Will. Draft One.

by Christopher Atkinson


You hug me from across the center panel and I inhale your scent of peaches. You’ve told me you don’t wear body spray, that you’re not in high school anymore, but I recognize the smell right away; I’ve bought it for a few ex-girlfriends. Either way, I don’t care. You don’t kiss me and it’s okay because I know you don’t want to rush things. You tell me goodnight, I do the same, and you get out of the car and I make sure you get in your door before I pull away.
I don’t even remember anything that happened tonight; I just remember you getting to your front door, turning to face me, and smiling.
It’s with this image in mind that I decide to go out for a drive.
There’s a wonderful freedom in driving aimlessly. With nowhere to go, I could end up anywhere, which is exactly where I want to be. Wherever I end up is where I’m supposed to be. Every other time it’s been back home and I’m sure that’s where I’m headed tonight but it’s the sense of adventure that keeps my foot on the pedal.
Other images from the night start flooding back. The semi-romantic but mostly-comedic movie we went to see. The popcorn we got and didn’t eat. The soda we shared and the ticket money I had to slip into your purse when you weren’t looking. The way you cuddled up to my arm halfway through the movie and spent the next forty-five minutes in that position.
To be honest, it’s the best night I’ve had in a long time. And driving only enhances that fact, like the way it’s sweltering in my car yet I refuse to roll down the window for fear of losing your sweet scent. It’s cheesy and I’m not just trying to be romantic, it’s true. Everything perfect I’ve ever imagined would get tossed out the window if it were opened. Even so, it all just gets stuffed in the open ashtray. I don’t smoke so it might as well serve a purpose.
I hook up the iPod to play over the car radio and continue driving.
I don’t think it’s a heart attack. I’m too young and in basically good shape. But there’s something ambiguous stamping its big boot of pressure all over the floor of my chest. For a moment I can’t breathe, so I crack the window. I guess this happens every once in a while but the fresh air always helps.
An old Sunny Day Real Estate song comes on the radio. It’s kind of grungy but kind of poppy and I could never entirely understand the lyrics but the guy is singing his heart out so I know it means something. I think some clouds are rolling in because it’s growing darker and there aren’t many lampposts.
I keep my foot on the gas.
There’s a beep from my pocket and I hardly check texts while I’m driving but I hope it’s you so I open my phone.
It’s her. I’ve told you about her and the past I had with her and how me and her grew real close as friends afterwards. She wants to know if I’m doing anything important. I am, but I’m excited to tell her how the night went so I tell her I’ll be over in a few.
The song switches to some unsigned band you and me found on the internet. I forget their name but it’s fun and happy. I turn it up.
I get to her house and none of the lights are on but I’m used to it. It usually means she’s a little upset over something and maybe that’s why she texted me. Maybe hearing my good news will cheer her up.
I head inside. I hear some soft music coming from upstairs so I follow it. I notice her mom’s bedroom door is open and the room’s empty; she must be working overnight.
I head to her room. She’s half asleep on the bed with a half-empty bottle of wine on her night stand. She must be having a pleasant half-dream because she’s mostly smiling. I tap her shoulder until she’s awake.
Her eyes open wide when she sees me and she sits up, hugs me. I notice the music emanating from her computer is some sad acoustic song and I ask her if everything’s alright. She talks about her friend that she’s been “talking to” and how she’s finding out he’s kind of a douche when it comes to girls. All sex, no visible emotion, no sympathy, empathy, or any kind of -pathy. Girls are just walking vaginas for the harvesting. It’s like he has no willpower: He gets a girl lying in a bed and he’s got to put his private parts and hers together.
I tell her I think that’s awful and she thanks me, why can’t there be more guys like me, or at least why can’t she meet them. I know she had her chance with a guy like me before, in that me and her used to be together almost, but I don’t say anything because I know it wouldn’t help. She offers me some of her wine and of course I accept, she only buys the kind I like. In fact, if it weren’t for her, I’d probably never have found out I liked wine in the first place.
As she hands me a glass filled with the red liquid she asks how my night’s been. I want to tell her how great and amazing it was but I know by this point it wouldn’t cheer her up. It would just do the opposite so I tell her I’d just been sitting home all night with nothing to do. She says we can be bored together.
It’s funny the way how being “bored together” never really fits that phrase. If ever we’re bored, we don’t really feel together. We each step around the recesses of our own minds without really connecting for any length of time. If we feel together, we’re not bored. Me and her have a way of making each other laugh. Making the time go by. Making the wine disappear.
It’s that kind of happy drunkenness where you’re not really sure if your face is numb or if you’re just not paying enough attention to feel it. We had enough wine for most of the night to be a blur except for that general feeling of happiness and belongingness. Maybe that’s why I caved when she tried to kiss me. Maybe it was everything that happened before or the fact that I never truly got over her but was content with just being friends for fear I’d lose her completely. Maybe I just wanted a kiss so badly that night I didn’t care who it was.
Whatever it was, the music got turned up and the clothes got torn off. We hadn’t done this in three years but it was just as good if not better. We both got off several times and by the time we were done we were giggling giddly like it was our first times.
We both dozed off with smiles on our faces.

By the time I woke up, I had seven texts from you and three or four missed phone calls. You just saying you had a great time last night and you saying how I’m a great guy. Texting me a little smiley face :).
I replied telling you I had a great time, too, and how I hope we can do it again real soon. I almost forget where I am except when my belt jingles while I put my pants on, she wakes up. She smiles at me and tells me how last night was great and so am I and we should do it again sometime. I remember that I just fucked this girl because for three years I couldn’t have her or I was horny or drunk or whatever and I realize I’m just an asshole, too. I’m just a guy and it kills me to know it.
That’s why I wrote you this letter but I don’t think I’ll send it. I can’t bear to see your face when you read it or hear your voice when you tell me to fuck myself. It’s not the words I’m afraid of, it’s the tone. It’s the pain, contempt, and fright all mixed in that I can’t will myself to listen to even though I know you deserve to hear it. I can’t will myself to let you know you deserve better, that you deserve someone with the willpower to keep it in his goddamn pants.
I think I might love you… But I even feel too shitty to tell you that.

