I am a Novelist!

At 9:57pm on Saturday, November 2008 I was officially recognized as a novelist. After twenty nine days of writing I finally completed my 50,000 words necessary to win Nanowrimo.

I can't really describe the feeling of accomplishment I am experiencing. I loved writing this book and it feels so good to know that I accomplished something I've always wanted to do. I'm not going to spend a whole lot of time gloating about this, but I will tell you that I couldn't have been happier with the way my book turned out. Granted there is a lot of editing that needs to be done, but I'm up for it. The end of the book, which I was most worried about actually turned out way better than a I thought. I will be posting subsequent chapters as I go along so you will see. Right now I'm just happy I was able to accomplish my goal of writing a novel.

Writer meets Wall (Wyatt Klinker Part 8)

Okay, the next installment is here as well and my last update before I end this whole thing. I'm not too terribly happy. There is a reason for this. I am in crunch time and I want to get this thing done. Basically I am allowing myself to cut corners in order to reach 50,000 words rather than writing a good story. Now, I figured i would run into this seeing as 50,000 words is a freaking massive undertaking, especially over the span of one month. I do think I'm going to make it, though I am sorry to say that the quality of my story is going to suffer.

I suppose that is the risk you take when you start penning a novel with absolutely no direction or forethought. I've currently trudged through more that 41,500 words with no clear direction. I had little train stations of thought that I knew I would stop at, but really now clear track laid out that would get me there. The result is an up and down, round and round trip that is occasionally all over the place yet rarely takes you anywhere. I'm cool with this, and I hope all of you will be. I have one goal here: put 50,000 words down on multiple pieces of paper in some orderly fashion so as to tell a story. Frankly, quality really doesn't matter. These last few chapters I've been are the best indication of this. I really think the last couple of pages are a pile of dung, but, they are words, and have taken me from 35,000 to 41,000. So, I'm happy with that. I did however want to warn you that this had occurred. My story has left the tracks and all I'm doing is shoveling coal in the furnace in hopes that the engine keeps chugging forward, with the thought that eventually I will see the station through the fog.

Okay. Another thing. Predictions I've made in past posts are WAAAAAYYYYY off. I told you there is a story arc I was looking forward to getting to around chapter 12? Nope, I'm halfway through chapter 15 and that arc is nowhere in sight. I actually had three or four other arcs I was planning to pursue, but I realize now that they will take me far beyond 50,000 words, even past 100,000 words if I tried to pen them.

I'm not in love with this story. Matter of fact, I'm far from it. I don't particularly care for it at all. However, it is the horse I've hitched my wagon to, and it is getting me there, so I continue. Once I hit that elusive 50,000 word mark I will wrap up this story rather quickly. You can count on that. I'm ready to be done.

Now, that doesn't mean I'm done writing. If anything, this quest has proven that I can, if I chose to, construct a novel. To give you perspective, the first Harry Potter book is made up of 70,000 words. I realize now that a work like that is very attainable. I plan on starting an outline and begin writing a novel I can be proud of, one I might actually pursue furthering (i.e. publishing). The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker has done one thing for me; it's proven to myself that if I set my mind to it, I can actually write a novel. And for that, I will always be proud of it.

Okay, that's it for now. Here's the next chapter for those of you who are still reading...

CHAPTER 9: REVOLUTION

The beginning of spring semester was a blessing and Wyatt allowed himself to take it all in. He had arrived back on campus at the earliest possible time, on the earliest possible date. In fact, he had gotten up and left early, spending a better part of the morning hanging out in a coffee shop just off campus. It was cold and breezy, a typical Chicago winter’s day when he strolled the four blocks to his dorm, a feeling of resurgence and rebirth.
Wyatt had never considered himself college material. A year ago he hadn’t been sure what he would be doing. The thought of joining the military had crossed his mind, but the fear of the current political situation and deterred him from carrying out that plan. Now, as he strode across sidewalk in the front of his dorm, he realized that this place, this college, was where he belonged, at least he did at this moment.
The first day back was simple and relaxing. Wyatt propped the door open and welcomed back his hall-mates as they returned from their homes, lugging bags and boxes. He lounged about, watching television, reading or even cat-napping; all the while immersing himself in the solitude that only came when one was finally home.
Dave showed up around six-thirty, his cherubic face lighting up when he saw Wyatt.
“How ya doing, Wy?” he exclaimed as he gave Wyatt a huge bear hug.
The two spent the next couple of hours eating junk food from a care package Dave’s mother had packed and talking about their respective breaks. Dave showed off some of the new toys and gadgets he had gotten for Christmas while Wyatt simply listened. For once he was happy Dave was so self-centered, that way he didn’t have to explain that the only gift he had had to open on Christmas day was an envelope with a gift card to a local department store. At this time, when Wyatt was so happy to be where he was, he didn’t need anyone telling him how tragic his situation at home was.
Wyatt wrestled with himself as to whether he should tell Dave about Lindsey, and what had happened over break. Instead he just told him that she had given him the cold shoulder and ignored him. Dave, in a moment of personal restraint didn’t push, and the subject was dropped.
It was with great satisfaction that Wyatt climbed into bed that night, soaking in the comfort of the bed he had slept in the last four months. He was back where he wanted to be and after three weeks of trepidation and intense stress, he allowed himself to feel as if the future was looking pretty bright.

Wyatt awoke the next morning knowing that with this semester he was attempting to push himself to his academic capacity. The previous semester had been a good one. He had pulled good grades in all four of his classes and managed to make the Dean’s list. He hadn’t shared with anyone, but allowed it to a personal triumph he could recall when he questioned his current scholastic path. With his success the first semester Wyatt had convinced himself that he was capable and qualified to challenge the world of academia, to find his place and grasp the successes that it offered.
He had decided that he was going to take a brutal semester, and loaded up on classes. On top of the basic requirements, he figured that in order to accomplish his goal of passing all the classes he was going to have to pick ones that he really enjoyed; otherwise the schoolwork would be overwhelming.
Since he had first registered Wyatt had been reading up on the course catalogs and was captivated by one class in particular. While history wasn’t his strong point, Wyatt, due to his New England roots, had a profound interest in the Revolutionary War. He remembered walking the Freedom Trail, a simple painted red line on the sidewalks of Boston which would take those who chose to follow it past a variety of historical markers: Ben Franklin’s home, the sight of the Boston Massacre, even right to the pier where the U.S.S. Constitution was moored. Needless to say, when given the opportunity to sign up for HIS322, The History of Revolutionary America, Wyatt jumped right on it.
It was his first class, Monday at nine o’clock, and he was excited to get there. He left his dorm with plenty of time to spare, even skipping breakfast so as to not be late. He was the first one to arrive, a full twenty minutes before class. He found what he considered a choice seat amongst the horseshoe-like arrangement of chairs. He was dead center in the class, his back to the doorway, his view unobstructed to the podium and video screen centered in the room.
Wyatt leafed through his text book as students started arriving. Those who knew each other formed clusters, sitting beside each other, striking up conversations about their respective trips home. Those who were strangers to their classmates almost universally kept at least one empty seat between themselves and the people around them. Wyatt failed to notice one particular person walk in; head up along the row of chairs to the flanking edges of the horseshoe before reversing her course and returning to pull out the chair directly to Wyatt’s left.
He glanced up and immediately recognized Alex, the girl he had met at the library two months earlier. She was wrapped in a warm wool coat, a deep red scarf knotted around her neck. A matching beret like hat went well with her red locks. Immediately Wyatt’s heart started to pound.
“Well hey there,” she said as she pulled her cap off, leaving her hair a bit disheveled.
“Oh, hi, what are you doing here?” he asked before thinking.
She laughed, “Well I thought I would pass my free time listening to a professor talk about the Revolutionary War.”
“No, I mean why this class?” Wyatt recovered, realizing how stupid his first question sounded.
“Well, I’ve got everything I need to graduate but had to pick up an elective. I’ve had Dr. Swanson before and he was a great professor so I just decided to take this one. What about you?”
Wyatt thought for a second, “I’m from Boston and I’ve always liked the Revolutionary period, so here I am.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind me sitting next to you, I’ll try not to bug you too much. Just make sure you study because if I cheat of you and your answers are wrong, I’m going to be pissed,” she stated seriously before letting a grin breakout across he face.
Wyatt smiled back. This semester was really starting out on the right foot.

Three weeks into classes and Wyatt was in love with his history class. While the others on his schedule seemed like a bore, his first class of the week was like cold splash of water on his face. It invigorated and made him excited to start the week. He was wholly committed to doing as well in that class as any he had ever taken, including high school. He wasn’t sure if it was the subject matter, the excitement and vigor of the professor, or if it was Alex.
She wasn’t as excited about the subject matter and with graduation looming in short order, she really didn’t put as much emphasis on studying as Wyatt did. She would whisper to him in class (completely destroying Wyatt’s concentration) or scribble out a note on a blank notebook to pass to him. Sometimes they were questions about what Dr. Swanson had just said, other times it was just stupid stuff, like questions about what he did over the weekend, or just dumb little comments. As much as he loved his class, he cherished everything she wrote.
One Wednesday, as they were discussing Henry Knox and the guns of Ticonderoga, Alex grabbed his notebook and scribbled out a note, “I’m starving. I crashed early last night and didn’t eat dinner.”
Wyatt glanced at the note, jotted in pink jell pen, and wrote back, “Why didn’t you eat?”
“I was reading for my international policy class and got tired,” she replied.
He jotted down a reply, noticing that his script was sloppy yet legible, while hers flowed smoothly, “yeah, I get tired sometimes and fall asleep studying. I hate when I do that.”
“I can’t believe you can’t hear my stomach rumbling,” she noted.
“No I can’t hear it, of course Dr. Swanson talks pretty loud,” he wrote, trying to appear to be concentrating on what was being said.
She grabbed the notebook away from him and set to writing furiously. Wyatt didn’t know what she was scribbling, but figured it must be important when she emphatically underlined everything three times.
She passed the notebook back to him, “HEY DUMMY, ARE YOU GOING TO ASK ME TO GO GET SOMETHING TO EAT WITH YOU AFTER CLASS OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO HIT YOU OVER THE HEAD WITH THIS NOTEBOOK FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND???”
Alex did this to him. He had always considered himself someone who listened, who sat and watched people, learning what they were about, figuring them out then reacting to them so as to maintain control of himself. Alex messed all that up. It seemed that he lost his ability to reason, to form a complete thought. Yet, while in the past he was very uncomfortable with losing control, he found himself enjoying this more than anything. He just wished he didn’t look so stupid doing it.
He took the notebook and started writing, “Sorry, I guess you make me stupid. Would you like to get something to eat after class?”
Reading his note, she looked at him, “You can’t blame me for your stupidity,” she whispered.
Her smile melted him as she pushed his notebook back to him and turned her attention to the professor.

