"William Lynch"
by Michael Dell

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Waking up in his own bed was a strange feeling for William. He almost didn't recognize the surroundings at first. Meghan was gone but there was a yellow piece of paper taped to the bedroom door. William didn't even know he had tape, or yellow paper for that matter. The note read simply "Come over."

William was somewhat surprised when the bathroom clock informed him it was only one in the afternoon. After showering, shaving, and clotting, he made his way across the hall.

He could hear the thundering of computer keys. Meghan was writing. He momentarily considered coming back later, but there was never a good enough reason to postpone seeing her. He gave her door five quick knocks.

"Come in!" called Meghan enthusiastically.

"I could come back later if you're busy," offered William as he leaned into the apartment.

"No, I'm all right," she countered, spinning around in her chair to wave him in. "I didn't expect you to be up this early."

"Neither did I." William took a seat on the couch. "I think you're having a bad influence on me."

"Yeah, it would be a real shame if you actually start to live like a normal person."

"More tragic than anything. How's the writing goin'?"

"Great. I think I'm doing some good stuff."

"What page are you on?"

"217."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive."

"My target is to get it up around 300."

"So you've composed 217 pages of a book?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I've ever even read 217 pages of anything in my life."

"But you've probably watched a TV show about some guy reading 217 pages..."

"Oh yeah, sure. I mean, it was a little boring at first, but it picked up. And besides, there really wasn't anything else on."

Meghan hopped over to the couch. "What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know," said William. "You seem to be writing up a storm, maybe you should just stick with it."

"I don't want to write all day, though. We can still do something. How about we go out to dinner tonight?"

"Remember how I feel about parties? I feel the same way about going out to dinner."

"We won't go anywhere with a lot of people."

"It's not just that. It's just always awkward for me because I don't eat anything."

"We'll go to a Chinese place. You can get an order of rice."

"I've got rice at home."

"Yeah, but this will be real Chinese rice cooked by real Chinese people."

"Real Chinese people, huh?"

"And they're professionals. They really know how to cook rice. You'll love it."

"I do like-a the rice..."

"I know, so this will be perfect for you. C'mon..."

"Which restaurant?"

"We could just go to that one over here in the shopping plaza by Foodland. I think it's a Sezchuwan Gardens. Or is it a Lucky House?"

"Lucky House?" asked William with some wonderment. "Hey, maybe I'll get laid."

"Maybe," stated Meghan in mocking agreement.

"Might as well. It's not every day you get to eat Chinese food in that close a proximity to a Radio Shack. What time you want to go?"

"How about six?"

"How about seven? That way we'll miss the dinner crowd."

"Isn't that kind of late for dinner?"

"You're asking the wrong person."

"Okay, seven it is. And I'll drive."

"I can't help but think that's some sort of reflection on my car."

"No, it's not that. It's just, well, okay it is that."

"I see how it is. Just because it's a little dirty..."

"The streets of Calcutta are a little dirty."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'll drive."

"Whatever." William stood up and started for the door. "Just come get me when you're ready."

"Seven o'clock," reminded Meghan.

"Seven o'clock," confirmed William as he shut the door behind him.

While Meghan continued to busily type away, William returned home and turned on the TV. Monday afternoon at two was a glorious time to be alive. Yes, that's right; "Columbo" was on A&E. He was so busy the night before that he forgot to set the VCR to record it. Maybe that's the real reason he got up so early, his internal Columbo alarm rang. It was the episode with John Cassavetes. Good stuff. "Quincy" was on at four. Quince had to track down a nasty case of gonorrhea. Five was "Get Smart", 5:30 "Mr. Ed", 6:00 "Dennis the Menace", and 6:30 meant, as usual, "NewsRadio."

He was flipping to "Seinfeld" when he heard Meghan leave her apartment. He listened as she locked her door, stepped across the hall, and walked right in.

"Ready?" she asked, still pulling on her coat.

"So you don't even knock now?"

"I'm sorry. Should I have?"

"No, I like it," said William as he turned off the TV and got to his feet. "I'm all for anything that makes my life more like a sitcom." He went back to the bedroom to get his shoes, coat, and wallet and emerged with a wardrobe question. "Am I cool like this? I got kind of busy and didn't have time to change."

"You're fine."

William sat back down on the couch and pulled on his shoes - a pair of black Adidas Sambas, the official shoe of slackers everywhere. The left lace was knotted in place but the right needed tying.

