by Sean Platt
My voice continues to narrate. Kotke is practically bursting with joy.
“You did it, Ben. You actually did it.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 6
Ben Shepherd Age 17
Dad and I are driving to Willow’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.
This is the first time I’m meeting her father, Arnold Fairchild, who just so happens also to be my father’s boss at Advanced Dynamics.
“So, this thing with Willow? How serious is it?” Dad asks.
“We’re just friends.”
“Just friends?”
I look over at him to see if he’s teasing me, but he’s not smiling in the way he has in the past when I’ve crushed on a girl.
“Yeah, just friends. Why?”
“No reason,” he says, but I can tell he’s lying.
Something’s off, and I’m not sure what it is. Dad’s been distant ever since I came home from school on Tuesday. I don’t think he’s mad at me. Maybe it has something to do with work. I wonder if he would’ve preferred that I stay in school over Thanksgiving break. He’s been working more and more on weekends lately, always having some reason about “last minute developments” or some other excuse why I can’t come home.
I used to mind, but nowadays, I’d rather spend time with Willow anyway.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not offended.
But as I look at him, I can feel waves of boiling distress just under the surface. Maybe work is going bad. Maybe he’s even in danger.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing,” he says, not moving his eyes from the road.
“Yes, there is. I can tell.”
He looks at me. His face relaxes, but only a little.
“Yeah, you breaking into my mind now?”
I should tread carefully since he can definitely read me. He’s probably doing it right now to see what I know, or think I know. He probably knows I’m lying about Willow, and that I’m absolutely in love with her, even if it’s unrequited.
Shit.
Stop thinking about her.
He’ll pick up on it!
Dad turns his attention back to the road as we drive through a winding, hilly area where the uber-wealthy live in their perfectly-sculpted estates. Most have walls or gates to keep out the riffraff. I laugh to myself at the arrogance one must have to think a gate or wall would keep out anyone truly determined.
It’s weird; even though our school is the kind that rich kids would normally attend, I think most of the kids there are like me: middle-class or even poor. But unlike regular schools, wealth hasn’t divided us. Rich kids hang with the poor, and nobody gets worked up about such trivial things. It’s probably because we’re all marginalized by our gifts—freaks at home, but the same at school. Of course there are still cliques. It is the real world, after all.
But on break, driving past the giant houses on hilltops, I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here. Can’t help but see the disparity between Willow and me.
And without even meaning to, I say, “I like her. A lot. But she says we should just be friends.”
He looks at me and gives me one of his most compassionate smiles. “It’s always good to have friends.”
I sigh. “I don’t want her as a friend. I want her to be my girlfriend.”
“What’s the rush? You’re seventeen. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t worry. If Willow doesn’t like you in the same way, you’ll meet someone who does. I guarantee it.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
I stare out the window as we pass a giant mansion that looks more like a hotel. All that house can’t possibly belong to one family, can it?
“Do you think she doesn’t like me because I’m not rich?”
“I doubt it, son.”
“Then why? We’re like best friends. We’re into a lot of the same things. We get along great and make each other laugh. Sure, I’m not Fabio, but I don’t think I’m hideous.”
“No, son, you’re not hideous.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say sarcastically.
“I mean you’re good looking. Any girl would be lucky to date you.”
“So, what is it then?”
“Not everyone is lucky enough to know what they want when they’re young. Hell, when I was your age, I was still scared of girls.”
“What about mom?”
“I didn’t meet your mom until we were both in our twenties. She’d already dated a few jerks that taught her what not to go for in a guy, and I had gone out with some beautiful girls without much substance, enough to know what I didn’t want in a wife.”
“So, you’re saying girls my age like jerks?”
“Not all of them, no.”
“Should I act like a jerk?”
“God no. Be yourself, son. Don’t ever act like someone you’re not for a girl. You might get her to go out with you, but eventually, you’ll get tired of acting. Then you’ll realize that she doesn’t love you because she doesn’t even know you. I’d rather be with someone who appreciates me for exactly who I am than try to fit into some ideal which will surely change over time, anyway. It’s always better to be authentic. A woman will appreciate that.”
I stew on that for a while as we get closer to the Fairchild’s house.
I suppose Dad is right. And though I hadn’t planned it that way, I have been authentic with Willow. Maybe in time she’ll come to appreciate that.
“Do you think I should wait for her, or date someone else?”
Dad laughs.
“What?”
“Sorry, Ben. It’s just weird to be talking about dating with you. It seems like only yesterday you were sitting on my lap while I read you bedtime stories.”
His voice cracks, just a little. I’m close to whatever pain he’s feeling. The thing he won’t talk about.
Does it have to do with me? Nostalgia for the past? Maybe he misses Mom. She’s been dead for seventeen years, and as far as I know, he’s never dated anyone else.
