William hasn’t slept for days. Unconcerned with the mounting bills, though he should be, he calls in sick to work and writes, stepping away from his computer only when he needs to use the washroom or when his stomach has gone so many hours without food that he begins to feel lightheaded. His phone, ringing often, goes unanswered; his voicemail now full of messages from Cynthia, his mother and a co worker trying to convince him to cover her shift at the pub that night. She begged and pleaded, stating she would do anything – anything (he notices the tone) – for him to take her shift.
William ignores everyone; he ignores his hunger and foregoes personal hygiene. He does so because this is what he loves. Writing… is what he loves.
Suddenly, William is angry. How could he have gone all of these years and wasted all of this time pretending: pretending that he might one day wake up with a newfound interest in business; that he might one day be like his brother, or even his father. How could he have pretended for so long when he always knew that writing was what he wanted to do with his life?
He knows what he has to do.
William pulls in to the long U-shaped driveway and parks his 2002 Toyota Camry beside his father’s Saab that is parked in front of his mother’s Cadillac SRX (which she claims makes her more modest than if she had purchased the Escalade). Either way, next to his parent’s vehicles Will’s car looks like it has just come from a junk yard.
Confrontation has never been Will’s strong point, in fact it is something he has tried his best to avoid. Stepping through the doorway of his parent’s home he feels nauseous, and fuck his lifelong dream – he’s ready to turn and run.
His mother notices him first and scurries towards him, arms outreached and ready to pull her son in to her arms. For as long as he can remember it has always been this way when he returns for a visit. Over the past couple years as the time between John’s visits grew longer, the length of the hugs also grew longer. William gave her a few extra moments then broke from the embrace.
“Your father will be so happy that you’re here. Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell us you were coming by?”
“Can’t a son surprise his parents with a visit anymore?”
“Hi son,” his father interrupts as he strides in to the kitchen. He pats Will hard on the back. “Good to see you.”
“Well you’re just in time for dinner.”
“Okay well, there’s something I’d like to talk about with the two of you –“
“You mean the three of us.” William turns to see his sister walk up behind him. “Hey bro.”
Will nods. “Cynthia.”
She sits at the table, picks a piece of lettuce from the salad and pops it in her mouth. “So what’s the big news?”
William shoots her a look that their childhood together has taught her means to hush up – and fast.
Their dad, the level-headed one pipes in: “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
They talk about their jobs and current events among other things for the majority of their dinner. Cynthia, always eager to tell stories about her ‘genius’ son talked all of their ears off. Only when she stands to clear the dishes can Will truly get a word in edge wise.
“What I wanted to tell you guys…” Will begins, feeling his body temperature rise and his palms become moist. He turns to his dad. “I know that for a long time now you have wondered what I am going to do with my life, and I know your opinion on what you think that I should be doing, in fact, I know it very, very well.”
His father moves to interrupt but William stops him. “Please… let me finish. I know that you have all been wondering what I am going to do with my life and the truth… well the truth is that I have known for a long time – possibly my whole adulthood – what I want to do.”
“Well that’s great sweetie, what is it?”
William smiles at his mother’s response, feeling empowered to continue. “I know what I want to do, but… I think that I am going to need some help in order to get there.”
His father frowns. “So this is about money… you need money and you’ve come looking for a hand out.”
William feels as though he is a child again – bringing home his less than perfect report card and standing still as his father towers over him, telling him in far less obvious words that he will never amount to much in life if he isn’t better, if he doesn’t try harder.
“No dad. I haven’t come for money. I haven’t come for anything.”
Mr. Foster stares at Will as Cynthia places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What is it Will?” she inquires.
“I want to be a writer. A novelist.” He breathes deeply through the silence. “I am neither asking for your support nor for your understanding. I came here to tell you… and now I have done that.”
William faces the continued silence with a brave face. To break down here and now would get him nowhere. He cannot bring himself to look up at his family and so stares at the calluses on his fingers. It is his mother who finally breaks the silence.
“Is this something you can do while still working your current jobs?”
“The logical answer… is no.”
She cuts in. “I don’t understand. You are going to write a novel, but why wouldn’t you keep working at the same time? Seems like writing a novel is something of a long shot for any type of financial reward, ever.”
It is the response that he has expected all along. What they didn’t know is that in knowing how they would respond, it provided William with the opportunity to really address how he was feeling.
“I came here today to tell you that I am going to be a writer. I don’t have any interest what everyone else here wants. For years and years I have felt like I was on the outside looking in on this family. Today… today I’m telling you that I don’t need your support and I’m okay with your phony love dad, I’m going to take a chance and sink or swim.”
His father remains still, almost lifeless, no emotion registering on his face. He doesn’t argue.
Will has done what he came to his parents place to do and with that, feels an immense feeling of relief and satisfaction. He smiles as he heads for the door, leaving his family speechless in the room behind him.
Will is reaching for his car door handle when he notices his father has made it to the front door. It is obvious that he has something to say and Will smiles warmly, inviting the conversation. It is a long thirty seconds before his father parts his lips.
“Good luck,” he mumbles and William knows… it is the equivalent of a goodbye.
As he drives down the street he knows that he will never see his parents again. He studies the neighborhood as if attempting to memorize it all in case he ever wants to call upon the images of his childhood.
He drives past his high school and remembers. He drives past the local bar, past his first girlfriend’s house, past the Northgate Mall in which he followed around his brother and his pack of girls for years and years.
William drives twenty miles over the speed limit, feeling more alive than he has in years. The fear, the anxiety, and the pressure to live up to a man he doesn’t want to be anything like, have disappeared.
When he arrives at the airport he slams his car door shut and walks away without locking the doors. At the counter he smiles at the middle-aged brunette behind the computer and asks for a ticket.
“Where are you looking to fly to today, sir?”
William inhales and exhales deeply. “Get me a ticket to wherever American is flying next.”
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