They say it's never too late to make amends as long as the person you need to make amends to is still living. But what if they are unconscious and dying?

The hospital parking lot was pretty full; too damn full for such a rainy day. And I had no umbrella or raincoat; I had left my home in Flagstaff, Arizona and had driven to Albuquerque nonstop (excepting stopping for gas). I didn't have time to check the weather or even grab more than a quick change of clothes. I just prayed I had arrived in time.

A sales flyer from last Sunday's paper was still in my car and the closest thing to an umbrella I had. By the time I got to the lobby it was wet pulp coming apart and I was drenched. A quick duck into a bathroom and use of some paper towels turned me from dripping wet to just wet. Great. So much for making a good first impression on Ronald's family. Nuts. Not Ronald, Veronica. That's what her mom told me her legal name was, and had been for the last 25 years.

I got off the 3rd floor elevator and followed the signs... 3 central, general medical floor, rooms 301-338. Huh? I'm sure she told me room 343. I went to the nurse's desk to ask about it. The man behind the desk didn't look up from his computer as he told me "343. Dat's in da hospice inpatient unit. Downa hall an' tru de doors".

So I leave in that direction looking for Donna Hall and Trudie Doors. Sorry. I make lousy jokes, even in my head, when I'm nervous. And walking into a hospice unit makes me real nervous. I find the nurses desk there. "Uh, I'm here to visit with... Ralston, room 343?"

"Are you family?" said the unit coordinator.

"No. I'm an old aquaintance; I called his family this morning and asked if I could-"

"Are you... the John Banks who I talked to today?" A voice to my right called out from down the corridor. I turned to see a older woman with a look of weariness - and wariness - in her eyes. She slowly ambled down towards the desk.

"Yes, yes I am. I-"

"You're drenched. You look like a drowned rat."

"It's pouring out there. You're Mrs. Ralston, Ronald's" -DAMN- *sigh* - "I mean, Veronica's mother?" If she's over 4 foot 9, I'm Santa Claus. No wonder Ron was short.

"That's me. I need to update you on VERONICA'S condition" The emphasis was said with an icy tone. Great, just great. You're here to try to heal old wounds you inflicted, John - not open up new ones. "Things have changed since we last spoke. And I have some more questions for you. And If I don't like the answers, then you will leave immediately, do you understand?"

The UC suddenly looked worried. "Mrs. Ralston - is this man upsetting you? Do you want me to ask him to leave?"

"That depends on his reply, Frances. Well, Mr. Banks? I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

I adopted the meekest body language and vocal tone I could muster. "Yes ma'am, absolutely. I will abide by your wishes. I just appreciate you being open to hearing me out:"

***********************************************

She led me to a door that said "family consultation room". "Let's have a seat in here so we can talk. Then I'll decide if I'll let you see Ronnie. That's what she's called - that or Veronica. Not Ron, or Ronald. You said that you knew her when she was still in high school, so you would have known her only as a boy named Ronald." She squinted her eyes at me. "Almost all of the high school kids treated my Ronnie terribly. It was horrible for her - well, at the time, him. He was called so many things... he would come home and cry in his bedroom nightly. So why - nearly 30 years later - are you here? What was she to you, that made you come all this way after all this time? And especially, why - why are you here NOW? Ronnie's dying. DYING. She should have only her closest, trusted loved ones around her. That's really just me and her cousin, who is still in the room with Ronnie. So I don't think you should be here. But still, I want to know - WHY?"

Well, now I have some more questions of my own, I'm thinking. But I'm in no position to be requesting information; Ron's - RONNIE'S -mom is hurting. And angry. If I were in her shoes, I probably would be too. So, here goes... God help me. "Mrs. Ralston, I know how Ronnie was treated. I saw it every day. We had 2 classes together in freshman year, Spanish and Algebra. We were even friends for a whi-"

Her hand shot up in a "stop" gesture. "Ronnie, back in Eisenhower High School, didn't have any friends. None that I knew about. He was treated like a leper, especially after that incident at that volleyball party. So you're lying."

Ah yes. The infamous "incident" at Sherry Hauser's place. Our Spanish club had met there after we had worked the booth at the Cinco de Mayo fair that year. Sherry's mom was talking with Mrs. Salgado, and her dad was grilling dogs and burgers. We were having a good time laughing and playing volleyball in the back yard when I heard a scream from inside the house. Sherry ran out bawling "MOM! RONALD RALSTON IS IN MY ROOM and he's WEARING MY PROM DRESS!" Her parents rushed in while Sherry's girlfriends surrounded her as she screamed out everything she had seen in rapid fire high detail. A mixture of rage, disgust and violation was on her face. I could only think "Ron - what have you done? Everyone was already calling you a freak - and now they will feel they have proof. And they will call me one too, 'cause I hang around with you". Thank God, the police were not called, but Ron's dad was, and boy did he look angry and ashamed with his kid.

