by Brock Law
he wrestled with balancing his duty to her cause and his own life. The argument was further blurred with the thought of how pretty she was in a palette of tight summery colors. Whether this was intended to coerce him into joining the quest, or pronounce her attraction to him was unknown. The difference, however, was inconsequential as he attempted to reason with himself. He would need to satiate this secondary appetite somehow.
Blindly he strolled down the sidewalks, consumed by the experience of the afternoon’s company. Young though she looked, she had the confident distinction of an older woman. The dichotomy was confusing. The clarity she used to express herself was sincere as compared to the complications of his usual dating life. Despite his better judgment, he resolved to see her again, or rather to check up on her again as he rationalized the devotion.
Another ten minutes got him to his doorstep, where before reaching for the handle he stopped to clear his vigorous imagination. He returned himself to the cool and carefree mindset of a vacationing college student. With a concluding head shake of serendipitous disbelief, Will pushed open the door and entered his home.
All the lights were on and he could hear the voices of his parents squabbling in the dining room. Worried, he waited in the entranceway, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The front door creaked closed and jangled the steel knocker when it shut. The voices of his parents feel silent for a moment.
“Will?” Mrs. Mith yelled from beyond the hallway.
“Yeah,” Will replied begrudgingly.
He trudged through the arch into the living room and stared across the sofas. Both his parents were sitting at the dining table with an array of glossy pages fanned out between them. The chandelier above them cast angry shadows into their eye sockets and under their noses to match their perturbed posture. Will approached carefully.
“We got your introduction package today,” Mrs. Mith opened threateningly. “When were you planning on telling us?”
Will’s left brow arched at her, “Tell you what?”
She scoffed openly. His father shook his head and removed his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. An anxious twitch rattled Will’s hands. Despite all of the moments of terror he’d experienced in the last couple weeks, he was now more disturbed as he could sense that something was catastrophically amiss.
“Uhh,” Mrs. Mith said with heavy sarcasm, “that you’re going to Switzerland.”
Paralysis zapped his body stiff. His eyes and mouth were stuck open, swelling with dread. His mother stared back, increasingly livid with each second that he didn’t respond. His father too shared a mounting frustration with Will’s unintentional withholding.
“Switzerland?” Will stammered.
“Yeeesss, Switzerland,” Mrs. Mith repeated.
As the feeling came back, Will’s head drifted sideways on his neck. His face drooped, frowned, and squinted. Unwilling to wait any longer, his mother threw her hands up.
“Your international internship with the John Hancock Fund,” she roared. “A private courier delivered it today, addressed to Mith. I assumed it was for me, so I opened it.”
“First, William,” Professor Mith joined, “we’re very proud of you. It’s extremely prestigious, but a little notice would have been nice.”
“It’s not the kind of place you can just walk into. I didn’t even know you could get a semester long internship like that,” Mrs. Mith complained.
“Oh no,” Will murmured, “Hancock?”
“Coach called. He’s furious! It’s already been registered with the school,” Professor Mith added. “There’s a letter here from Professor…Adams.”
“Adams?” Will replied dumbly.
“Don’t think I know him, but he gave you a glowing recommendation. I didn’t realize your grades had gotten so high. Well done.” Professor Mith congratulated.
“Oh…yeah,” Will constructed. “He mentioned it to me once he found out I might not be able to play this year. I didn’t know he’d submitted an application for me.”
“You didn’t know?” Mrs. Mith pressed caustically.
“I had no idea,” Will lied, “news to me.”
“So then I guess your little French girlfriend doesn’t know either,” Mrs. Mith accused.
“Mom!”
“French girlfriend?” Professor Mith questioned.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Will defended.
“Not if you’re going to Switzerland for five months,” Mrs. Mith responded and rolled her eyes. “I wondered why you hadn’t been coming home until lunch the last few days.”
“Oh my God, Mom, stop. Oh no, five months,” Will muttered again to himself. “Well, I haven’t accepted yet.”
“Haven’t accepted? You’re going,” Mrs. Mith insisted.