"So what's it feel like to be leaving the house three days in a row?" questioned Meghan with a smile.

William pulled his bow tight and stood up. "It's not something I'm proud of, it's not something I condone, but I guess I'll give it a shot. Must be the pioneer spirit in me."

"You're a regular Davy Crockett."

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Monkees' Davey Jones and his ground-breaking work with the tambourine, but I'll take Davy Crockett."

The restaurant was about three minutes away from their building. It was part of a multi-store shopping plaza that also contained a Phar-Mor, a Fantastic Sam's, a tanning parlor, and the aforementioned Radio Shack. The Sezchuwan Gardens was at the far left end of the united storefront and was known more for its takeout than sit-down business.

William opened the door for Meghan partly because he was being gentlemanly and partly because he hated walking into places first. They were only standing by the "Please, wait to be seated" sign a few seconds before a cheerful woman, perhaps a bit too cheerful, welcomed them and showed them to their table.

The restaurant itself was one long, slender room. The dining area was a bit cramped, with four booths running along the left wall and five tables scattered over the remaining floor. The hostess placed Meghan and William in the third booth. Another somewhat older couple occupied the first, while one of the tables was being used by two guys and a girl, all appearing to be in their early twenties. Business wasn't exactly booming, but then again neither was Hadleyville.

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked the merry hostess after presenting them with menus.

"I'll just have water," smiled Meghan.

"Make that two, please," said William, accompanying the line by holding up two fingers of his right hand. Visual aids are always a benefit. "Thanks."

The woman smiled and was on her way. Even though he already knew what he was going to get, William checked the menu anyway.

"Seventy-five cents for a large order of rice. I can swing that. What are you gonna get?"

"I don't know," said Meghan, studying the various entrees. "I think I might go with the Moo Goo Gai Pan."

"Really!" responded William excitedly.

"Yeah, why?"

"There's this classic episode of 'The Bob Newhart Show' where Bob and his buddies all sit around and get ripped and then order up a whole mess of Moo Goo Gai Pan. Bob's so hammered that once he starts saying Moo Goo Gai Pan he just can't stop. He's like all 'More Moo Goo Gai Pan!' They end up getting like eighty bucks worth. The kid has to deliver it on a dolly. It's funny stuff."

"Sounds like it," said an unimpressed Meghan as she continued to survey her culinary options.

"Bob Newhart drunk!" reinforced William. "It doesn't get any better than that."

Meghan looked up and grinned. "How could it possibly?" She went back to the menu.

The woman returned with their water. "Are you ready to order?" William motioned for Meghan to go first.

"I think I'll have the mixed vegetable platter."

The woman turned to William.

"I'd just like a large order of rice, please." He felt the need to add "And that's all." The woman continued to smile and reached for their menus. William felt he had to say something else to justify his choice in meal. "I'm going in for surgery tomorrow." The woman just smiled and walked away.

"Do you think she got that?" asked William of Meghan.

"I don't think I got that."

"Aw, c'mon! That was quality. Rice and water is kind of a lame dinner order. I have to say something. I've got two choices; the surgery line or I could say I just got out of prison. And that's all I got."

"You don't have to say anything. It's a restaurant not a court. You can get whatever you want without having to defend it."

"Easy for you to say, you got the mixed vegetable platter. And what happened to the Moo Goo Gai Pan?"

Meghan took a sip of her water. "I figured it was the only way I could survive the night without hearing more Bob Newhart anecdotes."

"That hurts."

"Besides, I think the Moo Goo Gai Pan has chicken in it."

"Why you say that?"

"The little picture of the chicken at the top of the page and its being listed under 'chicken dinners.'"

"Hey, you did go to college." William took a hit of his water and began looking around the room rather uncomfortably. He seemed a bit jittery.

"You okay?" asked Meghan.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just getting a feel for the room."

"And?"

"It's not too bad. Put a TV over in the corner and I think I could get used to it."

"See, eating in public isn't so terrible."

"If you say so. I just always have three distinct feelings at times like this."

"When? When you're in a public place?"

"Yeah," replied William as he adjusted the table's soy sauce bottle so that the label was three- quarters visible and in harmony with its surroundings. "The first is to get the hell out of here. But I don't really have that option since, like, you're here and stuff."

