Bad Will Hunting

by Heather Wardell

  “No.” I crumple the phone book printout I’m holding. “No, he doesn’t owe me anything.”

  I thank her again and get off the phone, then sit staring at the mess of papers around me. I finally did it. I found him. And there’s no satisfaction in it.

  What did I think finding him would accomplish? Why have I been chasing him so hard?

  To punish him, that vengeful part of me says.

  Okay, but so? Would that turn back time and make everything better?

  Though that part of me still thinks it would, I have to admit that Will was never the real problem. He was a symptom.

  I was, and am, the disease.

  If I hadn’t found him on that plane, I’d have found someone else to drive me toward revenge, because I needed that. I believed I needed it, anyhow. I needed to be angry and obsessed so I wouldn’t be miserable about Brett.

  Now? Now I don’t know what I need.

  I’ve spent more than two months hunting Will. I’ve found him. It has changed nothing. Revenge would have changed nothing. It never has changed anything for me. It’s only made me more angry and bitter.

  What would change things?

  Where do I even start?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I spend the rest of Saturday stunned and confused, struggling to figure out what to do with my mess of a life, until it’s finally late enough that I can go to bed.

  I climb in and pull the blanket and sheet up to my neck, then sniff them and recoil. How long has it been since I washed them? I have no idea. I’ve been putting so much energy into revenge and anger that there hasn’t been any for anything else. I haven’t changed my sheets, I’ve done nothing with the videos, and I haven’t even considered working out other than when I did with Sam.

  I don’t know how to handle my life as a whole, but I could at least do little bits of all of those things and they’d be steps in the right direction.

  So I get up and change the bed, then hit Twitter and say that I’ll be posting a new video tomorrow so I won’t be able to back out. Then I put out my running clothes so I’ll be able to get into them first thing tomorrow, and I crawl back into bed between my cool fresh sheets and sleep better than I have in forever.

  The next morning, feeling awake and alive and the tiniest bit hopeful, I do go for a run. It feels terrible since it’s been so long, and that does make me angry at first, but I take deep breaths and try to calm myself and remember that I was terrible when I first started running but I got better. I can do it again. I keep calming myself, and I keep running, and by the end I’m not exactly happy but I’m not unhappy either and I’m not furious. I’ll take it.

  After I shower I check Twitter and am touched by how many people have expressed their excitement for my upcoming video. I don’t have any braids in mind, though, and while I fiddle around with my hair I get teary because remembering the fun I had filming with Sam makes losing him hurt even more. I’m about to give up, but then I remember a gorgeous butterfly tattoo I saw on a woman’s calf as I ran and I wonder if I can somehow turn my hair into a butterfly.

  It doesn’t work the first few times, but I keep trying and am eventually rewarded with a perfect butterfly on the back of my head. I do it again to be sure I know how, then set up the laptop and film myself. I can’t teach Sam like I did before, but I pretend that I am and even my made-up Sam is adorable. There’s still a tiny part of me that feels like I should get back at him for leaving me, but the rest knows that he didn’t leave so much as get driven away by my behavior, and that makes it not his fault. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, but the one thing I will not do is seek revenge on Sam. Or on anyone, but especially him. He’s too good a guy for that. He did everything he could to help me change, but he couldn’t do it all for me. I have to do it. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out.

  When I’ve finished the video, I stretch and realize I’m starving. A quick check of my computer’s clock shows me I’ve somehow spent three hours on this and didn’t even notice.

  I get the video uploading and open the fridge only to discover that I have condiments and a terrifyingly expired carton of milk but no actual food, so I head out to the salad restaurant where I took Sam. It hurts, being there without him, but the food’s so good I’m still glad I came.

  Thinking of Sam makes me think of MC’s wedding. Am I still going? Should I still be going? I’m supposed to be doing my reading but she probably doesn’t want me to now.

  A tiny flicker of anger burns in my chest, but I find myself challenging it. I don’t know that she doesn’t want me to, and even if she doesn’t I can understand that. No need to get angry.

