"William Lynch" by Michael Dell CHAPTER THIRTEEN It had been several weeks since William had seen his parents. It was something he had been meaning to do, something that had to be done. He had planned for it. However, the motive behind the scheduled visit had changed somewhat in the wake of recent events. Make no mistake, there was definitely a hidden agenda at work, a purpose would be served. Now there was just some doubt as to the exact nature of said purpose. . The timing of the visit was perfect. Not only was Meghan working, but Wednesday evening was traditionally family dinner night at the Lynch household. Back in the day it used to mean that William's grandfather and uncles would join in the ritual feast, but failing health and strained relations had rendered the evening a shell of its former self. Now, only William's sister, Elizabeth, was a regular participant. On the rare occasion when William did show up, he never actually took part in the breaking of bread. His unique diet meant that he hadn't eaten a meal with his family in over three years. Even when he was still living at home he always prepared his own food at his own times. His participation in family dinners was limited to sitting on a stool at the border of the kitchen and dining room and offering smart-ass comments and one-liners whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was scarcely more than entertainment, contributing little of significance beyond the occasional witty remark or sarcastic barb. Such was his lot in life. The infrequency of his visits was made all the more awkward by his still living in the immediate vicinity. His apartment was no more than ten minutes away, yet he still couldn't find time, or reason, to stop home more often. It wasn't anything personal. He just wasn't one to socialize, even with blood. His family gradually came to accept it. There wasn't anything they could do to change him. It's who he was. It's what he did. Like the child it produced, the Lynch house itself was somewhat unusual. It was located at the very bottom of a steep, tree-lined hill. Only one other house shared the street's address, and that was the Robinson's, which was just above William's and to the left. To the right were a no outlet and a wooded vacant lot. Another street branched off directly in front of the Robinsons and ran perpendicular to the horizon, featuring houses galore on either side. Growing up, it was a quaint suburban neighborhood. William could still recall vague memories of block parties and neighbors helping neighbors. And there were always kids around. Every day during the summer found the street taken over by a game of wiffle ball or some other athletic event. Friends were everywhere. It made for a happy childhood. William's partner in crime during those glory days was Gregg Schneider. The two were virtually inseparable. Gregg, who was two years older, served the dual role of big brother and best friend. Back then it was hard to imagine one without the other. Even now when William drove down the street his mind would flash back to all the great times the two spent together. He couldn't help but smile. He also couldn't help but wonder whatever happened to Gregg. It had been years since they talked, and even then it was just a few forced words shared as they passed on the street. They spoke as strangers more than friends. As close as they were, they just drifted apart. It happens. Nothing lasts forever. William pulled into his usual parking spot along the front curb. There was little question as to whose spot it was since the pavement was still stained black from where Ol' Blue had marked its territory with oil. His sister's car was in the driveway. It was a quarter after five. Dinner had already started. His timing remained impeccable. As he skipped down the slope of his front yard, which was now beautifully landscaped with shrubs, bark, and rocks of all varieties, William couldn't help but reflect on all the changes the venerable split-level had undergone over the years, the paved driveway, the cement porch, the change in colors from black and gold to beige and red. Everything was different, yet it was all still the same. This was the only boyhood home he ever knew. No matter how different it appeared, it was his home. It would always be his home. "Yello..." called William as he swung open the unlocked door. "William?" questioned his mother's voice from the upstairs dining room. William shut the door and took the steps with determination. "Yeah." "What are you doing here?" "You know I'd never miss the weekly family dinner." "You haven't been here in weeks," laughed his dad. "Yeah, but remember, I'm on the metric system." His mother started to get up. "Well, isn't this the pleasant surprise. Do you want me to make you something? I think we have some potatoes." "No thanks." He took off his coat and dropped it on the kitchen counter. "I just stopped by to say hi." He pulled up a stool along the half wall that separated the kitchen and dining room and immediately began rearranging the various knickknacks that occupied the ledge, finding each one its true home. His family had grown used to such behavior and didn't