Typically his history class went by in a flurry, but today it drug on like a trip to the dentist’s office. It was nearly unbearable and once Wyatt even considering scribbling out, “Do you want to leave now?” just to get away earlier than ten o’clock.
Instead, he gritted it out and eventually the minute hand reached the apex of the clock. Alex had been strangely silent during class, and Wyatt wondered what she had been thinking. He was all smiles as they got up to leave.
“Where do you want to go? You want to stay on campus or do you want something from the city?” he asked as they pushed through the crowd in the hallway.
“Let’s just stay on campus, I’ve got a class in an hour and I don’t feel like rushing back,” she replied matter of factly, making her way to the exit.
As they walked she asked him questions about the lecture Dr. Swanson had given in their class. While Wyatt was quick to answer, he wanted to discuss something else. He wanted to discuss her.
What he knew about Alex was somewhat limited. He knew that her full name was Alexandra Phillips, and that she was from Rockville, a town up by the Wisconsin border. She was a senior majoring in International Relations. From the scribbles on his notebook (gathered in previous classes) he knew that she was the youngest of three children and the only girl. He also knew that she was currently single after being in a three year relationship. Wyatt hadn’t prodded her as to why they had split up, but relished the fact that they had.
“What are you hungry for?” Wyatt changed the subject.
“I don’t know, I just figured we would get in before they stopped serving breakfast. Pancakes sound good to me. What about you,” she asked.
In truth Wyatt wasn’t hungry at all. As was normal, he had gotten up and eaten breakfast prior to class, but he wasn’t willing to pass up an opportunity to hang out with Alex, “I don’t know. Pancakes do sound kinda good.”
There was no line at the cafeteria and they zipped right through, each gathering up a tray full of food and finding a seat by a large brick fireplace along the southern wall. The fire danced across the fake logs, and the heat felt wonderful after the walk from the history building. Alex took off he leather gloves and set them on the table then shed her coat. Wyatt did the same, ramming his cheap jersey gloves into the pockets of his jacket before taking it off and hanging it on the back of his chair.
“I am famished,” she said as she went to work on her tray of food.
Wyatt sat and watched, sipping on a glass of orange juice as she wolfed down a pancake.
After a few minutes she glanced up at hit and stopped in shock, “Oh my god, I must look like a complete pig.”
“No, you look fine. I’m just going to make sure I don’t get my hands anywhere near your mouth,” he joked, laughing at the subsequent face she made at him.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m just so hungry,” she made a visible attempt to slow down, one that Wyatt picked up on immediately.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ve seen worse.”
She forced herself to put her fork down and take a long drink from her coffee. Wyatt wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but wasn’t sure what to say first. He wanted to know everything he could about her but he didn’t want to seem too forward. He was surprised when she broke the ice.
“So, why did you choose UIC?” she asked using the acronym for the University of Illinois Chicago.
“Well,” he started, trying to figure out the best way to say it, “my choices were a little bit limited.”
He went on to explain how he had intended on going to a community college out in Boston, but had been forced to find something in Chicago after the death of his parents.
Before he could continue to explain she interrupted him, “Your parents both passed away, oh I’m so sorry Wyatt.”
He could see real grief in her eyes when she said it and while the thoughts of his parents were still a tad painful, he felt good knowing that she really meant what she was saying.
“Yeah, they were on vacation in Europe and died in a bus accident. After that I came here to Chicago to live with my Uncle and his wife.”
“That’s terrible,” she replied, then quickly added, “oh I don’t mean living with your aunt and uncle. I mean you losing your parents.”
“I know what you meant,” he replied, “and yeah, living with them is actually fairly terrible.”
She looked at him quizzically, “What do you mean it’s terrible?”
Wyatt knew he had opened a can of worms and immediately thought of Lindsey. Instead of delving into the truth he just told her that he didn’t get along with my family very well and didn’t care for living with them.
Alex allowed the subject to drop. It was as if her line of questioning had ended and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Instead she picked up her fork and started eating again.
“Tell me about your family,” he picked up the conversation, attempting to get her talking again.
She gave him a tentative look.
“Don’t worry Alex; I’m cool with talking about your family. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I want to hear about them,” he assured her.
Allowing herself to relax they spent the next hour sitting around drinking coffee, chatting about their lives, school and anything else. When it was time, Wyatt walked with her to her next class, continuing their conversation from breakfast. Before walking in, he asked her if she was interested in grabbing dinner later that night and after a brief pause, she agreed.
As Wyatt turned and walked away he couldn’t help but think about how happy he felt at that exact moment. In truth he couldn’t remember a time that he had been happier.

February 27th - Dear Starlog

Alex had been a little bit cold with me all week. It was really worrying me because I didn’t really understand why. Finally she told me that she was worried that she had given me a false impression. She told me that she isn’t interested in me as anything more than a friend and that she got the impression that I wanted more. I told her she was wrong and that seemed to make her happy. If only she knew.
I am so incredibly infatuated with her. I can’t tell you why. I guess it is just everything. She really isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen (dare I say that Lindsey is prettier than her) but there is something about her. She is an incredible person. I know she is super smart and makes me feel like an idiot sometimes but in truth I’m completely comfortable with that. I guess that I’ve never really felt that comfortable around anyone in my life. Sure, Steve and I are good friends, but with him it was difficult to carry on a sustained conversation. What’s more, he was difficult to be around in public even though I eventually stopped worrying about it. Still, when he and I hung out people still stared at him, at us. With Alex we are just a normal couple.
That’s probably the hardest thing to come to grips with. I like being with Alex because I like people thinking that we are a couple. Sure, it turns out that I was just dreaming about it, but I liked to think of us as two people that were joined, that were recognized as being a pair. Now we are just two people who happen to spend time with one another. Maybe I’m just being stupid, but our relationship now feels a lot more minimalistic.
Now my time with her seems strained, as if I am not good enough for her. I know that is wrong, and I’m placing an undo character flaw upon her. She has her reasons for not wanting a relationship and I need to respect that. But damnit, it is so hard. She is everything I ever wanted in a girl. I wish she felt about me the same way I feel about her. It sucks to think I trapped where I am. I wish I could erase all the feelings that I have, that I could just think of her as a friend, but I can’t. I need her to be more to me. I need her to feel about me the same way I feel about her.
I don’t know what to do. Actually, I do know what to do, but don’t want to do it. I need to let things cool down. I need to give her space. I need to adjust to life without her because up to this point I’ve allowed myself to think only the best of futures for me and with this discussion with Alex, I know that it just isn’t going to happen.
I feel completely sick to my stomach.

Wyatt Klinker Section 7

Well, this weekend I ran headlong into a brick wall. I'm 33,000 words in and I am feeling drained by writing. I know I need to keep pushing, but with only a week to go, this hill in front of me seems so high. Right now I sit 6,500 words behind schedule with a mere 6 days to get caught up. I know that Thursday is going to be a completely loss and tonight is going to be impossible to get work done, so it is pretty daunting. Everyone I've talked to has said that after you cross 35,000 words it is all down hill and it becomes a lot easier. I would have thought I would start feeling a bit of that, but I haven't. Instead I've felt pretty oppressed.

The positives that I have working for me: 1. Angie only works late tonight, which means Wednesday night will be freed up for writing as long as Dad and Janie wait to come down until Thursday. 2. I have absolutely nothing planned for Saturday, which means I could get a lot of writing done then. 3. Megan will be home tonight and be able to help with the kids, so I may be freed up even more in the evenings to get writing done. 4. And most importantly, I work so much better under pressure that deadlines have never really bothered me.

Gracie has been a big backer of mine. She is always standing over my shoulder asking me how many words I have now, I many I need, and how long am I going to be writing. Sure, she wants me off the computer so I can spend time with her, but hey, she keeps me thinking about where I am and what I have to do.

I hope I can do it.

That said, here's the next chapter. Any support you can give would be appreciated.

CHAPTER 8: GREG

It was evident that it hadn’t taken his Uncle Rich long to convert the room over the garage back into a weight room. In fact, they had actually expanded the collection of free weights since he had moved away to college. It was also evident that they had no intentions of making the room back into Wyatt’s with his return home. The weight bench that had once been tucked into a corner to give Wyatt more space was now in the middle of the room, sitting on a red plastic mat. The new free weights sat underneath the television on a heavy black rack rather than filling up space in the walk-in like the old ones had.
The bed sat in the same place, just like where it had been when he’d left. A clean set of sheets and two worn blankets were folded neatly, waiting Wyatt. He laughed at the hypocrisy of the whole thing. Here his aunt paid a housekeeper to work forty hours a week for her, yet it was evident she had told Chaya to just leave the bedding for Wyatt to tend to.
Wyatt didn’t really care. It wasn’t as if he had never made a bed before. He just thought about how petty his surrogate family was and for a moment a wave of grief washed over him.
These feelings had come often at the beginning, soon after he had learned about his parents, but since going away to college they had been far less seldom. This place however was forever associated with that day, and just being here weighed on him.
“Three weeks, that’s all,” he said to himself as he unfolded the sheets and began making the bed. “I can handle that. I’ll just stay up hear and avoid everyone.”
After putting his things away and making his bed, Wyatt flopped down on the weight bench and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the next three weeks would hold. Lindsey was prominently at the forefront of his thoughts.
It wasn’t long before his Aunt Carla called out to him, hollering that dinner was ready.
Wyatt was surprised to see the table set with the nice glassware. He initially thought that perhaps they were treating him, seeing as this was the first dinner he had eaten at home since Thanksgiving (well, not really, they had went out for dinner then). Instead, Wyatt was surprised to see Lindsey walk in from the den holding hands with a tall, handsome boy.
“Wyatt, this is Lindsey’s friend Greg. He goes to her school” Carla introduced.
Wyatt looked the tall boy over and extended his hand, “Hi, I’m Lindsey’s cousin. Nice to meet you.”
“How ya doing Wyatt?” he replied, shaking the proffered hand.
Wyatt didn’t know what to think. Here was his solace, a guy that Lindsey seemingly liked (enough to ask to dinner anyway), that would take the pressure off of him. Wyatt was positive that given a choice between him and Greg, that she would choose Greg. This should have made Wyatt feel good, but instead he felt the slight crush of jealousy.
Lindsey, regardless of her relation to him, had been something of a milestone for Wyatt and while he felt a great deal of shame for what they had done, he still cherished the memory of those moments. It was an emotional tug-of-war he fought with whenever he saw her and the presence of Greg simply intensified one side.
“Wyatt, Greg plays basketball for our school,” Lindsey announced during the meal. “Did you ever play when you were in high school?”
“No, I didn’t play any sports,” he replied, glancing at her.
“Yeah, he’s really good. You should see him play,” she continued. “He played football to.”
“Wow, he’s must be quite an athlete,” Wyatt played along.
Greg looked up from his plate, not saying anything.
“He’s a senior. He wants to go to Northwestern when he graduates.”
“Oh yeah, what do you want to study?” Wyatt asked.
“I was think about psychology or sociology,” he replied, his mouth full of food.
“Well good luck, college is a lot different than high school,” Wyatt didn’t like what was going on. He got the impression that Lindsey was parading Greg in front of him.
Wyatt remained quiet through the rest of dinner, simply listening and watching as Lindsey and Greg talked with Rich and Carla. Occasionally Lindsey would cackle at something funny and grab Greg’s arm. Or he would say something that she would feel emotional about it and put her head on his shoulder. Each time she did so she would glance across the table at Wyatt, attempting to judge his reaction.
Wyatt hurried through his meal and excused himself, explaining he was tired after a week of exams.
Greg relayed that he was happy to meet him, and under the auspicious stare of Lindsey, Wyatt returned the sentiment.
“I’m sure Greg will be around while you’re home Wyatt,” Lindsey added as he turned to walk away.
“It will be nice to have him,” he replied diplomatically, not allowing her to get under his skin.