Or maybe he is, and maybe she broke his heart?
I want to ask him, but how?
Then it’s too late.
We’ve arrived at Willow’s, a giant mansion atop a hill taller than every other in town.
I feel insignificant as we begin our ascent up the steep driveway.
**
The Fairchild’s dining room is sprawling, as is the table which holds nearly thirty people. Every seat is full, with a bunch of Dad’s co-workers from Advanced Dynamic; the Academy’s principal, Ms. Sutter; my computer teacher, Mr. Kotke, and a few other teachers and school staffers I don’t know by name, but always see around the halls.
Willow and I are the only young people at the table, sitting next to one another, trading whispers and jokes while the adults talk and fill their mouths from the lavish displays of food. There are even servants on duty, seven of them. They shepherd dishes and constantly flowing drinks to the table.
“Your parents went all out for this dinner,” I say.
“Well, their staff did, yes,” Willow corrects me. “Mom doesn’t cook. Like, ever.”
Mrs. Fairchild looks like an older version of Willow, but she lacks the purity of her daughter’s smile. But she does smile a lot, especially as she tosses back glasses of wine, chatting with every soul at the table. She seems nice enough, but I sense a distance between her and Willow.
Her father, Arnold Fairchild, is a short man with graying hair that is starting to bald. But he’s also the loudest, most confident man in the room, with a commanding presence, the person that everyone listens to either because he has the best stories, or because he pays them well.
He’s the director of Advanced Dynamics, and AD works with our school. My father reports directly to him. But beyond that, I don’t know a thing about him other than he has a very firm handshake, and keeps looking at me during dinner, which is slightly unnerving. I want to tell him, “Hey, relax. Your daughter doesn’t even like me lik
e that. You’ve got nothing to worry about, man.”
For as well as I know Willow, she’s always been tight-lipped about her family and changes the subject when I’ve asked about them. I figured they must be awful; but both her father and her mother are very personable, even if they seem a bit phony. Then again, I think most adults are fake in the way they always seem to talk around the things they really want to say.
Dad seems more relaxed now with a few drinks in his belly. There’s a woman across from him named Diana. She’s married to the man to her right, Gerald, but he’s hardly paying attention to her, kissing Arnold Fairchild’s ass most of the night, and leaving Diana to flirt with my father.
I wonder if anyone else can pick up on the exaggerated smile she has for him, or the way she curls her hair as she talks to him, or that sparkle in her eyes when he’s talking to her.
I wonder if they’re secretly dating.
Maybe that’s some of the tension I sensed in him earlier?
He’s doing an excellent job of ignoring — or pretending not to notice — her flirtations while joking good-naturedly with her and Gerald.
After everyone finishes their meal, I need to pee, but nobody seems to be getting up from the table anytime soon. Not while drinks are flowing and dessert is on the way.
I lean over to Willow. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“I’ll show you,” she says, pushing her chair back.
“I’m going to show Ben around the house,” she says to her parents.
Her father looks at us, saying nothing, staring right through me.
Her mother smiles. “We’ll be doing dessert in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay,” Willow says as she takes my hand and pulls me behind her.
We pass her father as he’s telling a story to the others, but I can feel his eyes on me as we pass.
No way do I look to see if I’m right.
We make it out of the dining room and I deeply exhale.
Willow turns to me, “What?”
I laugh, not meaning to be so obvious. “Your dad keeps staring a hole into me.”
She laughs. “Oh, yeah, he’s a little overprotective.”
She leads me up the stairs past a knight in shining armor holding a massive sword. It looks like a museum piece.
“He’s not going to put this on and kill me, is he?”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Willow says.
“What?”
She laughs. “I’m joking! Relax, Ben.”
She runs faster up the stairs, leading me past several doors, and then pushes one of them open to what must be her bedroom.
“Just through there,” she says.
“Wow, you have your own bathroom?”
“Yeah,” she says as if it’s no big deal.
I make my way into her bathroom then close the door.
I sit on the toilet, just to make sure I don’t get any pee on her floor.
As I sit, I hope I don’t suddenly have to poop. The thought of having to push one out with her right on the other side of the door is mortifying.
Fortunately, I only piss.
I flush, then wash my hands, and open the door.
She’s lying on her bed, staring up at her ceiling.
Her door is closed.
It’s just us in her room.
Her father is going to murder me.
“Can you turn out the lights?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“I want to see if the stars still glow.”
I see the plastic stars on her ceiling, then find the switch and flick it.
The room goes dark, save for moonlight bleeding through her second story windowed door, leading to a balcony.
The stars on her ceiling are barely visible.
She pats the bed. “Come here.”
My stomach churns as I imagine her father’s footsteps coming down the hall, pausing in front of her door, turning the knob, opening it to see us lying on her bed. Even though we’re probably not going to do anything, we’ll still look guilty as hell.