  I sit with this for a second, amazed at how easy it is to stop a single flare-up of fury when you’re not feeling furious about absolutely everything, then take a deep breath and text MC.

  If Sam’s told you what’s been going on, I’ll understand if you don’t want me at your wedding.

  After I’ve taken a few more bites my phone rings.

  “Hi,” I say, nervous.

  “He hasn’t told me anything,” MC says, sounding nervous too. “And I don’t need to know. I just texted him to ask if he was bothered by you being at the wedding and he said not at all. So that’s fine. And I want you there, so it’s happening. Unless you don’t want to?”

  “No, I do,” I say. “I just... look, MC, why do you want me there? Why are you bothering with me at all?”

  I stare at my half-empty bowl, shocked. Why on earth did I ask her that?

  “I... wow. Um...”

  “Never mind. Sorry.”

  “No, I want to tell you. I...” She sighs. “I didn’t know anything about you on the island, except that you could really fish. But when I was watching the shows, I saw how upset you were, and how angry about losing your cousin, and I get that. I really do.”

  Since I know from the show that she lost her mom and brother at a young age to a drunk driver, I know she does so I say, “It’s rough. Yours was worse, though.”

  I’m right, but I’m surprised I noticed. I generally assume I have things worse than everyone else.

  She gives a small laugh. “At the time, maybe, but it’s been a lot longer for me. More time to recover. But I did get how you felt. And then I had to plan the wedding without my mom, and that made me angry too and I felt like I got you even more. And of course, you’d got up to protect me and Kent from the show and you helped Sam off the stage and... yeah. I guess I just like you. And get you. So I want you in the wedding. It’s that simple.”

  Maybe for her. It feels amazing to me. “Okay,” I mumble. “And I like you too.” I remember when I hated her, but I don’t now. She’s rebuilt her life, and continues to improve her life, after a tragedy, and she hasn’t let it make her bitter. Maybe there’s a way for me to do that too?

  “Awesome. Then we will see you next Saturday.” She giggles. “I can’t believe it’s so soon. Liv will get in touch if we need anything from you, but I don’t think we will, other than you being there.” Then she clears her throat. “Oh, and I’m sorry about the hair thing. I did want you but Summer kind of... well, you know.”

  “Steam roller?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, exactly. Anyhow, I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  “I am,” I say, and I mean it.

  We get off the phone and I go back to eating, amazed at how different I feel about her. Nobody’s life is perfect, I guess. Everyone has something that would fill them with rage if they let it. But maybe the secret is just not to let it, to accept that the horrible thing happened and let go. Not forget it, but not let it destroy you either.

  It’s a great sentiment, but even as it forms in my mind fury tears through me and shatters it. I lost Brett. He’s gone forever. I can’t just accept that. I simply can’t.

  I set down my fork and take slow deep breaths, and eventually I’m calm enough to go on with my lunch. Maybe jumping right to getting over my biggest disaster isn�
�t the way to go. I could start by forgiving the next person who cuts me off in traffic. Not as important, but also a lot easier to do. Work up to forgiving--

  Wait. Forgiving Brett? That doesn’t make sense. Why do I feel like I need to do that? He doesn’t need to be forgiven. He died. Suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically. I’m not mad at him. I never was. Mad at the situation, sure, but not at him. He did leave me, but it wasn’t on purpose.

  But...

  It hits me so hard I can’t breathe.

  But two people did leave me on purpose.

  They walked away from their six-year-old daughter, leaving her with her overwhelmed grandparents.

  They left me, and I’ve been furious ever since.

  Damn it.

  Dory was right.

  It is all about my parents.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I leave the restaurant, since my revelation has ruined my appetite, and just keep walking. I don’t know what else to do. All I can think about is my parents.

  I am angry at them. Angry and hurt and bitter. I always have been.

  And they probably do deserve that for deserting a six-year-old.