even allow it to register. "So, spaghetti, huh?" "You sure you don't want some plain noodles?" tried his mother. "No thanks. I don't even eat noodles anymore." "What about some Italian bread? It's really soft," she tempted. "No thanks. I gave up bread." "You gave up bread?" snapped his sister in disbelief. "Yeah, I was relying on it too much. Had to get the monkey off my back." "Are you taking any vitamins?" asked is mother with concern. "Sure." Of course that was a lie. The last vitamin he took had Barney Rubble on it. "You better be. Look at you, you're all skin and bones." "I prefer the term wiry." "I don't know how you do it," admitted his father before inserting a fork of twined pasta into his mouth. He wiped some sauce from his chin with his left hand and added, "But at least you'll be healthy. You're probably healthier than all of us." "But who could tell by looking at him?" cracked his sister. She'd get maybe one good line a night. William conceded it and admired her for trying. She held the floor. "So, aside from not eating, what have you been doing with yourself?" "You know." He shrugged. "Whatever." "Sounds constructive." "I do what I can." "Have you been painting?" asked his mother. "Yeah." "Anything good?" fired his father. "All art is good." "But does all art pay the rent?" William was starting to remember why he didn't come home very often. "So..." He looked to his sister. "How's Jason?" The question was asked more to change the subject than hear of his brother-in-law's well being. "He's fine" was her short response. It was kept short in order to allow their father the chance to pursue the previous topic. "Do you need money?" asked his father. "No, I don't need money," assured William. "Are you sure? Because if you need money it's okay." "But I don't need money," repeated William, shaking his head to further illustrate the point. "Because you know we're here to help if you need us. You know that, right?" "Yes. And it is appreciated. But I'm fine. I've got money." "You sure?" "Yes." "Because I don't know how you've lasted this long." "Is that why you don't eat?" inquired his mother with actual concern. "Trust me, everything's okay. I've got more than enough money. But I do appreciate the offer and if a time comes when I do need help, you'll be the first ones I turn to." "Just so it's understood," said his father. "It's understood." His father, content with fatherly pride, went back to twirling spaghetti around his fork. William watched as he soaked up excess sauce with a crust of bread and bolted it down his throat. His dad always ate fast. He blamed it on his time in the army. Conversation eventually drifted away from William's finances and eating habits, winding its way through such topics as the weather, the rising price of paper towels, and the extent to which the new drapes in the dining room were superior to the old ones. Somewhere in between, William's father got up and returned to the sanctuary of the living room couch. He would always slip away without notice. It was a skill he had mastered over the years. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. And there was never even a cloud of smoke or a wave of a wand to aid the illusion. The only sure sign of his exit was that voices would have to be raised in order to compete with the intrusive volume of the nightly newscast. The three remaining participants continued chatting, never giving the fourth party's exit a moment's consideration. After feigning interest in listening to his sister complain about her job, William skillfully steered the discussion towards a subject he enjoyed. "Hey, I saw 'His Girl Friday'" was all it took. Elizabeth had long trumpeted the virtues of the Cary Grant comedy. Its mention was enough to spark a debate on various silver screen offerings. A love of the cinema was about the only thing William had in common with his mother and sister. Each one sensed this and did their individual best to keep the ball rolling. They were united in their admiration for the old movie stars like Grant and Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur, but their tastes differed greatly in regards to the films of today. While he paid absolutely no attention to the big budget movies, they, on the other hand, were still susceptible to the major studio's siren song. Knowing that his family members could actually enjoy a film that has a corresponding cup at Taco Bell was a great source of embarrassment for him. They lingered in the kitchen and talked for a good half hour, progressing through the light romantic comedies of the thirties and forties to the reality driven films of the seventies. Needless to say, his mother and sister's tastes leaned more towards Frank Capra than Martin Scorsese. William did his best to explain the greatness of 'Taxi Driver,' but in the end he feared it still wasn't enough to sway their disdainful opinions. His defense of Travis Bickle was the last topic of the evening. Elizabeth had to leave to attend some sort of meeting. She said what it was for, but William wasn't paying attention. As his mother and sister exchanged parting farewells in the kitchen, William sat down in a rocking