"And you've got rice coming."

"And I've got rice coming. The second is to fight somebody."

"Really?"

"Yeah, like that kid over there," William flipped a casual nod over Meghan's right shoulder to the twenty-somethings. "Don't look."

She looked anyway. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing. I just get the feeling he wants to go."

"You get that feeling, do ya?"

"Yeah."

"May I ask why?"

"I don't know. It's a guy thing."

"Well, if you're going to fight wait until after we eat but before the check arrives."

"Will do. But don't worry. I'm a pacifist. Me and Gandhi." He took a drink of water. "Not only do we share similar beliefs, we're also very close on the height-weight charts. Which makes me wonder if Gandhi would have been so peaceful had he been 6'4, 220."

"What's the third?"

William was still sizing up his imagined opponent. "Huh?"

"What's the third distinct feeling you get in public places?"

"To get up and do something funny."

"Go for it."

"There's a better chance of me fighting that kid."

The woman arrived with their food. No service is speedier than in an empty Chinese restaurant. She served Meghan's first; a heaping plate of steamed vegetables and rice that could have been used as an advertisement for the restaurant. It was a wonderful composition of colors. Then the woman gave William his lone bowl with a solitary scoop of rice in the middle.

"Thank you, it looks delicious," beamed Meghan.

"Yeah, thanks," said William, feeling very much like Charlie Brown on Halloween.

The woman smiled and floated away. As Meghan took the first few bites of her meal, William, with his arms down at his sides, was still awed by the presentation of his rice. He'd never seen it given in the shape of a perfectly rounded dome. He looked back to the kitchen door. "I wonder if I could get a cherry and some chocolate sauce."

Meghan picked up his fork and broke up the rice for him.

"There."

William looked back to his bowl. "Hey, rice!"

"How is it?" asked Meghan.

William paused as if to evaluate the taste. "Good body. Good texture. A modest rice, but a good rice."

"Better than Uncle Ben's?"

"Don't get silly. How's your vegetables and whatnot?"

"Excellent. You should really eat some vegetables."

"They make me sick."

"Try some." She offered her plate. "I think it would be a good idea to add some variety to your diet. The vitamins will do you good."

"Thanks anyway, but that's okay. I'll stick with the rice."

"Aren't you worried that your body's just going to shut down someday?"

"Worried? I'm looking forward to it." He took a bite of rice. "Why don't you tell me about the book?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Am I in it? I bet I am, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I knew it," grinned William. "I bet I'm the romantic leading man."

"Actually, you're the Mexican immigrant farmhand, Miguel."

"Yeah, but I bet Miguel gets the girl in the end, though, right?"

"No, Miguel gets run over by a thresher in a farming accident."

"Hard to get happy after that one. Seriously, what's the book about?"

"It involves a love triangle of sorts."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Current day?"

"Yeah."

"Where at?"

"Just a small eastern town."

"Sounds familiar. I'm assuming it's one woman and two guys."

"Yeah."

"And is one of these guys incredibly good looking and hilariously funny?"

"Yeah, but don't feel bad. I did base the other one on you."

"How comforting."

"I thought you'd like that."

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but similar themes have been explored to great length in the world of classic television. Take, for example, the episode of 'Dobie Gillis' when..."

"Does everything have to revolve around TV with you?"

"Yes. Yes it does. You know, when I was a kid I thought everybody used to see in black in white. I figured people didn't start seeing in color until shortly before the first full season of 'Get Smart.'"

"Why? Exactly what makes TV so special?"

"Would you like it alphabetically or in order of importance?"

"I would just like some insight into your unparalleled admiration for the vast wasteland."

"There's no need for name calling," warned William with a smile. He took a bite of rice and gave thought to his next line. "TV is everything life should be."

"How so?"

"Well, take 'Dobie Gillis.' Every time you tune in you know what you're gonna get."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Dobie's gonna fall in love with a girl and go to comedic extremes to try and win her heart, all the while angering his dad with his flightiness and receiving hilarious help from the great Maynard G. Krebs."

"Who?"

"Maynard G. Krebs. Dobie's best buddy. A beatnik slacker and personal role model of yours truly. He was played by a young Bob Denver."

"That singer?"

"No, Bob Denver. You know, Gilligan?"

"Oh."