  But look what it’s done to me. I can’t remember the last day I wasn’t angry at least once, furious about some real or imagined rudeness or unfairness. I’ve always been--

  No. Actually I haven’t. I used to do pranks and things like that, and I did get angry easily, but the fierce effort I’ve put into revenge stuff lately? I never did that before.

  Before Brett died.

  But since then, everything’s changed.

  So is it actually Brett’s death that’s screwed me up, or my parents’ abandonment?

  I don’t know, and though I walk for a good two hours I can’t figure it out.

  But I know someone who might be able to help.

  Able, yes. Willing? I’m not sure.

  I go home, free my aching feet from their shoes, and settle onto the couch with my cell phone. I’m terrified, but I know I need to make this call.

  “Hello?” The voice is cool, but not angry.

  “Dor-Ellen, it’s Ashley calling,” I say, wishing I hadn’t used the nickname I know she hates. “Ellen, I mean, not Dory.”

  “You called me-- um, hi. What can I do for you?”

  “I... I want,” I say slowly, having trouble with the words I’ve never said before, “to talk about my parents.”

  “Oh. Oh! You do?”

  “Maybe ‘have to’ is better than ‘want to’,” I say, somehow both smiling at her surprise and tearing up at opening the discussion. “I’ve been thinking a lot and I... I think I need your advice.”

  “What have you been thinking about?”

  I sniff. “You sure you don’t mind listening to me? I was a jerk to you and it’s Sunday night and--”

  “Ashley. Trust me. I’m sure.” She sounds like she might be near tears too. “Go for it.”

  I do, telling her everything that’s been happening, from my brief career as a video star to my relationship with Sam to my arrest, and how I’ve realized how furious I am at my parents but that I think Brett’s death figures into it in some way and I don’t know what to do to get over it all, and when I’m done I wipe away the tears that I couldn’t hold back and say, “So? What do you think? What do I do?”

  “You’re already doing it,” she says. “You’re opening up to looking into your past and figuring out how it affected you. And it’s working.”

  “But I don’t know what to do next,” I say, happy she thinks I’m improving but still confused. “And do you think it’s my parents or Brett that is really making me so bitter?”

  “You know how sometimes you’ve had a really bad day and then one tiny thing happens and it pushes you over the edge? Has that happened to you?”

  “I got arrested last week, and it all started because some women took my elevator,” I say, to my amazement giggling a bit. “Yeah, that’s happened to me.”

  She laughs too. “Good point. So... the question is, do you blame the really bad day or the tiny thing for pushing you over the edge? That’s really what you’re asking, and...”

  She trails off, and I finish the sentence the way I think she was going to. “It doesn’t matter, right? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “It’s two halves of the same whole,” she says, “but basically, yeah, it doesn’t matter. If you hadn’t had the really bad day, the tiny thing wouldn’t have caused so much trouble.” I remember yesterday’s flash of anger at MC and how quickly I recovered from it because the rest of my day had been so good, and nod though she can’t see me as Ellen goes on with, “And if the tiny thing hadn’t shown up, the really bad day wouldn’t have pushed you over the edge either. In either case, the issue is how you deal with the anger.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. I don’t deal with it well.”

  I can hear a smile in her voice when she says, “You didn’t deal with it well. I think you’re getting better.”

  My throat tightens. “Yeah, me too,” I whisper.

  We sit silent for a moment, then I wipe my eyes and say, “But it’s not good enough. I see how Sam handles his issues, and MC, and I just don’t have that in me. I get so wrapped up in how unfair things are.”

  “It is unfair,” she says quietly, “that Brett died the way he did, and that those video guys scammed you and your parents left you the way they did. Totally unfair. To use the technical term, it all sucks.”

  I giggle through my tears. “It sure does. Nice technical term.”

  “I like it. And it’s true too. It is definitively not fair. The question is, though, will you let it color the rest of your life or will you choose your own colors? Will it define you or will you move past it?”

