"William Lynch"
by Michael Dell

CHAPTER ONE

He was never at ease walking alone in public. He always felt somehow on display. He would hope to run into somebody he knew, but it never happened. No matter what the time or the day, the mall was always teeming with strangers. And he wasn't the type of person who could just walk up and introduce himself to someone. They stayed strangers. He would rarely even make eye contact. He once challenged himself to look five people in the eyes before leaving. Never happened. His personal record was three. And two were by accident.

On this day, however, William Lynch felt bold. He altered his normal flight pattern and stopped off at the Waldens to peruse the magazine racks. Finding nothing of interest, he made his way to the back of the store and searched in vain for a copy of "Hailing Taxi," a now out of print book about Alex Rieger, Louie DePalma, and the entire gang at the Sunshine Cab Company. The television section was weak. William leafed through a book of TV trivia and split.

Before exiting the mall completely, he decided to give something else a try. He cautiously eased himself onto a vacant bench. He always admired the old men who spent their days sitting at the mall doing nothing but watching the passers-by. William had already mastered doing nothing in private, so this seemed like the next logical step. But he immediately ran into a problem. Where was he supposed to look? He didn't want to make people uncomfortable by staring at them. Yet that really was the whole point of sitting down, to watch people. He also didn't want to dart his eyes around and look all shifty, although in truth this should have been of little concern since so few people ever noticed him anyway. While he attempted to make up his mind, he decided to fold his arms and gaze at the floor. William consulted his wrist every few seconds in an effort to create the illusion he was waiting for someone. The illusion was somewhat hindered by his not owning a watch. He elected to get up before he broke out in a cold sweat.

The drive home was slightly more enjoyable. He opened his apartment door just in time to hear his phone ringing.

"Hello."

"Hey, Billy." The voice belonged to Norman Holliday, a longtime friend and cohort. Norm went away to college to become an educator of minds and returned a burnout. Well, he wasn't officially a burnout, but he was about a dime bag away.

"Hey, Norm. What up?"

"Not much. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the mall. I have to pick up some glasses."

"Dude, I just got back from the mall."

"So I guess you don't want to go..."

William stared at the blank canvas in the corner of the room. "No, I'll go."

While it seemed a might powerful to visit the mall twice in the same day, going with someone else was a completely different experience. William was much more relaxed. Especially so when Norm was with him. There was someone else to draw the eyes of strangers.

"So, are we out?" asked William as they made their way into the main Sears store after Norm was through in the optical department.

Norm was quiet, a glazed look covering his eyes. William decided to ask again.

"Anywhere else you have to go?"

"I'm kind of hungry," answered Norm, each word coming at its own deliberate pace. "You care if I get something to eat?"

"No, that's cool."

Observing the two friends together was an interesting sociological study. There was William, the gaunt, misanthropic outsider with hands in pockets and a distrustful veil to the world, moving with a comfortable uneasiness, embarrassed that someone might recognize him from his earlier mall visit and think he had nothing better to do with his life. And then there was Norm, bopping along to the imaginary sounds of bongos in his head, standing tall and proud, completely unaware that other people were within a hundred-mile radius.

As far as physical appearances go, they had a few things in common. Both were dressed similarly, clinging to the Seattle fashion scene in jeans and flannel shirts. Norm's shirt was buttoned; William's was not, exposing at least two layers of T-shirts underneath, the top being an ode to Nirvana. Both were roughly the same height, but Norm owned about an additional twenty-five pounds, making him appear healthy and robust compared to William. A golf club looked healthy and robust compared to William. They both had brown hair, although William kept his shaved in the back and around the sides. It was a simple cut. It had to be. He did it himself. It was just another way to avoid human interaction. Meanwhile, Norm favored the "unkempt" look. At least he was trying to make it a look. It was slow to catch on.

As the two were about to cross the Sears border into the mall, a woman in a floral print dress smiled and asked, "Can I interest either of you in a Sears charge?"

William quickly fired back with, "No thanks, I'm driving."