Wyatt avoided Lindsey whenever he could. For the most part it was pretty easy. She was rarely home. She was normally at Greg’s and on the rare occasions she was home, he was usually with her. That made it easy for Wyatt who just stayed in his room. Aunt Carla had evidently gotten used to Wyatt’s presence because she was home much more often; at least she was when Lindsey was home. It hadn’t occurred to him that she didn’t trust Lindsey either until one night when he was laying on his bed watching television, Uncle Rich came into his room.
“Wyatt, you got a second?” he asked from the doorway.
“What’s up Uncle Rich,” he replied, turning the volume down.
“Well, um,” the older man seemed uncomfortable; “I wanted to ask a favor.”
Wyatt seemed a bit confused but at the same time flattered. Up until this point he had been nothing other than a fixture around the house. To think that he could be useful to either of his guardians was a definite change.
“Sure, what do you need?” Wyatt was curious.
“Well, Carla and I are going to a company Christmas party and we were wondering,” he allowed his voice to trail off. “You see, um, Lindsey is having Greg over and I, well, we were wondering, do you think you could keep an eye on them?”
Wyatt considered what he was asking.
Rich continued before Wyatt could answer, “I mean I doubt anything is going on between them, but I don’t know, I guess I just don’t trust high school boys with my little girl.”
“Sure, Uncle Rich. I’m sure there is nothing to worry about. They’ll probably just watch movies, but I’ll keep an eye on them,” Wyatt thought back to the night Lindsey had visited him in his room and could feel his face start to flush.
“Thanks Wyatt, I really appreciate this,” he said as he turned to leave. “I don’t know why I should be worried, Lindsey is a good girl.”
After Rich had left Wyatt laid there thinking about Lindsey and Greg. It seemed to him like a strange relationship. According to Chaya, they had only started seeing each other a day or two before Wyatt had come home. It seemed to Wyatt like his Uncle Rich was a bit paranoid.
“Oh well,” he thought, “at least she’s leaving me alone.” Yet the whole idea of her getting serious with a boy rubbed him the wrong way.
He fell asleep that night thinking about her, about him, and about the mess that had happened between them. His last wish prior to falling asleep had been that he never would have come back here because he knew that Lindsey, if anything, was a weakness and temptation constantly hammered at him. Greg’s presence had just made it worse.
The next day was uneventful, Wyatt simply hung out in his room, reading or watching television depending on his mood. College hadn’t offered much free time for personal reading and he cherished the lazy winter break where he was able to knock out a stack of books with little interruption.
Before he realized it his Aunt Carla was knocking on his door, “Wyatt, we’re leaving. Please stay out of trouble while were gone.”
She turned to leave, but looked back, “Oh, Lindsey and Greg are downstairs in the den watching a movie. I don’t know what it is, but you might join them and see if it’s anything you’ve not seen.”
“Sure thing Aunt Carla,” he said, at the same time thinking, “Oh, so she doesn’t trust her either.”
Wyatt took his time wandering down to the den. He stopped off first in the kitchen and gathered some cheese and crackers to munch on. While he wasn’t set on destroying Lindsey’s evening, he wasn’t going to make it easy either. He had no loyalty at all towards his aunt and uncle, but Wyatt had promised to keep an eye on them and he wasn’t one to break promises.
“Whatcha guys watching?” he asked as he walked in and flipped on the lights in the previously dark room.
The two of them shielded their eyes from the light as Wyatt sat down in a recliner, the plate of cheese and crackers balanced on his knee.
“Wyatt, turn off the light,” Lindsey whined.
“Oh, sorry,” he said apologetically as he stood up, reached the switch and flipped the lights back off. “You guys want some cheese and crackers? It’s Gouda cheese. I don’t really like it, too smoky for me, but it isn’t horrible with crackers.”
His idle chatter evidently irritated Lindsey because she just whined again, “Wyatt, we are watching a movie, be quiet!”
“What movie is it?” he ignored her.
“It’s some zombie movie,” Greg answered. “Hey, I’ll try some of that cheese.”
His request garnered a nasty look from Lindsey as she attempted to ignore Wyatt.
Wyatt passed the plate in front of his cousin and Greg took it, setting it on his lap and proceeding to stack cheese upon crackers.
Lindsey looked at Wyatt and he could tell she was angry. Her brow was furrowed and her lips pursed. He knew he had gotten a rise out of her. He felt a bit guilty, as if he had pushed to far.
“I’m sorry Lindsey, I’ll be quiet. You mind if I watch this with you?” he heard her sigh audibly.
“I would rather you leave, actually,” she responded.
“Well, its Friday and there is nothing on regular TV, so I’ll just be quiet and sit over here and you won’t even know I’m in the room,” he replied, not giving ground.
She huffed and glared at him. All the while Greg sat there quietly, munching on crackers, watching the movie. She turned back to the movie and Wyatt could tell she was fuming.
They sat watching the movie for about a half hour, Wyatt commenting occasionally. For a little while he and Greg carried on a conversation about the stupidity of the characters before Lindsey shushed them, bring that to a close.
Shortly afterwards Lindsey said she was cold. Wyatt asked her it she wanted him to turn on the fireplace and she ignored him, getting up and grabbing an afghan off the back of a chair. She unfolded it and sat back down, covering up Greg and herself as she cuddled up close to him. He was pretty clueless to her attentions, riveted by what was happening on the television. She reached up and pulled his arm around him, stealing a glance at Wyatt as she did so.
In truth Wyatt didn’t really care. Her affections were all innocent and Wyatt was cool with that. So far he had done his job.
After awhile Wyatt was thirsty and decided to grab something to drink. After announcing what he was doing, and offering to get them something, he walked into the kitchen.
Lindsey jumped up and followed him, “That sounds good, I’ll help you.”
Entering the kitchen Lindsey closed the door between it and the den, “What are you doing Wyatt?”
“Nothing,” he replied innocently enough.
“You know you are messing with me, and I don’t particularly like it. Why can’t you just leave Greg and me alone?” she confronted him.
“Hey, I’m not doing anything, I just want to watch the movie is all,” he feigned innocently.
“That’s bullshit,” she exclaimed, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t carry back to Greg in the den. “Can’t you leave me alone so I can spend some time with my boyfriend?”
“No, I can’t,” he said honestly, because in truth he really had no other answer.
“What’s wrong with you?” she questioned.
“There’s nothing the matter with me, I just don’t feel like sitting in my room for the tenth straight night sitting around doing nothing. Is there something the matter with that?” he challenged back.
She stood staring at him for a few seconds, apparently trying to read his thoughts. Then a smile crept across her face, as if she had unlocked the answer to a riddle. She nodded her head at him.
“Greg makes you jealous, doesn’t he?”
Wyatt laughed, “Yeah right.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” she continued to smile.
“Why would he make me jealous Lindsey.”
“Well maybe because he is getting all of my attention and you aren’t getting any,” she said, her voice teasing him.
“Lindsey, what the hell is wrong with you? Why is it you think I want you so badly? I don’t, I never have,” he blurted back at her, losing his patience.
“You didn’t seem to mind kissing me all that much this summer, in fact, it seemed to me you were having a pretty good time right up until you started acting like a baby and got all scared.”
“Lindsey, listen to yourself! You’re my cousin, doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he countered.
“It didn’t seem to matter all that much to you when you had your hands all over me,” she barked.
“That was a mistake, and you know it. It was you that came into my room, or don’t you remember?” Wyatt was frustrated. “I stopped because I knew it was wrong and I knew you wouldn’t.”
“You’re a liar Wyatt. You got scared, and now you are all upset because I’m seeing someone. You are mad because you weren’t man enough when you had the opportunity and now you’re trying to take it out on me and Greg.” She pointed at him, “You had your chance, and you blew it.”
Wyatt was tired of arguing with her, “Whatever.”
“Fine, Greg and I will go up to my room and watch TV, you sit down here and just leave me alone,” she returned.
“No you’re not, you’re staying down here. I don’t want you going up there with him,” he ordered her.
She glared at him, “You really think you’re my boss? You think you can tell me what to do? Wyatt, you are nothing. You only stay here because my parents feel sorry for you.”
Wyatt felt the verbal jab, even though he was acutely aware of its truth. He had always realized that he would never be more than a guest here, a tolerated, if not unwanted guest, but hearing it still had an effect on him.
He felt compelled to hit back, “Hell, I don’t care if you screw his brains out Lindsey. The only reason I’m trying to stop you is because both your mom and dad asked me to keep an eye on you because they don’t trust you and they knew you would do something like this.”
“That’s bullshit Wyatt and you know it,” Lindsey yelled at him, “my parents trust me more than they ever will you. I knew you were jealous of Greg, but trying to convince me that they trust you more than me, that’s just sad.”
“Lindsey, just take it easy,” he tried to calm her.
“I’m going upstairs,” she announced, heading back towards the den.
“No you’re not,” he countered, sliding to block her way.
“Get out of my way, Wyatt,” she scowled.
“Lindsey, don’t do this, I promised your parents,” he let the words trail.
“Exactly Wyatt, MY PARENTS! Not yours, mine. I’ll deal with them, they’ll deal with me. If you were still in school this wouldn’t be an issue. They have no problem “trusting” me when you’re not here. You’re pissed because I have a boyfriend and you can’t have me,” Lindsey’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I gave myself to you Wyatt, and you threw me out. I thought you felt something but I was wrong. Now get the hell out of my way,” she pushed past him and back into the den.
He stood there, angry and frustrated. Should he pursue her and make Greg leave? “To hell with her, to hell with my uncle,” he thought to himself. “She’s a big girl; if Uncle Rich wanted a babysitter then he should have hired one.”
Wyatt made a beeline to his room, slamming the door as he got there. Moments latter he heard Lindsey’s bedroom door slam as well, signaling to him that she had carried through with her promise to retreat to her room.
As Wyatt sat there on the edge of his bed he replayed their encounter in the kitchen back through his head. Why had she insisted on thinking that he was jealous? He didn’t care who she dated. He should have never told her that he was supposed to keep an eye on her. That just made her angry.
“What should I do now?” he thought to himself as he sat there rocking back and forth.
He had half a mind to go and apologize, but fought with himself. He didn’t see why he needed to; she was the one being stupid.
He lay back on his bed and flipped on the television, looking for something that would occupy his mind. He flipped channels for about a half hour but he couldn’t get the argument out of his head. He needed to talk to her again, to clear it up. Resolved, he got up and headed for the door.
The hallway was quiet, her door still closed. As he approached he could hear the sound of the television, turned up incredibly loud. He got an extremely uncomfortable feeling as he rapped on the door.
“Go away Wyatt,” was all he heard come from the room.
This didn’t deter him; he had to talk to her, to make her understand everything, to clear up all these issues. Wyatt disregarded her message and gripping the knob, turned it and opened the door.
Their clothes were piled on the floor beside the bed. Wyatt knew immediately that he had failed his uncle. Lindsey glared at her cousin over Greg’s bare shoulder as for a moment he continued to bounce up and down on her, their naked bodies hidden under the covers, “Get out Wyatt!”
Stunned, Wyatt just closed the door and retreated to his bedroom, “Oh, Lindsey.”