Big breath. Sigh. I run my fingers through my thinning hair. "No, Mrs. Ralston. I'm not lying. I actually would eat lunch with Ron at school. In fact, I tried to talk with him about how to act more "normal", so he wouldn't get teased so much. I got teased for letting him be around me - I was a guy on the football squad, hanging around with Ron, who everyone called queer (when they weren't saying worse things). I tried to stand up for him a few times. And then - after that "incident" - I did something really, really, bad to him. I have tried to put it out of my mind; I have asked forgiveness from God; yet the guilt has stayed with me. A counselor I'm working with has impressed on me that I needed to try to make amends to Ron - Ronnie - personally. And that's why I'm here."

She was still squinting. "So let me get this straight. You're saying that you were Ron's friend, even though you never showed up at our house, or to my knowledge had Ron over to yours. You were trying to get him to be "normal". Some self righteous guy from the popular crowd who "lowered" himself to try to help a "queer". And now you are trying to prove doubly how good and benevolent you are by coming to apologize for your failure to convert him to normal. All so you can feel better about yourself. Well let me tell you something, kiddo. The last thing Veronica needs right now is to be reminded of the horror of that freshman year. So you can take your smug request and put it where you put any other suppository." Now shaking with anger, she burst into tears.

I sat silently with my head hung down as she cried hurking sobs into her tissues.

Then... not moving my head - I whispered "I am anything but righteous. I know about Veronica. I found out about her life when I was trying to find Ron online to do this. What I discovered was a person who overcame more crap than I ever had to face. I am not worthy to be in her presence, and I mean that. Yes, making these amends will help me. But the main reason I want to do this is not for me. It's for her. If I thought doing so would hurt her more than heal her, I wouldn't be here. If you don't want me to, I will abide by your wishes. But I am asking you - as a man who deeply regrets his past - for permission to tell her that I am so sorry that I hurt her."

I continued to look down as she finished dabbing her eyes and nose. They have plenty of tissue dispensers in this room, fortunately.

Finally she spoke again, in a whisper. "What?"

"Um....I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch-"

"What did you do to her?"

Oh boy. Here goes. "I... betrayed his trust. I abandoned him in a public fashion.

"I know I'm saying 'him' instead of 'her', but when all this still happened he was still Ron. In freshman year, we sat next to each other. Ron was a short, small guy, and I was already varsity football size. It was my first time to meet him as we attended different junior highs. I remarked about his She-Hulk T shirt, as I was into comics; I found out he was too. We sat and ate lunch together that day, and that's the first time I saw him being picked on - some of the other football guys who knew Ron from before called him "fag" and "queer" and then jeered at me for sitting with him. I told them to blow it out their ear; I figured they were picking on him mainly because of his size. Then he told me that I would probably be unpopular if I hung around him. I asked why, but he wouldn't elaborate.

"The rest of the semester we would bring comics to school and trade them and read them. After school I would practice football for 3 hours, then go home, eat supper, do homework, and crash into bed. So I didn't have much of a social life. Even though I was on the football team, I was horribly shy around others. Really socially inept. 'Only dweebs still read comic books' the other football guys told me. But I loved them. Ron did too, and I felt a kinship with him even though I caught hell for it. We would always spend the lunch hour together. Sometimes he called me at night and we would talk about what we would do if we had super powers.

"Then one night he called me and asked if I could be trusted with a secret. 'Sure' I said. He then told me why people called him gay slurs. He told me about how he enjoyed dressing like a girl; that he had always wished he was a girl. That every halloween he had a different female costume. That he caught hell from his dad for getting into his mom's clothes. He told me he wished he had some real modern girl clothes to try on instead of just his mom's clothes. I think that's why he got into that dress at that girl's house, you know, at the volleyball party, later."

"He told you?" his mother said. A woman about my age came in and sat down next to her. "Are you OK in here, Auntie?" This must be Veronica's cousin. Mrs. Ralston nodded her head but kept those eyes boring right into mine. "What did you do when he told you?"