As the woman shifted a confused eye towards Norm, he immediately greeted her with the timeless, "I'm twelve."

Norm laughed. Norm kept laughing. Norm laughed a lot. His laugh, a mindless utterance free of inhibition, was funny in and of itself. It alone always led to more laughter.

The Westmoreland Mall food court was set up in a horseshoe at the opposite end of the second level. It hadn't always been there. It was added about seven years prior when the mall underwent a significant facelift. One would think the charm would have worn off by now, but the food court was always crowded. People need food. Except for William, who went and staked out a table while Norm waited in line. William selected one on the outer fringe of the eating area. Naturally, the three surrounding tables were empty. But that old problem of what to do with his eyes returned. Luckily, there was a flyer on the table heralding an upcoming music concert. William studied the paper intently. It was all but committed to memory when Norm sat down with his food.

"Did you tell them you were Grimace's cousin?" asked William.

"Yeah."

"Did they give you a discount?"

"No."

"Someday, man... someday."

"What time is it?" asked Norm as he opened up a package of salt over his fries.

"I don't know. You picked me up at about seven. I'm guessin' it's like 7:30 or so."

"That clock over there says it's nine."

William smiled. "Dude, that's not a clock. That's just the O in the Monchu Wok sign. Those are chopsticks."

Norm stared blankly at the sign. The moment of recognition was obvious. The startling revelation brought forth another barrage of laughter. William just shook his head.

"So, how are things at work?" asked William, slouching back in his chair.

"They're okay. I haven't gone the last few days."

"Why not?"

"Just didn't feel like it."

"Don't they frown on that sort of thing."

"I haven't gotten any phone calls."

"So no one's noticed?"

"My mom's noticed." The comment drew an honest grin from William. Norm took a hefty chomp of cow flesh and continued. "I think I might go in tomorrow. Last time I worked I figured out how to use the loud speaker."

"Oh boy. Any plans?"

"No, I'll just wing it. Then I'll probably steal another case of Yoo Hoo."

Norm quit laughing long enough to take a bite of his hamburger. He followed it up with a sip of Coke and then went right back to laughing. He slowed down to ask a question of his own.

"What have you been up to?"

"Not much of anything," said William. "TNT started showing 'Starsky and Hutch' again, so that's pretty cool."

"When's it on?"

"It's not on every day. They just show it at 5:00AM when the movie doesn't run long. It was only on once last week."

"That sucks."

"I've been tapin' 'em, though. I've got about eight so far."

"Cool," Norm took another bite. "Have you been painting much lately?"

"Little bit. Little bit. I mean, it's not something you can force."

"Right," agreed Norm.

"If I don't feel like painting I can't force myself to paint. I shouldn't force myself to paint, right?"

"Yeah."

"Exactly."

William returned to the concert flyer. Norm seemed content on finishing his meal and didn't even perceive the sudden lag in conversation. Several silent moments passed before he shoved the last of the fries into his mouth.

"Hey," started Norm, taking a long hit from his beverage. "You still want to steal the Big Boy?"

The question caught William more than a little off guard. Swiping the Elby's Big Boy had long been a shared dream between the two. A large portion of their high school careers was spent plotting the theft of the family restaurant's famous overalls-wearing icon. At its best, the idea was stupid, immature, and pointless. In other words, it was very symbolic of life in Hadleyville. While the notion of kidnapping the pudgy, plastic punk was always enticing during their youth, William had given up on the quest long ago. For William, hearing its mention again after so many years was somewhat surprising, but catching himself giving the thought some actual consideration was deeply depressing. He didn't think this was something Vincent van Gogh would do.

"Are you serious?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I really want to do it," stated Norm confidently.

"You're serious?" asked William again as he sat up in his chair.

"Yeah, why not? I'm tired of talking about it. I want to do it."

"You know, we're not in high school anymore."

"So..."

"So, if we get caught we could actually get in real grief with the law."

"We'd just tell 'em it's a prank. We're not going to hurt the Big Boy, we're just going to take him for a ride somewhere."