"Anyway, no matter how hard he tries, you know in the end Dobie's not gonna get the girl and his heart's gonna be broken. Yet he never gives up. Before long he'll be back in front of the Thinker with..."

"The statue?" interrupted Meghan.

"What?"

"He'd sit in front of the statue? Rodin's Thinker?"

"Yeah, it was one of the show's gimmicks. Helped show Dobie's depth. So, like I was sayin', Dobie would always be back in front of the Thinker with a message of hope for the future. And Maynard usually throws in one final joke to send everyone home happy."

"And that's what life should be?"

"Yeah. Every sitcom episode is a perfect blueprint for life. There's a beginning, there's a middle, and there's a definite end. All the slow parts get edited out. We don't watch Dobie making lunch or trying to fall asleep at night. We don't see Dobie grow old. He's spared from time. He'll always be Dobie. And he's always on. He's always scripted. Life should be scripted."

"Sometimes I think yours is."

"But the best part is when the credits roll, it's over. In real life people never recognize when it's time for the credits."

"How is everything?" asked the cheerful waitress upon returning to the table.

"Fine, thank you," smiled Meghan.

"Would you like anything else?"

"No thank you. We're fine."

The woman smiled and was on her way. William set out to finish his rice. Meghan tried to change the subject.

"What time is it?" she asked.

William gave a quizzical look to his bare right wrist. He then proceeded to tap it rather harshly with the index and middle fingers of his left hand. He held his wrist to his ear for a moment and then gave it three more frustrated taps. Having completed the shtick, William's attention returned to his rice. "I don't own a watch." He scooped up the last bite. "Something about wearing a reminder of my own mortality makes me uncomfortable."

"Is there a clock in here?" asked Meghan as she turned to inspect the walls of the restaurant.

"Why? You've got another date?"

"No, there's just someplace else I'd like to take you."

"I didn't even know the circus was in town."

The waitress made a final appearance, bringing with her the check and two fortune cookies.

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"

The woman consulted her watch and answered back, "It's a quarter till eight."

"Thank you."

As the woman slipped away, William reached for the check.

"I'll pay," offered Meghan, stretching to snag the slip.

"No, I got it."

"Yeah, but I have a job."

"Good point." William surrendered the bill.

Meghan accepted it with a grin. "You could have at least put up a fight."

"Just another benefit of being a pacifist."

"Do the fortune cookies have eggs in them?" asked Meghan as she dropped eight bucks on the six-dollar check.

William carefully studied the ingredients on the clear plastic wrapper. "It would appear to be fetus free."

"You going to eat yours?"

"No, that's okay."

"Well, you at least have to read your fortune."

They both busted open their respective cookies.

"What's yours say?" asked William.

"Wisdom will lead you true. Yours?"

William did a double take at his tiny strip of paper. "'Tip big.' What the hell kind of fortune is that? And it says my lucky number is 'H.' The whole thing's a scam." He tossed away the paper in disgust. "Let's get outta here."

They laughingly made their way out of the establishment, wishing their waitress the best as they went. The pleasant Sezchuwan employee then cleared the table of all traces of the dinner. Gathered up along with the plates and glasses was a discarded fortune that bore a promise of true love.

"Exactly where are we going?" asked William as Meghan spirited them away to their mysterious destination.

"It's a surprise."

Using his vast cognitive powers, along with his keen natural instincts, William was able to deduce that the eventual goal was the Westmoreland Museum of American Art. Of course, it wasn't until the car actually began to turn into the Museum parking lot that he came to the solution, but then again Columbo only taught him how to solve murders, not deduce travel plans. Either way, he wasn't happy.

"It's closed," declared William before the front wheels were even off the street.

"I thought it was open till nine," countered Meghan with a sense of hope. A sense that was challenged by the vacant parking lot and darkened building.

"Only Thursdays. Every other night it's open until five."

Meghan pulled the car to a stop by the front entrance. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Why Thursdays?"

"I don't know. I think it's Jell-o shot night."

"You come here a lot?"

"No, I haven't been here since I was a little kid."

"Then how do you know the times it's open?"

He gave her a look that brought into doubt the need for the previous question.

"Well, let's go check the times just to be sure," she offered apologetically. "Maybe we can come back tomorrow." William didn't immediately take to the idea. He seemed quite anxious to leave. But he never stood a chance. A cajoling "C'mon" and a smile were enough in the way of persuasion to get him to open his door. It would have been enough persuasion for him to dive on a grenade.