  Her repeated use of ‘will’ makes me think of my hunt for him. Bad Will Hunting, I think, a faint smile touching my lips. Because it was bad to hunt him and because he was bad for me, and especially because my own bad will was ruining my life. “I will,” I say quietly but with conviction, “move past it.”

  “Excellent,” Ellen says warmly.

  “Will you help me?”

  Silence.

  Embarrassed, I say, “Oh, sorry, I guess I thought you could-- maybe you could refer me to--”

  “No, I would be deeply honored. You just surprised me. Yes, definitely. Could you meet me for coffee tomorrow afternoon?”

  I blink. “You’re in Vegas. Aren’t you?”

  “It’s a cheap short flight to Portland, and I’m happy to take it.”

  I burst into tears. “Why?” I manage to get out. “I was such a bitch to you, I called you Dory, I set you up with the producers...”

  “I like a challenge,” she says. “And you were definitely that. And I’ve really felt for you, and been impressed by you. Despite everything you never gave up. You worked so hard on the show, you clearly worked hard on those videos... Ashley, you’ve got so much drive and determination, and once you get that channeled into positive things instead of revenge you’re going to be unstoppable. And I want to be part of making that happen.”

  I sit, trying to take this in. She’s right that I never gave up, but I saw it as making the show look bad rather than doing it for good reasons. But maybe that doesn’t matter. I did keep going. Maybe that’s what I need to do now too. Step after step, maybe I can change my life.

  “But I obviously won’t be able to talk to you in person every week,” she adds. “I’m perfectly fine to do sessions over the phone but if you’d rather be referred to someone nearby I understand and I can get it done first thing tomorrow.”

  I sniffle and wipe my eyes, then find myself smiling. “I’ve already broken you in, I don’t want to start all over with anyone else.”

  I said something similar back at the beginning, but I mean it in a whole different way this time. She gets it, I think, because she laughs. “That you have. Okay, fine. I’ll come up tomorrow and we can talk for as long as you want, and then we’ll set up a phone sche
dule.” She giggles. “As long as you promise not to hang up mid-sentence. That kind of ticked me off.”

  “Fine,” I say, grinning. “I’ll say goodbye and then hang up mid-sentence. How’s that?”

  “Sounds like a plan, Ashley. Do you agree?”

  “Yeah,” I say, sobering at the thought of how long a path is ahead of me but so glad she’s willing to walk it with me. “It does.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wednesday afternoon, I stand with Ellen at the front entrance to the airport, surprised at how hard it is to say goodbye to her. She did fly in Monday, as she promised, and for each of the days that she was here we spent hours together talking through everything. I didn’t hold back this time, not even a little bit, and though I did get angry over my parents’ abandonment and Brett’s death and the show it was all different somehow. I was angry. I wasn’t festering. I didn’t think there was a difference, before, but now I see that there is. And I’m on the right side of it now. It’s okay to be angry. It’s not okay to let it fester.

  In between our sessions Ellen visited friends and wandered around the city on her own, while I did my own wandering as I walked for ages trying to get my head around everything we’d discussed. There was a lot, but it all boiled down to one thing: carrying resentment hurts me a lot more than it hurts whoever I’m resenting. And, I’m beginning to realize, it’s not worth it.

  Ellen smiles at me and shifts her bag on her shoulder. “Well. So we’ll talk by phone tomorrow night?”

  “Seven o’clock. I’ll be there.”

  “Yeah.” Her smile widens. “I know you will. I’ll call right on time.”

  “You can be early if you want,” I say, feeling embarrassed by how glad I am to talk to her but knowing she understands. “And you’re sure you don’t mind paying for the call?”

  She tips her head to one side. “Business expense. It’s fine. But now I’m curious. Would you not call if you had to pay?”

  “I...” I pull my mouth to one side, thinking. I would call because I now get how important this is, but... “It would hurt,” I admit, “to lose the money. I like to save everything.”