"So telling them it's a prank will make things all right?"

"Unless they want to be dicks about it."

"What would we do with it? Putting it in the middle of the football field really doesn't have the same charm now that we're 23 and all."

"I was thinking we could put it up at the Court House."

Hadleyville was known for its Court House. It served the entire county. The building itself was quite unique. Looking more than a little like the Capitol, it boasted a massive yellow dome that towered over the city. The Court House was the town's landmark. Its pride. Its identity.

"That's not bad..."

"I'd like to do it as soon as possible. You in?"

"I don't know, dude..."

"Here," said Norm, finishing off the last sip of his drink and standing up. "I want to show you something."

With that he began to unbutton his blue and green flannel. In a move worthy of Clark Kent, Norm pulled the shirt back to reveal a white T-shirt with a mug shot of Larry King emblazoned on the chest.

William and Norm first discovered the picture a couple years ago while they were hanging out at the mall. It was included in a book of celebrity mug shots. Apparently Larry ran into some trouble when he defaulted on a personal loan back in December of 1971. The Iron Horse of Broadcasting was wearing a brown-and-white checked shirt complete with butterfly collar. He had a frightened expression on his face to go along with mammoth sideburns and black frame glasses. The picture alone on a shirt would have been pure comedy, but Norm didn't stop there. Centered underneath the photo were the words "Free Larry King."

William was stunned. He could do little more than mutter an obscenity under his breath. Norm stood there beaming, knowing full well what he had just done.

William collected himself. "Where did you get that?"

"There's this lady downstairs that puts pictures on T-shirts."

"Is it a new store?"

"No, just a booth across from GNC."

"How much was it?"

"Eighteen bucks."

"Did you have to buy the book to get the picture?"

"Yeah, but once she made the shirts I took the book back."

"Did you say shirts?"

"There's one for you in the car."

"No shit?"

"The Big Boy is like these shirts," began Norm as he sat back down, wearing probably the most serious expression of his life. "They didn't make themselves. I had to make it happen. And look at the result." Norm sat up straight to display his proud possession.

"No argument there."

"The Big Boy isn't going to steal itself. We have to make it happen. We can make it happen."

"I don't know "

"Even if it doesn't work out, we'll at least get a good story out of it."

William continued to hesitate.

"Do it for Larry."

"So there's really another shirt in the car?"

"Yeah."

"No lie?"

"No lie."

"I'm in."

"Cool."

"You got me with the shirt."

William spent the ride home admiring Larry King's sideburns. Along the way it was agreed they would need help in snagging the portly prize. It was decided that Norm would round up the usual suspects and invite them all to William's place the next night for a meeting. The details of the scheme would be discussed then.

As they began to approach William's apartment building, they noticed someone knelt down beside William's car, inspecting the right side of the rear bumper. William drove a 1989 Pontiac LeMans, affectionately known as Ol' Blue. Smooth ride. As they got closer the "someone" turned out to be a very attractive girl that William had never seen before. He saw so few that he would have remembered. She continued to study the side of the car without even being aware of Norm slowly passing her and parking a few spots away.

"This doesn't look good," said William.

"You want backup?"

"No, that's all right. You've got phone calls to make. I think I can handle it."

William stepped from the car and began to approach the stranger. As Norm executed a crude three-point turn and drove off, the girl looked up and met eyes with William.

"Hi," she smiled. "Do you know whose car this is?"

Lost for a moment in her presence, it took William what seemed like an eternity to respond. He was never the kind of guy to have beautiful girls just happen upon him. He mustered his senses long enough to reply.

"Why? What happened?"

"I was just pulling in and I bumped it. I don't know what happened. Do you think they'll notice?"

William walked behind her and peered over her shoulder to inspect the damage. That wasn't all he was inspecting.

"It's not too bad, is it? It's just a little scuffed up. I wasn't going fast at all. You probably can't even see the scratch unless you're down here looking for it..."

"No... no... there it is," deadpanned William as he stooped to point at the gash in question. The instincts were kicking in.