January 7th - Dear Starlog

Tomorrow I finally go back at school. Frankly, these last three weeks at home have been horrible. I’m not sure I can stand to be around Lindsey anymore. Not just that I caught her having sex with Greg, but because I know that I cause her misery when I’m around. The night I walked in on her and Greg I initially just went back to my room and tried to forget what I saw. Needless to say that wasn’t real easy.
At about eleven-thirty I heard her bedroom door open and Greg leave. I don’t know why I cared but I still wanted to talk to her. When I heard her bedroom door close again I went to her room. It was pretty obvious she was crying. I didn’t have the nerve to knock.
I’ve spent the last couple weeks just avoiding her. Christmas morning was horrible for me and I’m pretty sure it was the same for her.
I’ve heard her crying in her room more than once over the last two weeks. I’m not sure it has anything to do with me, but it is likely.
After that Friday, Greg stopped coming around. Aunt Carla told me that they broke up that same weekend as our argument. Both her and Uncle Rich were disappointed because they really liked him, especially after I lied and told them that Lindsey and Greg just hung out in the den while they were gone that night.
It makes me feel ashamed that I wasn’t able to protect her from herself. Of course, I’m really not qualified to do so. Hell, I can’t even protect her from me. I knew that she had feelings for me all the way back to that day on the veranda, but I never did anything about it. In fact, I just made the matter worse by not stopping her when she came in my room.
I like to think that with me back at school I won’t have to worry about this any more. Unfortunately I’ve been dealt a pretty shitty hand and my uncle’s house is now my home. With that comes Lindsey. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate not having control?

Wyatt Klinker Section 6

The last couple of days have not been good for writing. First off, I missed work yesterday because I was sick. Angie, Balin and I all have some kind of crud. I actually thought it was going to be a good opportunity to get some writing done, but I was lazy. I didn't really do anything and as a result, I'm a bit behind. As of right now I am about 3200 words off of my pace. Now that's not bad. I've already managed to knock out about 1700 words today during lunch. I think Angie is taking Gracie to a movie the PTA is sponsoring tonight and if I can get Balin to behave, I might be able to get back where I need to be. If not, I have every intention of getting back to my pace (hopefully ahead of pace) by this weekend. I don't have a lot of time left but the good thing is that I am on my way back down off this writing mountain. I've passed the halfway point and now all I have to do is finish. Wish me luck.

Next section now. Enjoy...

CHAPTER 7: ALEX

There is a certain rhythm about a college campus, be it one set by the constant stanza set for by the class schedules or the movements by students from one class to another. Often times students become friends and travel in the same footsteps they created days before, only in partnership with another. They tend to eat at the same time, go to the library the same day of the week, and create a predictable schedule of life. This was Wyatt’s world, something that appealed to his core persona.
As part of his weekly schedule, Wyatt would go to the library to sit for an hour or so on Thursday nights reading his literature homework. Dave was a huge fan of some hospital drama and was insistent on watching every week. On top of that, Dave was one who interacted with the television, shouting or grumbling at the characters, or worst still, making predictions about the outcome of the weekly storyline. He had tried to draw Wyatt into his weekly ritual but had given up when Wyatt had simply told him that there were some things he would not think of changing about his roommate. Not sure what to think about that statement, Dave had just given up with a shrug.
Wyatt sat in his usual chair, fighting through the complexities of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying. It was a difficult book and he found his eyes growing heavy quite often. When he thought he would fall asleep he would set the book on his lap and look around, taking a few minutes to look at the people around him.
It was late fall and the sun had set hours ago. Yet out the window to his left Wyatt saw under the light post the figure of a woman walking across the grass to the front door of the library. He watched as she approached. There was something about her that held his attention. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she wasn’t ugly either. Her nose could be described as hawk-like, a bit too big for her narrow, almost boney facial features. Her hair was cut relatively short, and was swept back off her face. Parted in the middle, Wyatt could see as she approached that it was a brownish-red in color. Her shoulders were hunched from the cold, her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt. She held a book close to her chest, as if to ward it from the cold.
Wyatt followed her with his eyes until she disappeared from view for a moment as she passed through the doors and into the library proper. She carried the book to the front counter and deposited it in return slot. All the while Wyatt watched her.
He noticed that though she was relatively tall, she was very slight in build. Her hips were narrow under her faded jeans and the fingers of her hands were long and nearly skeletal. Her skin was pale but flawless. Her walk was neither graceful nor clunky. She just seemed to move with a musical like cadence, formal and assured.
She turned to leave and Wyatt pulled his focus away, afraid she might catch him staring at her. He picked up his book and pretended to be reading, glancing every once in awhile to watch the young woman.
It was evident she was dreading going back into the cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed the backs of her biceps as if to will the warmth back into her body. After a moment or two of that, she blew into her hands, warming them with her breath.
Wyatt didn’t know why she compelled him to watch her, but she did. Before long, he spoke, not realizing he was doing so until it was too late.
“You know, there’s another chair here, you can sit down and warm up before you go out.”
She turned and looked at him, not knowing if he was talking to her or not.
“You look like you’re freezing to death, come on, sit down for a second,” he felt buoyed by his initial outspokenness.
Wyatt had never been very outgoing. In fact, he felt best when he just blended in with his surroundings. Every since the fight with Dave though, he had grown more comfortable with asserting himself, be it in class, in his study group, or out in public with his hall mates at dinner. This however, speaking to complete stranger, complete female stranger, was a new sensation.
“I’ve got to get back to my room. I just needed to drop off a book,” she replied, a smile flashing across her face, then immediately disappearing.
Wyatt loved her voice from the first word she spoke. It was deep and sultry without effort. He stared at her, a smile plastered across his face.
“What?” she asked, wondering why he continued to look at her like that.
Wyatt shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Sorry about that, I zoned out there for a minute. I didn’t mean to stare.”
She laughed and Wyatt suppressed a shiver. “You’re strange.”
Wyatt smiled again, “I don’t know if that is a compliment or not. Sure you won’t sit down and warm up before heading back out there?”
“I don’t know, I’ve got a ton of homework to do,” she seemed to wrestle with herself internally.
“Well you need a break from it, right?” he offered, trying to give her a reason to stay.
“Well, this walk over to the library was supposed to be my break,” she parried.
“Oh, come on now, what is another five minutes?” Wyatt surprised himself with his tenacity.
The girl looked at Wyatt, then at her watch, then at Wyatt again before shrugging then flopping down in the chair across from him.
“I usually don’t talk to strange boys in the library,” she said, smirking at him.
“Well, before meeting you I didn’t actually think I was strange,” he answered back, returning a smile.
“I’m Alex,” she said, offering her hand.
“Hi, I’m Wyatt, nice to meet you,” he said as he shook her hand.
“Geez,” he said, “you’re hands are freezing.”
“My whole body is freezing. I should have worn a jacket but my dorm is right across the street and I was just going to run over for a second,” she took back her hand and thrust both into the pocket in the front of her sweatshirt.
Wyatt allowed himself to think, “I wish I could help warm you up,” but instead said, “well, it is November.”
“Watcha reading?” she asked, glancing at the book on his knee.
“Stuff for my lit class. It’s pretty boring.”
“Yeah, I hated lit,” she replied, “you aren’t a major are you?”
“No,” he quickly answered, “I don’t think I could handle four years of this stuff.”
“Tell me about it, I struggled with the two semesters I took,” she replied with a chuckle.
“Oh, you’re not a freshman?” he blurted out, cringing as he realized what he was asking.
“Oh no, I’m a senior,” she returned, “I take it you are?”
Trapped, Wyatt admitted, “Yeah, I am.”
Alex just smiled at him, not knowing what to say, “Well,” she said glancing at her watch again, I’ve really got to get going. It was nice meeting you Wyatt. Maybe I’ll see you again around campus.”
“Sure Alex, it was nice meeting you,” he replied, not believing how stupid he had been.
She got up and walked out, using her shoulder to push against the door, allowing herself to keep her hands tucked away inside her pockets. As she pushed through the door she flashed a smile at Wyatt and shook her head. All Wyatt could do was offer her an incredibly insignificant wave as she disappeared back into the cold.