I wonder if she locked the door.
She pats the bed again.
I sit beside her.
“No,” she says. “Lie down.”
“Um, okay.”
I lie beside her.
She’s an inch away.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure she can hear it.
I’ve sat next to her hundreds of times in my dorm, in her dorm, in rec hall, in the theater we sometimes go to, but I have never lain down beside her.
“When I was six, I was scared of the dark. My Dad put these stickers up and got a black light. He told me that next time I’m scared to imagine that I’m on some distant planet in a galaxy far, far away.”
“Did it work?”
“Usually, when I went to sleep. But my parents used to turn off the black light when they checked on me, so when I woke up in the middle of the night the room was pitch black, and I felt all alone again.”
“And what did you do?”
“Sometimes I’d turn the light on. Other times, I’d lay here in the dark and tell myself that everything would be fine. If something bad were going to happen, I’d have dreamt it already.”
I look up at the ceiling, trying to imagine how much bigger and deeper the darkness seemed to a six-year-old Willow. How endless the night and its horrors must have felt.
“And that usually worked. But it didn’t stop me from wanting to climb into my parent’s bed. Just so I wouldn’t be alone.”
Her hand brushes mine. Her fingers close.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore, Ben.”
She moves.
My heart is racing.
I think I might have a heart attack right here on her bed.
I see her, just barely in the moonlight, as her face moves closer to mine. “I don’t want to be alone.”
She kisses me.
Oh, my God! She’s kissing me!
I don’t know what to do.
I’ve never been kissed.
I feel her tongue push my lips open, and then it’s inside my mouth.
It’s so warm.
So …
Her hands move over my chest.
And then my dick stands at full attention.
Oh, God. What if she brushes against it? She’ll know I’m hard.
I start to shift, trying to angle my body away from her.
She pulls my hand onto her breasts, kisses me harder.
Then climbs on top of me, her crotch on top of mine.
No way she can’t feel my boner.
She sits up, almost riding me missionary, except we’re fully dressed.
My hands move from her chest to her hips as she grinds against me.
If she keeps doing this, I’ll explode. And I’m not sure how the hell I’m gonna clean up a mess in my pants without her father, or mine, or hell, maybe everyone at dinner, taking notice.
Not sure if she’s reading my mind, but Willow hops off as suddenly as she’d hopped on.
“Sorry,” she says, sitting up, turning the light on.
She looks out the window.
I reach out and run my hand over her long red hair. I never would’ve reached out and stroked her hair before now. “Sorry for what?”
“Leading you on.”
I’m confused. I don’t say anything, not wanting to whisper the wrong thing. After all these years of loving Willow from afar, and to be so close to something, anything approaching intimacy, I don’t want to mess up and end up back in the Friend Zone.
“I do like you,” she says.
Now I’m almost positive she’s reading my thoughts.
And I don’t even care.
I think, I don’t like you. I love you.
She turns, eyes wet with tears, and looks at me, surprised. “You do? Love me?”
“Yes. And I think you feel the same way.”
I hope that I’m right. If I’m not, that was way too bold.
Sh
e sighs. “I do love you, Ben. I’ve loved you, if it’s possible, from the first time we met. I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. In a way, I have.”
I remember how she said she’d dreamed of me ever since she was a kid, probably as she slept in this very bed.
“Then what’s the problem?” My voice cracks, ever so slightly, making me cringe.
“Because I know what’s going to happen.”
“What’s going to happen? Is your dad gonna kill me?”
She laughs. “No, my Dad will come to love you like a son.”
“Really?”
She smiles. “Yes, really. He thinks that you’ll save me.”
“Save you from what?”
She takes my hands in hers as she shifts to sit cross-legged across from me on the bed. “I don’t know how. And I don’t know what from, nor do I know the exact date, but I’m going to die when I’m twenty-five.
My heart skips a beat.
My stomach drops.
“No.”
She nods. “That’s why I didn’t want to get close to you. I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“If you know you’re going to die, maybe you can prevent it. Get tests for cancer and stuff.”
“My father will be doing that, believe me. But some things you can’t stop.”
“You said he thinks I can save you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She shakes her head. “He wants to upload me onto a computer. Well, sort of a computer.”
“Upload you? Like your brain?”
“My soul.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Not yet.”
“But it will be?”
“It’s part of the reason you’re at the school, Ben. My father sees things, too. And he saw you shortly after I started seeing you. You’re going to be capable of great things. Things that will change the world.”
I feel like an animal in a zoo, watched by strangers. I wonder what she and her father saw me doing. Did they see me at my worst? Fighting with my father? Crying? Masturbating?! I feel so exposed.
None of that compares to the bomb that Willow just dropped — that she’s going to die.