"I asked him how long he had felt this way; he said as long as he could remember. Then he asked me if I was disgusted with him and would stop being his friend because he told me this. I told him I would not, but that this secret should remain between him and me. I encouraged him to act more 'normal' in school so he would get picked on less, and to quit the halloween crossdressing. I told myself that I was telling him this for his own survival, but looking back, I was also scared to death that he would embarrass both of us."

"So, you were ashamed of Ronnie. Doesn't sound much like a friend to me."

I felt numb inside from what I was about to say. "I was ashamed of both of us." Now both women in the room looked at me like I was nuts. "Huh?"

"When Ron told me his feelings.... the first thing I said was 'I can't believe that I found someone else like me!"

Now their mouths were agape.

"I had been dressing in my mothers clothes off and on since age 7. I had daydreams about what it would be like to be female. But I was horrified of being found out (even though later Mom told me she had figured it out early). I told Ron no one could ever find out, and I hoped I would stop having those feelings so I could be just a normal guy. But Ron told me he was tired of denying who he was; that if he wanted to wear pink tees and dress for halloween, he would. He said he didn't know how, but he WAS going to be a girl one day. This scared the hell out of me, for his sake as well as mine."

"Wait, wait, wait", Mrs. Ralston shook her head and waved her arms like she was declaring a pass incomplete. "YOU are transgendered???"

"No. I'm not. By senior year, I had grown big and tall, was a football star, and discovered how much I liked being the male in a male-female relationship. I have no more deep urges to be a woman... although I find transgendered women unusually attractive. That's about it. But back in freshman year, I felt I had that compulsion in common with Ron, though he was more committed to it. I spent time covering for him, and encouraging him to lay low with this behavior, so we could survive high school without being pariahs. He invited me over to his place a few times after football season ended, but each time I said I was too busy studying - I was afraid to be seen as too close to him. In spite of that treatment, he still considered me his friend.

"Then the incident at Sherry's house happened. The next day at lunch, Ron got confronted by some of Sherry's friends and some football players about what a freak he was. Ron snapped. He started yelling back at them, standing up on the lunchroom chair so he could look them in the eye. I was just coming out of the lunch line, headed towards our table, when I saw him jump on the chair. I stopped and stood there with my heart dropping to my feet. Ron was yelling 'I am not a faggot! I'm not a queer! I'm a GIRL! In my heart, I am a girl! And I'm not alone - I'm not the only one who has these feelings! I'm NOT! - am I, John?' - Ron turned his head towards me. Every other head in the cafeteria did too.

"I stood there, holding my tray, facing a now silent group of staring classmates, half of them stopped in mid-chew. I felt like I was going to pass out. Then, suddenly, I felt a little anger towards Ron. He had betrayed me in public. So... I betrayed him. I laughed at him, called him a freak and a fairy, and told him that since I had seen what had happened at Sherry's there was no way I would be sitting, or eating, or associating with him ever again. I walked to the far side of the room to the jock's tables and said "Boy! You spend most of the year trying to reform a freak, but I'm through playing missionary!" That got a good laugh out of the cool kids, and started me on the road to being accepted into their world. I didn't speak to Ron for the whole rest of the month, and then school was out. By next fall, I heard he had moved away. I liked my new status in the jock clique... but whenever I thought of Ron I felt like.."

"The traitor," Mrs. Ralston whispered. "You're the traitor that Ronnie told me about! She never gave me your name or any other details, just that there was one person in her past who had betrayed her in a way no one else had - humiliated her publicly, broken her trust... she said you were the reason she found it hard to trust anyone!" Oddly, she spoke those words not so much in anger, more with a wonder of discovery. "After freshman year Ronnie begged to be allowed to move away. His aunt in California offered to take him in. Turns out she enrolled him in a school that accepted transgendered children - Harvey Milk academy. So Ron started living full time as Veronica and never looked back. My husband, Harold, wanted to disown him; I didn't know what to think, but I did want my child back in my life, male or female. She started hormones through a doctor there. After graduation, she became a pornography star until she collected enough money, then had her - you know - surgery "down there". One day I get a phone call from my new daughter. I was so excited - I just wanted Ronnie back in my life. Harold didn't feel the same, and we split up over it eventually. For the last 14 years or so, we've - Ronnie and me - been living in the same town, though she insists on having her own place. She got trained and then worked as a herbologist - that's what I call those natural healers - and something called Reiki. When she started having blood in her stool, well, that's the first sign that she had that something was wrong inside, and we found that she had colon cancer spreading everywhere. It was stage 4- and voila, here we are, with cancer eating up the body she worked so hard to get. The pain got so bad that she finally allowed me to put her here where they could deal with it. But she's gotten weak, so weak.... She hasn't been talking or even waking up for the last 4 hours now. So, I'm afraid you're a little too late for her to forgive you. I don't even know if she hears us anymore."