The girl stood up and ran her hands through her hair. "What should I do? I feel just awful. It was so stupid. I reached over to stop some groceries from falling off the seat and the next thing I know I hear a scraping sound. I've never hit anything before. It was so stupid." She turned to look at William. "Should I leave a note?"

She was beautiful. Yet she acted like she didn't know. She was a grunge goddess in blue jeans, a grey T-shirt, and an old maroon cardigan sweater. She owned the kind of simplistic beauty that inspired epic poems and marble sculpture. Silken curtains of shoulder-length black hair framed the delicate features of her face. William was mesmerized and watched helplessly as she pushed the raven tresses behind her right ear and gently bit her lip while awaiting an answer to her plea for advice.

"No, don't worry about it."

"But I should really tell the owner..."

"You already did."

"It's your car?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Like I said, I didn't mean to do it."

"It's no big thing," smiled William.

"I'll pay to have it fixed."

"Don't sweat it. I kind of like it. Gives it character."

"You sure? You're being way too nice about this."

"Honest. Don't worry about it."

"I just moved in here last week. This isn't a good way to make friends."

"Are you in 3E?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I'm in 3F across the hall. I thought I heard someone moving in."

"That was me."

"I should really look out the window more often."

"I'm sorry, I still didn't introduce myself. My name's..."

"Wait, don't tell me," interrupted William, sensing an opportunity for comedy. "I bet I can guess your name. Give me three chances."

"Okay," replied the girl, playing along as she opened the door of her car to reach a bag of groceries.

"Mary?"

"No."

"Here let me," William tossed the Larry King shirt on his shoulder and accepted a bag.

"Thanks."

"Let's see, it's not Mary?"

"Not Mary," she pulled out another bag and locked the car. Together they started walking towards the building's entrance. William opened the door for her. She nodded in appreciation and happily stepped inside. William tried again.

"Sally?"

"One left."

They began to ascend the stairs together with her slightly ahead. William was still thinking how glad he was that Norm drove to the mall.

"C'mon, what's taking so long?" urged the girl, glancing over her shoulder.

"I'm thinking. Give me a minute."

He continued to think the final two flights of stairs and the walk down the short hallway to their apartment doors. She turned her key in the lock and grinned back at William.

"Well?"

William raised an eyebrow in a quizzical expression and used his third and final guess.

"Mary?"

She laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made William want to say something funny again.

"Clever," she swung the door open and waved him in behind her.

Even though they lived in identical apartments, William found the surroundings to be quite foreign. It was probably the lack of dust. Her apartment was, like, clean and stuff. Everything was in its place. And the air was fresh and crisp, void of any lingering paint fumes.

"I can't take credit for it. It's an old Dave Letterman bit," admitted William.

"Oh, I don't really watch TV."

The words stunned him. He set down the bag he was carrying and bent at the waste, resting his hands on his knees in an effort to catch his breath.

"You don't watch TV?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sorry. I don't even own one."

"What?"

"I just never got around to buying one once I moved from home," she explained as she picked up the bag from the floor and placed it alongside its twin on the kitchen counter. "I gather you enjoy television?"

"Oh, I enjoy the television," he said with pride. "So you just watch no TV at all?"

"None."

"That can't be healthy."

"I haven't had any problems so far. I don't really feel I'm missing much."

"Not missing much?" asked William. "You know that whole gasping-for-breath thing I did over there?"

"Yeah?"

"Another Letterman bit!"

"Then I am missing out," she grinned.

She pushed her hair back behind her ear again and offered her hand in friendship.

"My name's Meghan."

William didn't let the opportunity for physical contact slide. "William."

"Nice to meet you, William. Thanks again for being so understanding about the car."

"No problem."

"Do you want something to drink or anything?" she asked.

"No, that's okay. I think I can last until I get home. So what do you do instead of watching TV?"

"I read a lot. Listen to music. Meditate..."

"Meditate?"

"Yeah, it's great. You should try it. It helps me stay centered and relaxed."