Sincerely,………

Will

Hey everyone. My name is Casey Holmes and I'm the newest writer around these parts. I like to call my writing style deliberate. I hope to contribute my own brand of whatever it is that my brand delivers. Here's my first shot and it's a little unpolished, but it's a start. It gave me a chance to get some things out:

Will
by
C.W. Holmes

At the core of the matter was a divergence of paths and an ever diminishing amount of will that was driving her away. By the time she came to me, she had resigned herself to the facts and faced enough reality to come to her conclusion. She asked me to pretend for her sake and I immediately made the decision to be miserable with her rather than miserable without her. She told me that she didn't want to lose me (they always say that) and I told her that she probably would. We did. I tried for a little while out of equal parts habit and desperation. I couldn't remember a time in my life when I didn't know her. I didn't think I had a choice. I was disappointed by the way things were ending, again. I knew that I had to make a hard decision, but I didn't know if I could do it. Do I lose her now, or do I lose her later? For her sake, I was living a lie. I didn't know how long I could keep it up.

We had plans the weekend after my birthday and for better or worse I was going to keep them. As happy as I was to see her, I was unhappy that it wasn't under my conditions. I was jaded because it might never be again. It wasn't the way I wanted it to be. She stormed into my room ready to fly. We didn't have time to hesitate. I told her that I wanted to put on a white silk tie, but couldn't figure out how to do it gracefully. She said that I didn't need it. I told her that I wanted to look nice too. She hurried me out the door, into the car, and we were off. I asked her if something was wrong and she told me a story. I knew that I was in trouble.

The reason I was there that night was because somebody disappointed her. Somebody let her down. I immediately forgot the fact that this was the woman who broke my heart just a few days earlier and became her court jester. I felt a familiar wave of self-pathos wash over me and said, “Here we go again.” I stupidly forgot that I was in pain and found the will to make her night complete.

When we showed up I was happy that it wasn't too cold. I wanted to hold her hand, but only held myself back. We found a corner to stand in, close to the stage, and I made fun of people just to see her laugh. She told me she couldn't take me anywhere. I told her that she shouldn't go anywhere without me. When the main event came on stage, I stood behind her and put my hands around her waist. I tried to dance with her, but I don't even think she wanted me to dance with her. It was just too easy to hold her close. I wanted to dance with her but it quickly became a position of defense. I braced myself for every blow so that she didn't have to. I made sure that this night, she would get to dance in peace. Even if she had to dance with me. A fat sweaty man wearing nothing but an overabundance of body hair, and a thong, pressed up against me and made obnoxious gestures to the girl dancing to the left of us. It took all of my will to not turn and make him pay for forcing himself on everyone in the audience.. My fist already hurt from grinding my knuckles into the carpet of the stage.

She was happy as we walked back to my car. As usual I played the hero and came to her rescue. She thanked me, sincerely. I tried to hold onto her as we walked, but didn't feel right so I returned my arm to the side of my body and tried to keep warm. My shoes were sticky and my toes were bleeding. We didn't talk much on the ride home. Every now and then we would speak about our lives and where they weren't going. She didn't know what to make of life and I didn't have anything to tell her. We agreed that there was more to life and I couldn't help but feel that she was passing up something more to life in me. I resolved to myself that she would rather be miserable, than be with me. Maybe she was too scared. Maybe I wasn't worth it. Maybe she knew that someday she'd have to leave me anyway. I was running out of things to say. When we got to my house I put on my jacket and I hugged her as long as I could. I think she was expecting me to kiss and maybe she wanted me to kiss her, but all the same she didn't, so I didn't. She would never kiss me first.

She walked to her car and I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I watched as she walked away. I went into my room and slowly got ready for bed. I thought about dancing with her. I thought about the way she acted like the past few months just didn't happen. I thought about how much effort I put into the night just because she was sad. I felt like such a fool. I couldn't believe that I held her hand. I couldn't believe that I walked out the door and made it my mission to put a smile on her face. I loved that smile. I loved her even though she broke my heart. I loved her even though she was a mess just like me. I loved her even though I never expected she would love me at all, let alone the way I felt that I deserved.

I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night. Even though I was tired, I tossed and I turned for about three hours. I could smell her on my clothing and between my sheets. I realized quickly that the end of the relationship didn't mean the end of thinking of her every night. She gave me something pleasant to think about on lonely nights anxious with loneliness. Now she was the loneliness at night. I wrestled with the idea of losing somebody I loved. I thought of her face and her smile. I always loved that smile. I felt embarrassed and stupid. I felt lonely and ugly. I tried so hard to just get away.

We had plans the upcoming weekend and I wondered if I would have the will to keep it up. She needed me in her life. I wasn't nearly as strong as she needed me to be, or as weak as I often felt about myself. It was easy to tell her that she wouldn't lose me, and the truth is that I never wanted to lose her. I wanted to tell her that she would always be able to rely on me, but talk is cheap. I didn't know if I had the strength to hold her hand when she needed it or give her a shoulder to cry on. She would never cry on my shoulder anyway. I could probably handle it. I wasn't really sure. In the end it was all a matter of will. How strong could I be for somebody who would never love me the way I deserve? I still can't will myself to sleep at night.