Bush and First Lady Laura Bush.
W. said, “Not gonna sugar coat it, son. Never been to war. Try to do everything from the heart and according to God’s guidance. It’s not always enough. What you did was beyond my expectations; I can tell you that much. Not gonna speak for the Lord, but I sure hope it was beyond His, too.”
First Lady Laura Bush said, “We’re so proud of you, Jonny. Thank you for your service,” she smiled at me like she was trying to sell me on something.
Democracy?
Heroism?
Honor?
Glory?
Pity?
Who knows?
All I know is I got a hard-on for her that day.
She just looked so damn pretty in that blue dress.
When she left, I thought, I hope I meet a woman like that someday, and she falls in love with me.
4.
The Walter Reed Army Medical Center folks did their thing, and I did mine.
Equipped me with bandaged legs and a pair of crutches.
They discharged me and sent me back to the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Because my parents were divorced and consumed with their toxic shit, I opted to call this girl I knew.
Her name was Astrid.
She was one of those girls you could call if you were sort of kind of in a jam like that.
She told me her father owned some apartments above his dry-cleaning store; she’d see if they were available.
It turned out he had a room.
About the size of a large jail cell.
There was a cot, a metal folding chair, and a chest of drawers.
That was enough for me.
The living quarters weren’t that much more extravagant in Iraq.
Because Astrid’s father was a Vietnam vet, he said he wouldn’t charge me rent until I got back on my feet.
He even offered me a delivery job.
I showed him my torn-up legs.
He showed me his prosthetic legs.
5.
I didn’t take the job.
I was getting a disability check and figured that’d be enough to sort of tide me over until I decided to do whatever it was, I was going to do for the rest of my life.
I’d just turned 26.
I was beginning to hear “It’s time” a lot more.
It’s time to do this, that, and every other thing.
I think what they all were saying was it’s time to get my shit together.
But the people who were telling me that had never gone to war.
Felt what it was like.
The toll it takes on you.
How it sets you back.
It makes you feel played out, like you’re running on empty.
They hadn’t had their bodies filled with shrapnel.
Or those cognitive and vision impairments.
I hadn’t had to deal with all the tricks your mind plays on you.
I kept seeing all these amputee vets on TV being interviewed by reporters.
They all had such great fucking attitudes.
They weren’t gonna be sitting around feeling sorry for themselves.
I don’t know; maybe I was just bitter and hating on those guys, wishing I were just as spiritually mature and evolved as they appeared to be.
But every time I heard one of those amputees saying something heartfelt and inspiring, I turned the TV off.
I didn’t want to hear any of their shit.
Philip Gaber is an American writer based in Charlotte, North Carolina, known for his introspective and fragmented literary works. His books, Between Eden and the Open Road (2012) and Epic Sloth: Tales of the Long Crawl (2013), are collections of vignettes blending autobiographical fiction and creative nonfiction that explore themes of destiny, existential paralysis, and miscommunication. Gaber’s prose is noted for its humor, vulnerability, and experimental forms. He has worked in the restaurant industry and as a career educator, preparing individuals for entry into the workforce. Gaber spends much of his time reconciling his conscience and subconscious.