"See," started William as he looked around the room, "watching Mary Tyler Moore does the same thing for me."

"One can live a full life without television."

"I don't believe it."

William thought he saw a TV on a desk along the back wall, but his hopes were dashed when he realized it was a computer monitor. This girl owned a computer. William didn't even own a calculator. Next, he noticed a bookshelf in the corner crammed with what seemed to be actual books. William didn't own a book, either. Well, that's not completely true. He did have two books: "Gilligan, Maynard, and Me" by Bob Denver and The Nick-at-Nite Classic TV Companion. But these were real, honest-to-goodness books. Literature. While he had never read any of them, he did know most of the tales thanks to his loyal pal, television.

"So, you've read all these books?" he asked, studying the various titles.

"Yeah."

"I really liked 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. I thought Gregory Peck was excellent."

"The book's better." she said with a sly smile as she stacked a can of green beans in a cabinet. "You should read it."

"You know, I've been told I have sort of a Boo Radley thing goin' for me."

Meghan slipped her new neighbor an inquisitive look. "Is that a good thing?"

"It will be if some drunk, racist farmer ever tries to kill you on the way home from a school dance."

She laughingly changed the subject. "How long have you lived here?"

"Almost two years."

"You like it here?"

"Yeah, it's a nice enough place. I can't complain."

"That's certainly a ringing endorsement," replied a voice from behind the opened refrigerator door. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a painter."

Her head bobbed above the door as she searched for the last of the groceries. "Houses?"

"Canvases."

She quickly turned and seemed noticeably impressed. She closed the refrigerator and took a step forward. "So you're like an artist?"

"Yeah, I'm like an artist. I guess."

"How long have you been painting?"

"Just since I moved here. That's really why I came here, to concentrate on my work."

"What sort of stuff do you paint? I mean, do you have a distinct style or anything?"

"I hope so. I do mostly abstract stuff. That way it's harder to tell if I messed up."

"True," she smiled, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Wow, to think I live next door to an artist!"

"It's really not that exciting."

"Sure it is! Have you sold anything?"

"No, I haven't really tried."

"What do you do for money? If you don't mind me asking, or it's probably none of my business..."

"No, it's okay. I used to work a few different jobs and just saved up my money. Once I had enough saved I quit 'em all and moved in here."

"That's so cool!" It was wonderful to see her smile. William never felt so important. "I wish I could be that dedicated."

"What do you do?" he asked, finding no difficulty in what to do with his eyes.

"Well, at the moment I'm working at the Barnes and Noble out the highway."

"There's a Barnes and Noble out the highway?"

"Yeah, it's just past Westmoreland Mall. It's been there for like two years now."

"I should really get out more."

"My dream is to be a writer, though."

"What do you write? Sitcoms?"

"Poetry mostly. But I'm trying to get a novel together."

"Would ya, would ya like to write sitcoms?"

"No."

"See, that was some more Letterman."

"Then maybe it's best that I don't own a TV."

"Aw, that hurts. What kind of novel?"

"Just your typical timeless romantic classic."

"Oh, is that all?"

"I'm suffering through a pretty severe writer's block at the moment. I guess it's the moving and all."

"Well definitely stick with it," assured William. "Future generations aren't going to care if you worked at a bookstore, but think of all the people your writing might be able to affect."

"Is that why you made the choice you did?"

"In a way. It would be nice if my life meant something. I don't want to be like everyone else."

"I can understand that."

"You seem to be about the only one." The sudden serious note brought everything to a halt. William did his best to pick up the pieces. "I'm just amazed that a writer and an artist could end up living across the hall from each other in good ol' Hadleyville, PA."

"It does seem a bit odd," agreed Meghan.

"A beautician and a bartender, yes. But a writer and an artist? That's like the Halley's Comet of career combinations in these parts. Sometimes I wonder if it's even possible for an artist, or in your case a writer, to make it out of Hadleyville."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just think it would be easier if I was in New York or somewhere like that. Surrounded by more artist types."

"I'm sure there are plenty of artist types around here if you look hard enough."