December 16th - Dear Starlog

As of two o’clock today I can say that I have officially completed my first semester of college. The unfortunate thing is now I have to go back to my uncle’s house for winter break. I tried to get my RA, Tim to let me stay here, but he said that the dorms would be closed down and the heat basically turned off. I tried to tell him that I could handle it but he just spouted off about liability and all that garbage. In the end, it was just a no, so I guess I head “home”.
I’m not sure what my grades are going to be, but I’m pretty confident. Although I hate algebra and had to get a tutor for part of the semester I think I scored a solid “B” in that. Art appreciation was not a boring as I thought it would be (though I doubt I will be striking up any conversations about Manet and his style of impressionism compared to Monet anytime soon) and I know I got an “A” in there. The final was just matching artists and titles to various pictures and I aced that. Geography was my favorite class and I figure I should get a pretty good grade in there except I know I screwed up my Southeast Asia map on the final. Oh well. My last class, lit, was okay and I did alright in there too. I kinda cheated and skimmed the last couple books we read for class but I think the strength of the first half of the term will carry me to at least a “B”. Truthfully I wouldn’t be surprised if I got an “A” or “A-minus” in there too.
Looking back I have to say that college isn’t all that bad. For the most part it is pretty anonymous. Once in awhile I open my dorm room door and someone wanders in, but for the most part people just leave you alone. Same with walking around on campus, people generally stick to themselves and that’s cool with me.
Dave left yesterday to head back to Michigan. He was looking forward to being home for a few weeks. He has turned out to be a pretty decent guy. He is still a slob, but I can live with that. It is funny about him. I noticed that people tend to look at Dave the same way they look at my friend Steve, the one in the wheelchair. It might just be Dave’s stupid t-shirts, but I think it is just Dave. He draws attention to himself, even when he is doing nothing at all. I’ve heard people talk about charisma and the natural attraction people have toward others. I wonder if that works in reverse. Do anti-charismatic people like Steve in his wheelchair or Dave with his goofy looks and vulgar t-shirts do the same thing? What does that say about me, someone who is generally overlooked wherever I go? Is there a color spectrum for charisma with most people floating in the middle where others spike at the extreme poles? I don’t know. I guess if there is I’m happy to be right in the middle.
I think I’m going to stay here in the dorms as long as I can before they kick me out. That may just be until Friday (oh, today is Wednesday) but that’s fine with me. I know there are a couple of guys down the hall that are sticking around. I may hang around with them. I just don’t want to go back to Aunt Carla and Uncle Rich’s.

Wyatt Klinker Section 5

What is is about weekends? You would think that they would offer great opportunity to let me catch up. Well, they don't. This weekend was pretty bad as far as writing goes. Friday night Russ and Carol came over (bringing Balin home who if you remember was supposedly sick and stayed home from the sitter's on Friday) and stayed for pizza. When they finally left around 8:30pm I managed to knock out a few words (less than 500) before giving in and playing games on the computer until midnight.

Saturday I managed to write a few hundred words in the morning. It was pretty slow going. In the afternoon I went to the grocery store and bought Angie a birthday present. When I got home a wrote a few hundred more words then gave up to get ready to go out to dinner. As a family we went to Smokey Bones to celebrate Angie's 42nd. When we got home a watched a movie with Megan and Ang before getting back on the computer at 10:00. I was able to write a good 1000 words in that sitting.

Yesterday I worked. I had no energy to write, so Wyatt and friends just sat, waiting for me to show up to work this morning. Hopefully I'll find time later to do some writing. If not, I should be able to get an hour or so in tonight. At least I hope I can.

Current word count: 24,308
Target word count: 28,339 (by day's end)
Words behind pace: 4,031

Okay, back to the story. Here is the next chapter...

CHAPTER 6: DAVE

It had taken Wyatt a couple of weeks to get his feet on the ground after moving into the dorms but he had finally decided on a routine and it seemed to be working for him. It started with getting to know his roommate, a guy named David Kaczmarek.
Dave was a sophomore from Birmingham, Michigan who admittedly didn’t want a roommate and was pretty excited about having a single right up until the time that the school sent him a letter telling him that he had been assigned a freshman named Wyatt Klinker as a roomie. Dave was quick to point this out to Wyatt, in fact he did so within a half hour of him moving in. Dave hadn’t cared for his roommate his freshman year (a feeling Wyatt assumed was mutual based on his first impression) and couldn’t find anyone to room with him. He had assumed he would just have a single considering there was never any indication that a roommate was being assigned. This suited Dave just fine, but now here was Wyatt, moving his stuff in.
Dave could best be described as slovenly. He had moved in the previous day (a perk offered to returning students) and Wyatt was surprised by the sheer lack of progress Dave had made. Rather than making his bed, he had simply slept on the mattress pad and covered himself up with an old blanket. His clothes were still in suitcases and stacks of stuff were piled on the desk and dresser. These remained there for at least a week until in an explosion of productivity Dave had moved everything to various drawers or thrown stuff into his closet. His bed however remained the bare mattress and blanket.
Wyatt had shown an incredible amount of patience with his older roommate. Dave was loud, obnoxious and generally disliked by everyone on the floor. He stayed up late, playing video games on his laptop or reading, not caring if Wyatt was trying to sleep. There were many times that Wyatt simply resolved himself to sleeping on a couch in the study room at the end of the hall until he snuck back in at four or five in the morning, well after Dave had went to bed.
Dave was a slob, throwing clothes all over, leaving food and garbage in the trash or on his desk until it stunk up the entire room. Through it all Wyatt didn’t say anything, he just allowed Dave to do his thing. Wyatt was patient and didn’t want to make waves, especially with the sophomore whom he’d been assigned to live. Wyatt had come from living with his aunt and uncle and frankly, even with all his faults, Wyatt decided that Dave was an upgrade.
The first week or so Wyatt had just spent time watching his roommate. He learned a lot about him in that short amount of time. Dave was always quick to talk about himself, rarely giving Wyatt the opportunity to speak. That suited the younger student just fine.
During this time Wyatt learned that Dave was an accounting major and didn’t really need to study very hard to get good grades. He went to class when he wanted and studied less than most. He had roomed with a guy named Charles the year before, but “Chuck” was a real problem; always bitching about Dave and they had never seen eye to eye. Wyatt was pretty sure who the real problem was, but didn’t say anything.
Dave was a big guy and generally didn’t practice exceptional hygiene. He showered every other day but other than that did not put much effort into his appearance. He typically wore the same clothes for days at a time, only changing them when he thought about it. His wardrobe consisted of baggy jeans and various t-shirts with different sayings on them, all of them attempting some degree of humor, with many of them vulgar.
In the end Wyatt was fine with just letting Dave do his thing. This of course suited Dave just fine and the two of them reached a point of quiet coexistence.
Wyatt started having issues when Dave began going through his things. If there was one thing Wyatt was guilty of, it was being introverted and private. When Wyatt had walked in and found his roommate sitting at his desk, reading Wyatt’s journal, he had simply cracked.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted.
Dave just looked up and with a smile answered, “Your cousin Lindsey sounds hot, you should bring her by so I can meet her.”
Wyatt snatched the book from the older man’s hand, slamming it shut. Dave initially looked indifferent then smiled broadly.
“Dude, lighten up, its not like I’m serious or anything. I wouldn’t try to steal your girlfriend, even if she is your cousin,” he laughed at his joke, right up until the time Wyatt grabbed a hold of him.
“Listen here you prick,” Wyatt growled, pulling the bigger student out of the chair and on to his feet. “You get into my stuff one more time and I will hurt you. Do you get me?”
Dave didn’t know what to say, he just looked at Wyatt and laughed, “What you going to do, call your dad so he can beat me up?”
Whether Dave knew about Wyatt’s dad and mother or not, he wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. He reeled back and punched Dave right in the gut. Immediately the smile erased itself from the other man’s face, replaced by an audible “ooof”. Wyatt drew back and hit him again, hitting Dave this time square on the chin.
An explosion of pain erupted from Wyatt’s knuckles, but he allowed his rage to take over. He continued to pummel the larger man until Dave had collapsed to the floor, his arms up to protect his face while he curled in a ball in order to avoid any more punches to the mid section.
Wyatt panted, “Now, I’ll tell you again, stay out of my stuff, do you understand?”
Dave just nodded, his face bruised, his eyes full of fear. To his surprise however, Wyatt stuck out his hand offering to help the other student up off the floor.
Afraid that Wyatt would hit him again, Dave struggled on his own to his feet, collapsing into his chair, at his desk.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled, much to Wyatt’s surprise.
“What,” Wyatt had to ask, not sure if he had heard him correctly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have read your diary,” he repeated, his eyes down.
“Dave, I’ve put up with your bullshit for two weeks now. I haven’t asked you to do anything. All I want is for you to leave me alone, you understand?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t my fault that they stuck me in this room with you and you didn’t get your single. I’m just here to go to school. They stuck me with you and as much as I would like to change rooms, I know it isn’t going to happen until the semester is over.” Wyatt felt strangely superior to Dave and the sensation invigorated him. “You can’t count on me moving out at the first chance I get. That should make you happy.”
“You want to move out? I didn’t mean to go through your diary.” Dave seemed clueless.
“Dave, it’s not just that,” and for the next few minutes Wyatt described to him all the things that bothered him about the other man. In the end, Dave just sat there and nodded his headed, a dumbfounded look on his face, as if all this information was being conveyed to him for the first time. When he was done, Wyatt stood, went over to Dave and patted him on the shoulder.
Dave looked up and smiled at his roommate, “Dude, I hope you don’t move out.”
The next day when Wyatt woke up to get ready for class, Dave’s bed was made.