chair opposite his father, who was still lying on the couch watching the news. "So..." started William, realizing full well that it was time to address the true purpose for this brilliantly disguised scheme. This would take precision. "You've been good?" "Yeah," answered his father. "No complaints." William nodded his head in quiet agreement while pretending to care about the five-day forecast. After a moment's pause, his father picked up the earlier scent. "And you don't need money?" "Nope. I'm all good." "You know your mother and I worry about you." "Don't. There's no need to." "I know, I know. But it would make us feel better if we knew you had some visible means of support. What are you gonna do when the money runs out?" "I've got plans." "Would you care to share these plans?" William frowned a bit, in a funny way of course, and shook his head. "No." They went back to watching the news. His sister departed. His mother was back in the kitchen, tending to any leftover mess. It was shortly after the sports that his father spoke again. "I ran into Ed Weaver the other day. He asked about you." "Really?" Ed Weaver was an old friend of his dad's. William and Ed's son, Tim, went to high school together and used to hang out on occasion. Mr. Weaver was still a big wig at the Sony plant in nearby Mt. Pleasant, PA. For some strange reason, whenever William came to visit, it would seem that his father had always just happened to run into Mr. Weaver. That's odd. "He just wanted to know how you were doing." "What did you tell him?" "I said you were doing fine." "How's he doing?" "Fine. Fine. He's still at the Sony plant." "That's good." "He said that if you ever needed a job to just give him a call. He'd always be able to find something for you." "That's nice of him." William tried to act surprised even though his father had told him about Mr. Weaver's offer every time he came to visit. "Why don't I give you his number?" "I don't know." William didn't want to seem too eager. "I realize it isn't something you want to do, but at least it's something. If you need it, it's there. It's an option. Let me give you the number." His father got up and picked his glasses from the coffee table. "I think I have it written down somewhere." He was off like a shot to the desk drawer in the kitchen. William stayed put, cursing himself for what he was doing. "What are you looking for?" asked his mother, who was folding a dishtowel over the handle of the stove, signaling an end to the cleaning process. "I'm gonna give him Ed Weaver's number," said his father in a whispered tone. "Maybe he can get him a job." "He needs money?" asked his mother, in a similarly hushed voice. It didn't matter. William could still hear every word they said. "He says he doesn't, but at least this will give him an option if he ever does." "I think we have it written in the front of the phone book." "Here it is." His father scribbled the number on a piece of paper and tore it free from its note pad. He folded it crisply down the middle on his way back to the living room and handed it to his son. "It's his office number. Just give him a call whenever." William rolled his eyes and grudgingly lifted his arm to accept the number. "Thanks." "It will make us feel better to know you have it," added his father. "Maybe we won't worry so much." "Well, if that's all it takes...," said William with a hint of sarcasm, dropping the paper into his front shirt pocket. Mission accomplished. They never knew what hit them. When he left there were no hugs or heart-felt goodbyes. None were expected. His parents knew better. Their son was different than most. He'd float in whenever the spirit moved him and they welcomed him and enjoyed the time they shared. Then he'd depart, never making a promise for the future. It was taken for granted that he'd always return. That's why there were no heart-felt goodbyes. That night William once again found himself in Meghan's bed. And, once again, he was wide- awake as she slumbered peacefully beside him. Having adjusted to the darkness, his eyes were trained on the shirt that now rested on her dresser. He was still thinking about the number in the front pocket. Just knowing it was there made him uneasy. The danger was there. The threat was very real. He could become the thing he hated most. He could become just like everyone else. A decision had to be made. Stay the course or break away? His mind flashed back to a Robert Frost poem he was forced to memorize in school. There were definitely two roads diverged in yellow wood. Well, maybe not in yellow wood, but those roads were split like a mother. Which to choose? One thing was sure. He wasn't going to be able to make a clear-minded decision while lying next to her. He needed the night air. Never before had he left her side without her knowing. Doing so required every ounce of strength within his wiry body. He carefully eased himself off the bed. She never moved. He gathered his clothes and quietly made his way from the room, or at least as quietly as he could. A bone cracked with almost every step. A calcium deficiency can be a real detriment at times. She never moved. He was still getting dressed