Oh God. I'm too late. By four hours, I'm too late.

Now with a look more of frustration than malice, she opined "Why did you wait so long to try to make this right?"

*Sigh*. Do I go into that swamp? Do I tell them about the alcohol problem that finally became full blown alcoholism? About the 3 failed marriages? The estranged kids who will have nothing to do with me?The near loss of my career? How I've been sober for only 20 months now? How each unresolved offense or anything that causes me guilt, or shame, or anger - brings up the urge to drink again? That this is part of my work to clean up my past so I can stay sober? That I would cut off my arm if that's what it took to bring healing to all the wounds I've inflicted on others? Do I really want to tell all that?

No. No, I don't.

"I've... only recently realized that no matter what, I have to make amends for my past behavior. I believe as long as a person is living, I still have a chance to make amends." Lame.

But it's enough. "Okay. I think I understand. But seeing as Ronnie is unconscious, I don't see how you can do it now."

"Mrs. Ralston... are you sure that she's totally in a coma? Is there a chance she could still hear someone talking to her?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? .... Are you saying you'd like to try anyway?" My head nods vigorously. "Okay then," she says with one eyebrow raised, "but I'm gonna be in there with you. And If I don't like what you say, you leave immediately. Agreed?"

"Yes, ma;am."

The younger woman speaks up. "By the way, I'm Tina, Veronica's cousin." "Nice to meet you, Tina. John Banks."

"I'm sorry Tina, how rude of me" Mrs. Ralston says, then turns back to me."Before you see her, realize that you'll be looking at the shell of her body that cancer has ravaged. She started off and on bleeding from her bottom pretty bad 2 days ago, and she's been getting worse - weaker by the hour, it seems. The aide cleaned her up again just before you came, but if she's bled again, it won't smell very nice in there." She pulled a pad computer from her large purse. "THIS is how my Veronica looked last year-"

I saw a picture of a woman with long, dark, curly hair; wearing a floppy hat, and a slight Mona Lisa type smile. A red knit shirt. Those deep blue eyes I remember from 1985. She was beautiful. Radiant. It was more gorgeous than the photo I found of her in my online search. I felt myself attracted to this woman. I wonder what it would have been like to hold her... FOCUS, John. You have a mission to accomplish, not a fantasy romance to get lost in.

"-and to me, that embodies who she is. Her soul is still as beautiful as that photo - and always will be." Mrs. R is tearing up again.

--------------------------------------------------

We arrive at the room, and Mrs. Ralston goes in. I follow, then Tina. I look at the figure in the bed. She looks nothing like the picture I saw online, nor the one just showed to me. Lying on her back, asleep; eyes closed, with a slight look of... discomfort?... in her face (at least, with her brow furrowed, that's what it looks like to me). Pale as a sheet. Cheeks, temples sunken in. Belly slightly swollen on her otherwise gaunt frame. Only the sparsest of hair on her head - chemo side effect, I'm guessing. Mrs. R. is rapidly lighting some scented candles, but there is a thick odor of - how do I describe it? A mustiness? Whatever it is, I've never smelled it before and it's unpleasant. But I didn't travel all this way, and go through that confessional with her mom, to be turned back by a smell. I step forward to the side of the bed and carefully, gently pick up her thin hand. It's cool and limp. "Veronica?" I say softly; then repeat it, louder. No response. I see her chest heave with each breath, so she's still alive. But can she hear me? Whether she can or not, here I go. God please help me speak words that will heal and not rip an old scar open.

"Veronica. This is John Banks. We were friends for most of freshman year at Eisenhower High. I'm here to.... what I've been needing to..." "......." I rehearsed this. But I can't remember a thing!

"Ronnie, I'm right here in the room too. Don't be afraid of him, honey; he's not here to hurt you, and anyway if he tried, I'd beat him up and throw him out." Thank you, Ronnie's mom, for breaking the uncomfortable silence. She turns to me and gives a thin smile. "Go on, John,"

Okay. "Ronnie. I've been living with the memory of the things I said to you that day in the lunchroom - the last things I ever said to you. I think that that was one of the worst things I've ever done to anybody. I was a coward that day - too scared to stand up for my friend - and moreover, I was a monster for ridiculing you and abandoning you. You expected that of everyone else, but I know you never expected it from me. And I have continued to be cowardly, running from the responsibility of coming to you to apologize and make amends. And now, I don't even know if you can hear me. But if you can, or if your soul or spirit still can, I want you to know something. I apologize to you for that terrible behavior. It was totally my fault, and I feel so horribly guilty about what I've done. I don't deserve your forgiveness... but I humbly am asking for it, anyway. Again, I am so sorry.