September 16th – Dear Starlog

I still feel terrible about what I did to Dave, but you really can’t argue the results. I don’t think Dave will ever be a neat freak, but he does clean up after himself now, and he’s stopped using my bath towel to soak up whatever drink he inevitably spills. I think the real change has to do with the way he listens to me. He is willing to at least be receptive of what I have to say. Truthfully, that’s all I ever wanted. He’s still really loud when he comes in, and while he tries to be quiet, more often than not he wakes me up at night. On a positive note, I haven’t had to sleep in the study room since our misunderstanding.
I’m not a violent person. In fact, that little outburst of mine was the first time I had actually come unglued. I remember one time I got in a fight when I was in third grade and rather than try to hit the other kid, I basically just let him beat on me. I can’t even remember what the whole thing was about, but I do remember just standing there. I guess I’m a bit of a pacifist.
I think Dave was pretty spoiled as a kid. Matter of fact, I’m sure of it. He still gets care packages, one every week, from his mom. It is like a holiday when it comes because he tears through; sampling each of the treats his mom has packed. The last one he offered me a cookie but I passed, noting to him that I would rather not eat something that other people had already handled. Again, I think Dave learns a new lesson every day. I’m really starting to think he’s going to be an okay roommate.
We had a discussion about Lindsey the other day. After he profusely apologized again for reading my Starlog (I still don’t like calling it a diary) he asked me what happened with her anyway. I explained it to him and was taken aback by his perspective. He thought that maybe Lindsey was projecting on me the attention she felt she should be receiving from her dad. Now he didn’t go so far as to say that she was lusting after her dad. He just pointed out that he had read that people can become insecure, particularly if they don’t get the attention they feel from one of their parents. Made sense to me I guess and it sure helped explain some things. I think I’ll go with that explanation for now.
Now I suppose Dave and I have a bond. We certainly have an agreement. He promised he would never tell my secret if I promised to never beat him up again (or tell anybody I beat him up). I’m cool with that.
I’m doing pretty good in class. I like geography and literature isn’t too bad. I like to read so it makes it a bit easier. I would sooner be reading something a little less “classic” than Catcher in the Rye or breaking down Thoreau’s Walden, but overall it isn’t bad. For the first time in awhile I feel comfortable where I’m at. Maybe this whole going away to college thing isn’t so bad.

Wyatt Klinker Section 4

I've hit a bit of a wall, I just need to push through it. I sometimes have days like that. In actuality I had a lot of distractions and wasn't able to write like I wanted to. I got to our sitter's house yesterday to find that Balin had just started getting sick and was throwing up all over the place. The little guy was in bad shape. He's staying home today with Carol volunteering to watch him. I really think he's alright now. Angie said he was eating like a little pig this morning.

Actually Balin isn't a very good excuse. Truth is, the part of the story I'm working on is very awkward and I'm struggling to spit out the words. I know how it is going to play out, but writing it is difficult. There is a certain literary value I'm trying to capture with the story and I need to be careful not to contradict it. I've already seen areas where Wyatt didn't actually act like Wyatt, and that bothers me. He is a very cerebral person, very observant. I want to portray his moments where he is impulsive as moments of great weakness. I think that if I was to go back after it is over I would do a lot of rewriting in order to capture the real Wyatt I want to portray. Anyway, it is a struggle during this portion and I want it to work, so it is taking some time. Now, that isn't to say I'm falling behind. I did write about 1300 words yesterday, putting me about 290 words off of my pace.

I plan on knocking out this next section tonight and getting into the next, which is an arc I'm really looking forward to. It is setting up a section that I think will surprise some people. Don't worry, I'm not going to turn Wyatt into a serial killer or send him off to some fantastic land with dragons and unicorns, but it is going to be a turn. I think it will do a lot to portray the person Wyatt is. In truth, the story was initially built around this upcoming section (a Chapter I will preliminarily call Earl). It should fall right around Chapter 11 or 12, just to give you perspective.

Anyway, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear more comments if you have any to offer.

CHAPTER 5: SECRET

July sixteenth was a somber day for Wyatt. In his room above the garage at his aunt and uncle’s home he realized that this was the day he had originally been scheduled to fly home to Boston. Instead, he was unpacking his things again. He had traveled back east with his uncle to attend the memorial service for his mom and dad, and gather up some of his things to bring back to Chicago.
He remembered how empty his old house had seemed when he and his uncle had gone there.
“If there is anything of your parents’ that you want, get it now,” he remembered Uncle Rich telling him as they pulled up to the house. “The auctioneer is going to come in a do an inventory and make a list of everything to sell. If you don’t take it, it’s getting sold or thrown out.”
“What are they going to do with all of money they get from selling our stuff?” Wyatt had been curious.
“Well, my sister and her husband weren’t really very thoughtful about that part. Evidently you are set to inherit the entire estate, but it goes into a trust until you turn twenty-one. They’ve left very little to you directly. When I talked to the lawyer he assured me that in the very least they would release enough money for you to attend college, but that’s about it. It seems like they would have left something for Carla and me seeing as you have to live with us now,” Wyatt wasn’t sure that last part hadn’t been Uncle Rich talking to himself.
Wyatt hadn’t been sure whether getting his parents’ money was a good thing or not. He would have rather just moved back to Boston, but unfortunately no provision was made in the will for the house and all the belongings inside to go to him. To the letter of the law everything was sold except for those items of sentimental value claimed by the family. Uncle Rich had evidently decided that Wyatt’s mom’s jewelry and his dad’s coin collection had sentimental value to him.
Wyatt’s other uncle, Bernie, had come up from New Jersey and went through and took a couple of photo albums of his parents which Wyatt’s mom at meticulously arranged. She had been a fiend for scrap booking and the work she had done was incredible. Wyatt had made sure to take the remaining scrap books for himself.
They had spent the entire day at the house rifling through boxes in the basement, going through drawers and closets and packing up a few of Wyatt’s things. He had wanted to bring his bed and dresser, things that he was comfortable with, but Rich had told him no. The stuff in Chicago was good enough for him, even if these things held sentimental value.
In the end Wyatt had settled on a few of his books, his stereo, Playstation, and some of his clothes. The rest he left behind, never to see again. As he walked out the front door, his arms loaded with his stuff he looked back and felt a pang of sadness. The house, ever his sanctuary was no longer his. He was heading back to Chicago, where he had never felt comfortable.
The day after they had sorted through all their belongings at the house Wyatt and his uncle had went to the memorial service. There had been a lot of people there that Wyatt hadn’t known and relatively few family members. Everyone however took a moment to offer their condolences to the young man, shaking his hand, patting his back, hugging him and generally saying how sorry they were for his loss.
Wyatt had found the most difficulty in saying goodbye to his friends, particularly Steve, who had shown up in his red wheelchair, pushed faithfully by his mother. It had been difficult for either of them to say anything and after a few awkward moments they simply hugged each other and said goodbye, promising to write each other and even visit if it was possible.
Wyatt had been gone six short days though it had seemed like an eternity. Each day had been difficult for one reason or another. It was a less than memorable trip, though as he lay on his bed, in the room above the garage in the suburbs of Chicago, his mind was back on those few short days in Boston. He had missed his house so much that it tore at him just to be there again. He had felt strange standing in the kitchen, absent his mother who seemingly was just another fixture. The chair in the den where his dad wiled away the evenings, watching sports or some documentary on the Discovery Channel had sat empty. Thoughts of that made him smile as he recalled tucking the television remote into his book bag: Uncle Rich had told him to take stuff with sentimental value.
A house is a house he thought to himself, though he found himself grieving more for that place than he did his parents. For this Wyatt felt disgusted. He should be bawling his eyes out over the loss of his parents. Sure, he had shed some tears, but like the day he had heard of the accident, fear for what was to come had been the overwhelming emotion that poured over him. Now, it was dread over spending his days trapped in this room, trapped in Chicago living with surrogate parents that certainly didn’t want him.
“What am I going to do?” he thought to himself. “maybe I should just leave, go find a place for myself.”
Wyatt wasn’t an overly emotional person, but as he lay there on his bed in the growing gloom, with the sun going down on Chicago, he wept. He wept for the life he was living. He wept for the friends he had left behind, but most of all, he wept for the future he thought he had had in Boston.
It wasn’t like it was anything special. He had enrolled at a local community college with the intention of taking a few classes just to get a feel for things. He was not sure what he was going to do. He knew that school wasn’t really his thing, in fact it bored him to death, but he had to do something. He remembered arguing with his parents when they insisted he either go to school or find a job. Planning was never Wyatt’s strong suit.
Wyatt had decided that community college with give him something to do and get his parents off his back. Besides that, he could hang out with Steve, who had also enrolled. It wasn’t as if they were inseparable, but being with his wheelchair bound friend made him happy and Wyatt had always felt better about himself when Steve was around.
Now that was gone, a dream to never be realized. Not that it was much of a dream, but it was a snapshot of the future that Wyatt could grasp. He liked control, and having a direction to move towards gave him that. Now he had lost it, now it was all gone.
There was no telling how long Wyatt had cried before the tension and exhaustion from flying back from Boston earlier that day overtook him.
It was two thirty-four Wyatt noticed on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand beside his bed when he felt someone tugging on his shoe, attempting to pull it off. With a bit of effort it slipped from his foot and Wyatt heard it clunk to the carpeted floor as it was dropped. The other had already been removed prior to his waking.
“What…?” he asked the specter that had pulled off his shoe.
“It’s me, it’s alright, just relax,” he heard Lindsey’s voice. “I was worried about you. I heard you crying earlier and I felt so bad. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied, “What are you doing in my room?”
“I got up to use the bathroom and when I peaked in I noticed you were still dressed. I figured I’d just come in and tuck you in, or whatever,” she told him, “You miss your parents, huh?”
Wyatt didn’t know what to say, so he lied, “Yeah, it’s tough. I miss them a lot.”
“Do you want to talk about it,” she asked, her outline coming into view in the dark.
“No, I’m okay, just a little sad,” he replied.
He felt her arm on his shoulder as he laid there, her small hand immediately sending a shiver up his back. With his back to her, he felt the bed compress as she sat down beside him.
“I can’t imagine what you are going through, Wyatt. I could never bear losing either of my parents, let alone both of them,” she smoothed his shoulder with her hand.
“I’m okay,” he repeated. His heart had started to race and he had to force himself to relax. “She’s just here to comfort me,” he thought to himself, “this isn’t anything to worry about.”
Yet his thoughts turned to panic when he felt her lean down and kissed his neck right behind his ear. Before he could do or say anything, she stretched out and laid beside him, her arm draped around his waist, her mouth right at the back of his neck.
“Its okay, Wyatt, I’m here,” she whispered to him.
He could feel her body pressed against his, her torso conforming to him, fitting together on the small bed. Her hand stroked his stomach and chest as his heart raced a mile a minute. He felt paralyzed with fear, yet a part of him enjoyed the feeling. It had been a long while since anyone had actually held him, and never had he felt the intimacy of a woman. He was hypnotized by the sensation, and while his mind screamed how wrong this was, he justified to himself that she was simply comforting him at a time when he was grieving.
Lindsey had an athletic build, and as she pressed against him, Wyatt felt the firmness of her body. The muscles of her bare thighs brushed against the hairs on the back of his legs and sent goose bumps across his body. He was acutely aware of every movement of her hand as it played across his torso. He drew in a deep breath as his dipped towards his waist line, only to change direction and move back up to his chest. She was driving him crazy, but still he continued to lie there, wondering how far she would take this.
“I’m sooooo sorry Wyatt,” she whispered in his ear, “is there anything I can do?”
Before he could utter a response he felt the flicker of her tongue as it fluttered across his earlobe. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body absorbed the torrents of pleasure that washed over him.
Pulling at his chest she rolled him towards her, and on to his back. She immediately draped herself across him, her leg entangling itself with his as she found his mouth with hers.
Wyatt was powerless as he allowed her to savagely kiss him, her body grinding against his. He couldn’t even force his arms to wrap around her. It was as if a paralysis had taken hold of him and he was nothing more than a puppet for her to play with. As she kissed him his eyes were opened, focused on nothing but the darkness. This was so wrong, yet his resolve had cracked, broken like a dam strained by too much water.
He like he had been broken, yet there was no regret. Upon this realization he began to kiss her back. The paralysis immediately lifted and he wrapped his arms around her. They kissed for a moment before Wyatt rolled her onto her back, allowing him to take a position of control.
They continued to kiss, Wyatt’s mouth playing over her neck and the line of her jaw. He felt so alive has her nails dug into her back. She gasped multiple times in pleasure as he tickled her ear with his tongue.
Wyatt couldn’t believe what he was feeling. It was so incredible. The air itself felt electric.
He took a breath, and laid there beside her, looking up at the ceiling. She then reached down, grasped his hand in hers and guided it up her body. She let out a whimper as his fingers played across her breast.
Wyatt simply shuddered. He laid there thinking, “I can’t believe this is happening.” He allowed his hand to kneed her breast as she let out a slight moan. Turning on his side he brought his other hand up and explored her chest with both. She then lifted her head and kissed him again, her tongue wrestling with his as he continued to massage her body.
When their mouths separated he could feel her staring at him in the dark.
“Wyatt?” she asked.
“Yes?” he replied as he allowed his hand to slip beneath the long t-shirt she wore as pajamas.
“I really want you,” she answered back.
Wyatt wasn’t sure what light came on in his head. Perhaps it was the recognition of Lindsey’s voice, there in the dark, asking him to ravage her, perhaps it was a moment of divine intervention, but immediately Wyatt felt sick to his stomach. Pulling his hands off of her he immediately rolled over and sat up on the bed, reaching for the lamp on the light stand.
The room flooded with light and both of them squinted as their eyes adjusted. When he could finally see, Wyatt saw his cousin, her t-shirt pulled up, revealing a pair of pink and lime green polka dotted panties. Her flat stomach and navel could be seen and Wyatt forced himself to turn away, to not look at her as the object of passion he had allowed her to become.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him, a hint of anger in her voice. “What’s the matter, Wyatt?”
“I can’t do this,” he explained. “Lindsey, this isn’t right, you’re my cousin.”
Wyatt looked back at her, even though she hadn’t moved. He could feel his strength and resolve returning. No longer did he yearn for her body, instead he was disgusted at himself for what he allowed himself to do. She had controlled him and Wyatt was angry.
“Lindsey, you need to go,” he commanded, reaching for her hand, and pulling her up off the bed.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, holding her ground, refusing to allow him to guide her from the room.
“This is wrong Lindsey, we can’t do this,” he told her sternly.
“You weren’t so sure of yourself ten minutes ago,” she rebutted, causing Wyatt to blush. Her tone immediately softened, “is there something wrong with me?”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” he stammered.
She moved back towards him, a smile creeping across her face, “You know you want me.”
He turned away from her, “No Lindsey. I don’t want you, now go away.”
Wyatt refused to turn back around, even when he heard a sob come from the girl’s mouth. He stood looking at the blank wall until he heard the door close, then allowed himself to sit down on the bed.
Wyatt was shaking as he buried his hands in his face and wept again, wondering what he had just done.