as he stepped into the hall. That's when a curious thing happened. He closed the door hard, too hard, so hard as to wake the sleeping. He didn't bother to analyze the subconscious motives behind the error. He made a brief appearance in his own apartment to grab his coat from the couch and then proceeded with great haste to the outside world. The cold bit into him as soon as he emerged from the building. A normal person may not have considered it all that harrowing, but, with William's circulation, anything below sixty degrees was cause for concern. The cars in the parking lot were his only thermometers. They glistened with a coating of dew. While the intent was there, it wasn't quite cold enough for it to become frost. It was still only dew. Why couldn't it have been frost? At least then there would be a reason for him feeling zero at the bone. As it was, it merely served as another reminder of his frailty. He had taken the first few steps along his usual path when his eye caught the grassy hillside behind the apartment buildings. There are times in life when a man should simply sit in the grass and be one with the earth. It owns a dignity that cannot be found in pavement. The hill sloped down and ran a good fifty feet before being broken by a line of trees and a creek that had dried up long ago. On the other side of the creek were some more grass, some more trees, and the main road, which was flanked by houses on both sides. There were no houses directly in front of the hill, only a vacant lot and a mechanic's garage on the opposite side of the road. Not much of a view. But then again, it was Hadleyville, not the French Riviera. William stepped from the gravel parking lot into the dew soaked grass. He could feel the dampness on his shoes. It really wouldn't be wise to sit in wet grass on a cold evening. He sat down. The thoughts screaming around his mind rendered the fear of pneumonia, not to mention the moist spot on the seat of his jeans, a moot point at best. Before any problem can be solved, first the facts must be reviewed. Fact: He had thirteen dollars in the bank. Fact: He had no way to pay the rent. Fact: He had a potential job all lined up that would allow him to live. Fact: He loved Meghan. The solution seemed easy enough. Call Mr. Weaver, work forty hours a week at a meaningless job, spend his life with Meghan, and live happily ever after. That's what most people would do. That's what everyone does. And there's the rub. He ripped out a stem of grass and pulled it between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. He knew he wouldn't be happy wasting his life as the every man. He went that route once before. It was a necessary evil. He sacrificed for his art. He promised himself he'd never do it again. But if he made the sacrifice for his art, couldn't he make the same sacrifice for her? She was worthy of such a gesture. And he knew it. That's why it hurt so much. He pulled the blade of grass in two and let the halves drop to the ground, replacing it in his left hand with the slip of paper from his shirt pocket. Holding the possible key to his future, he began to imagine what a life with Meghan would be like. The happiness, the joy, the contentment, the daily grind of work, the awkwardness of meeting her parents for the first time, the marriage ceremony, the doctor appointments, the parent-teacher conferences, the disgrace of actually having to own an alarm clock. It wasn't him. It simply wasn't him. The unmistakable creaking of the building's front door broke the silence of his contemplation. A crunch of gravel followed. Clearly, he was no longer alone. He looked over his shoulder as a shadowy figure cut its way across the parking lot. He knew who it was. He forced the paper back into his pocket. "Meghan!" called William, conserving his volume out of respect for the sleeping. She stopped dead in her tracks and paused, peering in the direction of the voice. She followed it to its source. William stood up to greet her. "What are you doing out here?" was his version of hello. "I heard you leave. When you weren't at your place I figured you came out here." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." "So what's up?" "Nothing. I just came out here to think." "About what?" "Nothing important. C'mon, let's go back inside. I don't want you to catch cold." "It's not that cold out. Besides, you're the frail one." "Yeah, I know, but it's no big thing if I get sick, I'm always tired and lightheaded." He stepped back onto the gravel and held a hand out to her. "C'mon." "Let's stay a bit longer. It's nice out. And I could do some thinking of my own." "Okay, but don't sit down," warned William. "The ground's really damp." She sat down anyway. "I'll live." She grinned up at him and patted the earth beside her as a formal invitation. He reluctantly obliged. There they were, sitting side by side under the serene canopy of night. Smile met smile. He began to play with more blades of grass. She pushed her hair behind her ear. They sat quietly, never exchanging a word. Each lost in thought, thinking of the other. Neither one willing to take a chance and speak the words. Decisions were made.