"Ronnie - I looked for you online to try to find you. In the process, I found you and your bio and picture on that Trahssexual Women's Successes site. I want you to know, I am so proud of you. You followed your dream and made it real - you became a woman, an absolutely gorgeous and beautiful woman, and made a life for yourself, made a difference. I feel special just knowing that I knew you for that short time. I wish I had taken the opportunity to do this earlier and tell you this before... before all this happened with you.... but to be honest, I figured you probably hated my guts and that I deserved it.

"Thank you for listening to me, Ronnie." Said with false hope. I saw no response. I got through it. How about that. I thank Mrs. Ralston and Tina. I gently let go of Veronica's hand-

But she has ahold of my hand now. A faint squeezing!

I look at Ronnie's face - her eyelids slowly open! Not all the way, but enough for me to see those blue eyes - and for the first time since coming in the room, I see my friend Ron. And the Veronica from the pictures. In those unmistakable, beautiful blue eyes. And she's opening her mouth to speak?!

"Book.... bag" a raspy voice emanates from those wonderful lips.

At that, Tina (who, along with Mrs. R, had a look of amazement) jumped up and grabbed a huge canvas bag off the floor. It was loaded with books - hardbacks, paperbacks, and... comics! I broke out in a wide smile. You never lose that love of 'em.

Veronica spoke again, a little louder. "Yearbook," she says, pointing to the bag, and looking at me.

Huh? I look in the bag, and rummage... what? In there is... the yearbook from our freshman year at 'Hower! Why would she carry... wait. There's something in it keeping it from being closed tightly, like some papers near the back... I open it up to that area.

On the 2 pages of the open yearbook are multiple yellow sticky notes. They cover both pages completely, except for a small rectangular picture - my individual yearbook photo .

With bewilderment, I show this to Tina and Mrs. Ralston. "There's writing all over the notes!" says Tina. There is. Lines of writing that stretch across both pages, over the notes like graffiti on a wall. I'm still in a bit of shock when Mrs. R. - she's come up beside me and is looking at the book - says: "John. It's a letter to you." "To...me??" "John - please, read it. Out loud, if you don't mind." Mrs. R. is looking up at me with eyes full of water and a quivering smile on her lips. "O-okay" I say. My brain is still spinning.

It's dated 7 months ago. I begin to read....

------------------------------------------------------

Dear Jonathan. Oh my - I just realized I'm writing a 'Dear John' letter:). I am quite sure this letter will never be read by you. I'm writing because I need to. I have to finally deal with this.

So, John. I forgive you. From the bottom of my heart (and telling the chip on my shoulder to shut up), I forgive you. I release you from that guilt. And I will release the John of May 6 as an aberration. Because the John of all the days leading up to that - THAT John - is still dear to me. You made my life livable. When you opened up to me - I knew I wasn't crazy, I wasn't alone! You didn't destroy me on May 6, John. You saved me, every day that year leading up to that. That's the John I will hold in my heart - until the day I die. I love you, John. -Veronica Bernice Ralston

----------------------

I realized that I had finished the last 3 sentences reading them silently. Because I couldn't talk. A softball size lump had lodged in my throat. Mrs. R. and Tina were sobbing into their tissues. Something strange was... welling up in me. I turned to those beautiful, lovely blue eyes. I didn't deserve that letter. Not a washed up heel like me. I tried to speak, but nothing came - then finally bursting out. "Oh God! Veronica! *sob* Ronnie! I'm so sor-" I began bawling, standing there, holding on to her hand, using my other arm to shield my face, my shame. The smelly mess of decades of that guilt came bursting out of me as I cried like I had never, ever done before. It felt awful. Then .... it began to feel... strangely peaceful?

I felt a weak squeeze on my hand. I looked up at Ronnie again... she's saying something. It was too soft for me to hear. "Please, say again," I say. God, she looks so weak. Again, I can barely hear her - I try to read her lips. Did she say "come closer?" "Veronica, I'm sorry - one more time -please say it again." I put my ear up right next to her mouth.

And that's when - as her final act on this earth - Veronica slightly lifted her head, and kissed me on the cheek.

The End