August 3rd - Dear Starlog

It’s been a couple of weeks since the thing with Lindsey and all I can say is that it is getting pretty weird around here. For about a week you could tell she was pissed at me. She wouldn’t talk to me or even look at me. Aunt Carla had even noticed and asked her why she was so angry. She told her that I kept leaving the toilet seat up and it was making her mad. I think that kind of tempered things for her because the next day she started acting nice to me again. Maybe she got sick of being mad. My hope is that she finally realized how wrong it was to do in the first place.
I figure I’ll just avoid her for the next few weeks until I leave for school. I was able to go through some late registration deal and get into the University of Illinois-Chicago. The campus is right downtown. I was going to stay here and commute, but Aunt Carla wanted to make sure that I got to enjoy everything the college had to offer. Truthfully it didn’t take much convincing for me to decide to live in the dorms. For some odd reason I don’t think this thing with Lindsey is quite over with.
I can move into the dorms on the twenty-seventh, though my guess is moving isn’t going to take all that much. It’s not like I have much to begin with. I left most of my stuff back in Boston for the auctioneer to sell. I figure I could move in about a half hour before classes start and still have plenty of time.
I’m taking twelve credit hours the first term. Truthfully I’m not sure what is going on. My uncle had to pull some strings to get me accepted and enrolled considering how late I was applying. He knows one of the trustees and was able to feed him the hardship line seeing as my parents died in a bus crash a month and a half ago. They did have problems finding classes for me though. I guess everyone else registered way early, I mean in May or April, so I didn’t have much to choose from. I ended up taking college algebra, regional geography, intro to literature, and art appreciation. Looking over that schedule I honestly can tell you I’m not the least bit excited.
I’m kind of excited about going to college though. This place has been nothing but a tomb lately. Lindsey is never home, not that she would talk to me anyway, and I guess Aunt Carla has gotten tired of paying Chaya overtime because she doesn’t come in on weekends anymore and stays pretty busy on the weekdays. I talk to her once in awhile and even help her clean up just to give me something to do. I should go into the city, but I’m horrible with directions and would probably end up lost on the south side and end dead or something. I figure I’ll be living downtown soon enough and will be able to figure out my way around once I move.

The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker Section 3

Well, now we're rolling. Truthfully I'm pretty proud of myself. I was way behind coming out of the weekend and now I'm at 18,444 words. This comes after a furious writing session yesterday where I was able to bury about 6000 words. Believe it or not, this is getting easier as I move along. I know I'm not quite halfway there, but I happy to know that I still have a good bit of story up in my head and really am beginning to feel that I can get this written. This weekend may be a bit of a test. Dad and Janie plan on coming down Saturday and that night we are going out to celebrate Angie's birthday, so my time will be limited. Angie is scrapbooking on Friday night and I never get anything done when I'm trying to watch the kids. That leaves Sunday, and I'm scheduled to work. Could be rough. I'm hoping to use Thursday night as a writing night so I can work ahead. I wasn't really fond of having to make up all those words over the last two days. I plan on writing through lunch today, so hopefully I can make progress.

This next section is fairly long and takes you through word #12117, so there is another 6000 words already on paper. Hopefully I can stay ahead of your reading while still supplying semi-daily updates.

Kevin: I Appreciate your comments and would love to hear from others. It makes me happy knowing people are reading this stuff.

Anyway, here is the next section, hope you enjoy it...