She waited for him at the foot of the steps and led him by the arm to the main entrance. The Museum was an impressive building, for no other reason than that it was found in Hadleyville. It was located on North Main Street, across from the Blessed Sacrament Cathedral Church and just below the junior high. Despite its prominence, it was an architectural throwback. From the outside it looked more like an orphanage than a museum. It was a modest three-story, redbrick structure that screamed small town. No hint of Guggenheim anywhere. The only extravagance was a somewhat ornate four-columned porch that welcomed visitors atop a brief set of stone stairs. A line of full-grown elm trees encircled the entire lot and protected the elite realm from the maddening town. It was a peaceful, serene place, for most people.

An autumn wind sent falling leaves swirling around them as they climbed the cold granite steps. All the while William had to be pulled towards the entrance. It seemed he was approaching his executioner more than the city's cultural center. The fact the Museum was closed did little to dull the anxiety. Just being in the building's proximity was enough to disturb him, to remind him of what could have been.

A placard in the window proved his knowledge of the Museum's schedule to be correct.

"What are the chances of you making it up here before five?" asked Meghan.

"Slim."

"That's what I thought." She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the front window. "I have to work Thursday night. Maybe next week?"

"Sure," conceded William, standing on the edge of the top step with his back to the building. He cowered in its imposing shadow and busied himself with the sights of the passing traffic. After a few strained moments he defiantly turned to find her. "Ready?"

"I really feel bad that it was closed," said Meghan as she opened the door to her apartment. "I thought that would be something cool for us to do."

"I appreciate the effort."

"What do you want to do now?"

"I don't know. You should probably get back to writing."

"I don't have to."

"I was thinking maybe we could go for a walk later."

"Where to?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just around the neighborhood. It's something I like to do."

"Yeah, that sounds fine. When do you want to go?"

"See, that's the catch. I don't usually go until like two or three at night."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's really peaceful out. No one's around."

"Aren't you scared that you'll run into some crazy person?"

"When you're out walking at three AM, you are the crazy person."

"And this is something you like to do?"

"Yeah. I just thought I'd see if you're up to it."

"Well, I don't work tomorrow."

"You'll like it. I promise."

"Okay. Just come over and get me whenever you want to go. I'll try and write a little bit more and then I'll take a nap in preparation for the big event."

"Sounds like a plan."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got some things to do. But I'll be over around three. Cool?"

"Cool."

William returned to his apartment with a sigh of relief. Sometimes the same old rut can be healing. He slumped on the couch and fired up the TV. He watched nothing in particular until it was time for Letterman and Conan. One-thirty brought 'The Mary Tyler Moore Show,' two 'The Dick Van Dyke Show,' and two-thirty 'Cheers.' It was time to go pick up Meghan.

The building was deathly silent, as it always was at this time of night. He was, however, encouraged by the light sliding from under her door. At least she was up. He gave three soft raps. The door opened.

"Hey," whispered Meghan. It was a drowsy-eyed greeting.

"You sure you want to do this?" asked William as she stepped into the hall and locked her door.

"Yeah, it'll be different."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A couple hours. I just woke up. I'll eventually come around."

"I really appreciate you doing this. It means a lot to me."

She smiled up at him. "I always do my best to help the less fortunate." She hooked her arm in his and they were off.

Winter was definitely on its way. The air had a snarl to it. Meghan assured him it wasn't a problem. It wouldn't be much longer before the cold would claim these late night excursions. William tried to make this one count. He delighted in sharing another sliver of his world with her, no matter how mundane. And stranger still, she seemed to cherish the opportunity.

He led her along his usual trail through the dimly lit suburban streets. They passed the quiet houses and, as William had done on many a night before, considered the ordinary lives slumbering within. Opinions were voiced and theories constructed on each brick box containing its own individual story of importance. And they walked past them all, hand in hand, without ever realizing they were beginning to write their own.

Not wanting to expose her to the chilling night air longer than necessary, William decided to shorten the course. He elected to turn back after reaching the stop sign that usually marked no more than the quarter pole of his standard journey. She filed a faint protest but he assured her it was all the exercise he could take and needed to get home. After all, he was frail.

The return trip was made in silence. Neither one seemed to notice the lack of conversation. Each was content in the knowledge that the other was there. Sometimes that's enough.