Will said with shock, “Wait, you want me to go?”
“Will,” his mother softened a bit, “you can’t turn this down. I’m just upset you didn’t say anything about it.”
“Seriously, I didn’t know,” Will excused. “Professor Adams only asked if I was interested.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to stop by his office and thank him sometime. He had a lot of very nice things to say about your work ethic in his letter here,” Professor Mith stated.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to do that,” Will tried to cover.
“You need to meet with Coach tomorrow though. I guess it’s not too late to red shirt this season,” Professor Mith continued. “After your two injuries this year, it might actually be a good thing to take some time away from the field. You can make a full recovery by next fall.”
“Come sit down and look this over,” Mrs. Mith said while pulling out a chair for him. “Apparently you qualified for this American Student Leader Ambassadorship. Hancock has some kind of partnership with one of the banks in Switzerland.”
Will sat and began to sift through the pages. Each was on thick shiny stock, printed in full color with all the distinctive trademark regalia. The package contained travel brochures, information on the company, lodging check-ins, currency exchanging directions, and functional outlines of the internship. He perused the acceptance letter. It was signed at the bottom by a pseudonym, because the program director’s signature was identically comparable to that of the John Hancock logo at the top of the page. Will couldn’t help but snicker and then summarily wipe the smile from his face.
“Unbelievable,” Will mouthed quietly.
As he flipped through the materials, his parents kept prattling on about the abruptness of preparing for his travel abroad. They advised him with an overwhelming onslaught of travel knowledge, which only depressed him further. His mind reeled from the discussion, callously rejecting all of their warnings and pleasant reminiscence of touring Europe. There was no tourism agency in the world capable of arranging safe passage for him. As had happened with Vivienne earlier, a surge of helplessness seeped into his soul. Will despaired, unable to further avoid the whirlpool of intrigue that surrounded him. The veil of reality had been torn, and from it emerged the brazen demons he’d dammed up until now.
“It’s been ages since I was in Switzerland,” Professor Mith recalled. “Darling, we should go visit for the holidays. Do tradition a little differently this year.”
Will didn’t even register the comment. His parents’ voices faded out. He had just completely lost control of his life, abandoned to the volatile will of fate.
All night long Will laid awake in bed. A blend of necessary bravery, incidental doubt, and miserable forfeiture mixed in his brain. The unnerving desire to blame his circumstances on something took a furious hold over him. Needing someone to reach out to, he snatched up his phone.
He texted Vivienne.
What just happened?!
Within a minute she texted back.
I’m sorry, it wasn’t my idea! You know too much lol. Good night, don’t let the vampires bite :[
The Dead Should Not Rule The Living
The banks of the Schuylkill River were crowded with mor
ning exercisers. Will was among the company, running along Kelly Drive for his health instead of his life for a change. He was just as concentrated though, and breezed past everyone in his path, racing a metaphoric opponent. The rush of air pinned his shorts to his thighs. His white Penn football T-shirt was streaked with damp spots. His tattered sneakers barely touched the ground as he glided parallel to the pavement. Red and boiling, his skin began to bake under the mounting sun. His brain, however, ran hotter still. Despite the vigorous exertion, which usually blanked his mind, he could not quiet himself.
His panting was more the result of loathing than exhaustion. Indecision wasn’t something with which he frequently coexisted. Will hated that he couldn’t escape this madness, but hated the fact that he wanted to even more. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank. His memory churned out emboldening quotations, verses, and proclamations to raise his spirit to the level of determination that was expected of him. The recitation of each helpful word made things less muddy, until it was all drowned out by a blaring air raid siren.
The picturesque waterway and joyous coo of delighted summer seekers faded. Visions of flashing powder over the hills, metallic thunder, parching eruptions of ashy smoke, charred forests under a rain of fireballs, gray skies, black turf and leather-tufted barbs garnished the collective moan of depleted souls. The ghostly droning mourned incessantly with the explosive cacophony. It was no layer of Hell, Will knew, but the echo of a haunting past returning for revenge.
A