"Yeah, but who wants to look."

"Besides, talent shines through. I believe if you were meant to make it you will, no matter where you are. You know what they say, the cream rises to the top."

"But the top of Hadleyville is still pretty close to the bottom of everywhere else."

There was that smile again. She strolled back into the kitchen and picked a small vitamin bottle from one of the cupboards.

"So what..."

William interrupted before she could finish the question. "What's that?" he asked, nodding to the small plastic bottle in her left hand.

"Oh, it's ginseng." She offered the bottle. "Want some?"

"No thank you. I'm high on life."

She popped the tablet in her mouth. "Suit yourself."

"Isn't that stuff supposed to give you energy?"

"Yeah."

"Does it work?"

"I think so. I mean, I can tell a difference when I take it. It's supposed to help move the oxygen around your body."

"Oh, sort of like my lungs." He was even more thankful for that smile. "So you're into like herbs and vitamins and stuff?"

"I'm kind of a health nut. It's all just part of being a good vegetarian."

"I thought I noticed a lack of meat products among your groceries. So, you're a vegetarian, huh?"

"Actually I'm a vegan."

"Aw, that's too bad. What's the matter? Just haven't met the right guy?"

"No, a vegan. It means..."

"I know, it means you don't eat anything that comes from an animal."

"I usually have to explain it to people."

"I'm sort of one myself."

"Shut up!"

"No, it's true. I haven't gotten anything from an animal in years... unless you count the fifty bucks I won at the track last summer."

"Honest? Because it would be kind of nice to know another vegan."

"Honest. But my diet's even more limited than that. All I eat are potatoes, rice, and pretzels. And I only drink water."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Kind of carb heavy."

"I need my energy. No one said watching TV was easy."

"Seriously, why do you do it?"

"I've had some grief with my stomach in the past. Once I finally found a diet that worked I stuck with it."

"And you've been doing this for how long?"

"A little over three years."

"And you don't get tired of eating the same thing every day?"

"No, I'm all about discipline."

"I respect your will power, but how are you alive?"

"Beats me."

"And you feel good?"

"Well, I'm tired a lot. And I don't know if you can tell, but I'm kind of thin..."

"No."

"Yeah, it's true. And I do get real dizzy if I partake in any strenuous physical activity..."

"But other than that?"

"Golden. Plus I get to cash in on that whole heroin chic thing without the mess of all the needles and bleach." Yet another smile. William hadn't gone over this well since he danced like Rerun at his second grade talent show. He felt no need to press his luck. No wammy, no wammy, no wammy, stop. "Well, I should really get going."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for something to eat? I still owe you for the car. And I should have a potato here somewhere..."

"I appreciate it, but no, that's okay." Meghan followed William to the door and watched from the frame as he made the brief journey across the hall to apartment 3F. "I've got some stuff to do. And I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome."

"No worry there. Maybe you can show me some of your paintings some time?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. But only if you let me read some of your stuff."

"Deal."

"Have a good night."

"You too."

Their doors closed. William tossed the T-shirt on the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom mirror. He was relieved to find that he actually looked pretty good.

He was tempted to immediately knock on her door just to make sure that he hadn't imagined the entire thing. But his fear of being perceived an idiot outweighed his curiosity. Even if it only happened in his mind, at least it happened.

Not wanting to get too excited over one chance encounter, William forced himself back into his own private reality. He once again found himself face to face with the blank canvas. Surely he'd be able to cultivate some inspiration from the day's events. His mind was still racing. He decided to turn on the TV to help him think. He picked up a brush. But before he could place the first stroke he noticed Greta Garbo's face filling the flickering screen. It was "Grand Hotel". He put down the brush.

Letterman was on at 11:30. He cooked some rice while he watched Conan O'Brien at 12:30. He was going to turn off the TV and go back to work until he stumbled across "The Graduate." Finding the story of Benjamin Braddock was quite the coup. He couldn't pass it up. That was followed by a series of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby pictures on AMC. He fell asleep halfway through "Road to Morocco."