CHAPTER 4: OFFICER

Wyatt walked around Navy Pier in Chicago, Lindsey talking as they walked. He wasn’t really paying attention; instead he took in the view. Lindsey was a lot more talkative then he had ever guessed she could be.
He had never had any intention of asking her to take him in to town and evidently Chaya had figured that out because on Tuesday she had called in and said she could not come in to work because she had been up all night with two sick kids.
It wasn’t long after his aunt had made this announcement that Lindsey had suggested they go in town to Navy Pier and maybe head down town to walk around and “see the sights”. Carla had feigned excitement and said that she thought that going downtown was a great idea. She even gave Lindsey some money and told her to make it a day, maybe have some dinner down there as well. She said she felt bad that they had missed the Fourth of July fireworks the previous day and wanted to make it up to them. Wyatt knew that she just wanted him out of her house.
It was sunny and hot and while it was a work day, the holiday had drawn quite a few people to the city. You could tell that most of the people around them were tourists. Many had cameras draped around their necks and a smile plastered across their faces as they enjoyed the city.
Wyatt could have been mistaken for a local. This really wasn’t his idea of a good time. While he loved watching people he did not like being out amongst them. He preferred to watch from the shadows, only coming out when he chose. Lindsey on the other hand looked completely comfortable in these surroundings. She talked and laughed about different trips down to this area of the city and of different things she had done with her friends. She constantly asked questions that Wyatt struggled to answer. When given a choice he usually just replied with a lazy “I don’t care” and let her lead him around to where she wanted to go.
One good thing about this trip into town was that Lindsey had not shown any of the interest she had displayed on the veranda a week earlier. Wyatt had been nervous while he was getting ready to go yet once they had left he could not detect any of the sexual tension that had been present the last time they had been alone together.
This made him feel good. While he wasn’t very conversant, he was comfortable at the moment and he could live with that. The control that he had seemingly lost when Lindsey had given him that “look” had really disoriented him and thrown him off. He needed control; it was all he really had.
“Let’s go over to Louie’s!” she explained suddenly, breaking off from a story she had been reciting about how her friends had eaten so much cotton candy they had gotten sick. “They have the best pizza in Chicago. You’ve got to try it!”
For once Wyatt was in agreement. They had been down here since ten o’clock and it was going on two. Had there been one thing that Wyatt had hoped for when he flew out here it was getting to taste the pizza. Steve had told him about the super thick dough and the huge amounts of toppings so prevalent in pizza out in Chicago.
A short ride on the “L” brought them within blocks of Louie’s, a tiny place crowded between two non-descript businesses in the heart of downtown. The windows were tinted dark and Wyatt couldn’t see inside but when the door swung open he could smell the wonderful aroma of fresh baked pizza. Immediately his mouth started to water.
The inside of the restaurant was a lot more spacious than what the street view conveyed. Being mid afternoon there were few customers and Lindsey and Wyatt were able to choose a comfortable booth towards the back of the restaurant.
The dark green vinyl booths were worn and ripped in places and the walls needed a new coat of paint, but the place was comfortable, and Wyatt liked it immediately.
“What can I get you kids to drink?” a chubby man in a stained white apron asked them, not quite approaching the table.
“I’ll take a Coke,” Wyatt replied.
“Me too, please,” Lindsey followed.
“Two Cokes, no problem. I’ll be right back,” he said as he turned and walked through a swinging door into the kitchen.
“Well, you’re the native, what’s good here?” Wyatt asked his cousin, reaching for a menu tucked in behind the salt and pepper shakers next to the wall.
“Well, I’m a traditionalist. I usually just go pepperoni but I’m willing to try something different if you want. You are the foreigner after all,” she replied with a smirk.
“Well, they do say that the merit of one’s pizza is based on the basics. Why try replicating a Picasso when you can’t even color inside the lines? Let’s do the pepperoni and see if this place is as good as you say it is.” Wyatt accentuated his words with a nod, drawing the same from his cousin.
When the waiter came back she ordered for them and they sat back relaxing in the cool air conditioning while they waited for their food.
“What’s Boston like Wyatt?” she asked him out of the blue.
“I don’t know, I guess like this place only a little smaller. I know it’s a hell of a lot cooler in the summer than this place is,” he laughed. He sat for a moment thinking, the smile leaving his face. “Its home. I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain. The people are rude, the traffic is terrible. But I miss it. I don’t know why, but I do. I look forward to going home.”
“You get along with your parents?” she asked and for a minute he was afraid that they were about to revisit their conversation from the patio a week earlier.
“They’re okay I guess,” he told her. “I mean, they give me a hard time, but overall they just leave me alone and I’m cool with that. Mom, she sometimes gives me a hard time about my room or dad yells at me when I don’t mow the lawn when I’m supposed to, but overall they aren’t bad.”
He sipped on his Coke.
“Do they ignore you like mine ignore me?” she asked and he realized she was fishing.
He thought for a minute, “Yeah, they do, but I think that’s just what parents do. They get so involved with life that sometimes I think they want to forget. I remember that when I was growing up my mom stayed home and didn’t work so she could take care of me. I remember her telling me they she was so fed up with me and that she just need to get the hell away from me sometimes. I suppose she is just taking advantage of that now.”
“That’s how I feel,” she replied, her eyes dropping to the red checked tablecloth. “My mom and dad really don’t spend too much time with me anymore. Sure, mom wants me to go with her when she goes shopping or stuff like that, but usually she just ends up telling me to meet her somewhere in a couple hours then I go off on my own.”
“What about your dad?” he asked.
She looked up with a smile, “I remember there was a horse farm way out south of the city. Dad used to take me there when I was little. I loved our trips out there. They had a little corral with pony rides and we used to go and pick out a horse for me to ride. I remember being way up on the horse, him holding on to my leg so I wouldn’t fall off. Afterward we would go out and get ice cream or just go to a little country store and pick out a bunch of snacks to eat in the car on the way home. Dad used to tell me not to tell mom that we were eating all that junk food because she would be mad we spoiled our dinners.”
“Sounds like you really had a good time,” he said as she continued.
“Yeah, we did. When I turned ten we quit going there and then he stopped taking me anywhere. I don’t know why. I still miss those days.”
“Ya know, sometimes people just get caught up in other things. Before you know it you’ve left that other life behind,” he said as she nodded, “it’s kinda like best friends that just grow apart. My guess is that you and your dad grew apart as you got older.”
She watched him for a minute, not saying anything. He fidgeted with his napkin, folding it into a paper airplane, thinking nothing of the silence.
“You’re different Wyatt. Why is that?” she asked him.
“What do you mean, I’m different?” he quizzed her.
“You know, you’re different. I wouldn’t say you’re weird or anything, because you’re basically normal, but you don’t act like most guys. I don’t know what it is,” she toiled with how to explain it.
He looked at her intently. He was extremely uncomfortable discussing himself, giving away his secrets. He still wasn’t sure about his cousin, but her admission about her father made him feel akin to her. He had been told before how complicated he was and had thought about that a lot. He had a pretty good idea what people saw, and as simple as it seemed to him, those who analyzed him had a difficult time figuring him out. On the other hand, by explaining how he worked to others, he gave away his power, and that wasn’t something he liked to do.
“I don’t think I’m different,” he said, not quite willing to give full disclosure. “Lindsey, I’m just like everyone else, I just don’t act like everyone else.”
“Well duh! That’s no real secret Wyatt. Why do you think we are having this conversation?” she smiled broadly, her teeth as straight and white as any he had ever seen.
“What I mean is, I spend more time watching people, learning about people, figuring people out than most people do,” he admitted to her, feeling some relief and some trepidation.
“Do you watch me?” she asked with a bit of a coy expression.
It was completely lost on Wyatt whose mind was racing, trying not to disclose everything, “Yeah, I watch everyone,” he replied without thinking.
“What do you watch me doing,” she prodded.
“Just about everything actually. I watch you eat, how you look at each bite, almost like you are analyzing it before you finally take it”
“I do not!” she interrupted, a huge grin playing across her face.
“Hey, you asked. I’m just telling you what I see,” he defended himself, hands up in front of him as if to ward off a blow.
“What else,” she relented, sitting back in her seat so as to listen fully.
“I watch you talk on the phone. I watch you from the window of my room, when you are swimming or sunbathing or just sitting in the backyard. I watch you all the time,” his mind carried him back to the many times he had focused on her. The memories played in his head, and he seemed lost, distant from the present.
He recalled one day a couple of days ago when he had seen her climbing out of the pool. While she was very well built and extremely sexy in her royal blue bikini, it was her face he had focused on. He had noticed that she was completely expressionless. He remembered thinking how sad that seemed. It had been a beautiful day, complete void of clouds. The heat was no excessive and a cool breeze made it just perfect, yet he remembered her climbing out of the pool and a sense of dread filled him.
How could someone who seemed to have everything she could ever want, living in a beautiful house, look so stoic and melancholy? It just hit him as wrong, and it bothered him.
She was saying something to him, but he didn’t hear her, instead he just let that memory play in his head. The worse thing about watching people was that there were so many mysteries, ones that in most cases you would never solve, no matter how long you watched them.
“Wyatt, are you alright,” she asked, shaking his hand.
He snapped out of the trance he had seemingly entered and smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m okay, I was just thinking.”
At that, the waiter arrived with the pizza, steam rising off of it as he set it in the middle of the table.
“One pepperoni for the happy couple,” he proclaimed as he placed plates in front of each of them and began the task of shoveling a slice of the ultra thick pie from the scalding black pan it was housed in.
Neither Lindsey nor Wyatt corrected him, intent on the meal in front of them. Based on looks alone Wyatt was positive he was about to experience paradise.

Wyatt ate all he could and still only managed two slices of the delicious Chicago style pizza. He wasn’t sure how he was going to go back to Boston and eat the stuff he was used to. Lindsey had been right about this place and Wyatt knew that he would have to hit the non-descript restaurant at least one more time before he headed back home.
Offers by the waiter to box up the leftovers were met with multiple confirmations, as Wyatt raved about the food. Lindsey simply sat back and smiled with a knowing “I told you so” look on her face.
Glancing at his cheap watch, Wyatt noticed that it was well past three thirty. “Well, you think we should get going?”
“Yeah, Mom wanted us home by five and it will take a good forty-five minutes in rush hour to get home,” she replied, gathering up her purse.
“Aunt Carla wanted YOU home by five,” he thought without saying anything. “He didn’t figure he would degrade his host anymore with her daughter, considering Wyatt felt Lindsey was already passing her own judgment on her family.
They walked out of the restaurant and were immediately hit by the mid afternoon heat. It had grown almost oppressive by this time and both agreed that they should race back home so they could jump in the pool.
They turned right and walked the four city blocks to reach the train station. As they approached they noticed a man standing beside the entrance, an old worn White Sox hat in his hand, extended to those who walked past him. As they approached they heard him ask, “spare a few coins for a meal?”
The man had very dark skin, and graying hair. A scruffy white beard covered his face and extended down his neck. His forehead was covered in sweat, yet he wore multiple layers of clothes. His pants were old blue Dickies, torn and patched in multiple places. A layer of filth spotted them. Underneath his open wool coat he wore a grungy black t-shirt. A logo on the breast pocket was faded to the point where it was no longer recognizable. His hands we wrinkled, the palms callused. His nails were long, and thick grime was noticeable beneath each.
His eyes we heavy and sad looking, and Wyatt was moved by his paltry appearance.
“Can you spare a couple bucks so I kin git me a sandwich?” he pled with them as they neared? He pushed out his ball cap, and Wyatt noticed it had a couple of coins in it, but nothing more.
Wyatt reached into his pocket to fish out some money but Lindsey stopped him, “What are you doing? You don’t give money to those scumbags otherwise they’ll follow you around forever. Just ignore him. If he wants a sandwich he can go to the shelter or get a job. He only wants the money so he can buy some more booze tonight.”
Wyatt was a bit taken back by Lindsey’s words. For a second there he saw her as his Aunt Carla, callus and unfeeling.
Wyatt gave the man a look, and the poor bum smiled back, yet there was morose in his face, one that told Wyatt that he understood Lindsey’s words and that this wasn’t the first time he had heard them. He nodded at Wyatt and then just turned away, retreating into the shadow of the building until the next person came along and he tried his luck again.
Lindsey and Wyatt made their way down to the train platform, crowded with a mass of people, pushing through turn styles and waiting for the next train. It didn’t take long before the correct train came barreling into the tunnel, its brakes squealing as it came to a stop along the long concrete platform. The doors opened and hundreds of people spilled out moving in mass to one of the exits from the station.
The two teens waited their turn and like the others, pressed into the rail car with its red seat and grungy lights.
The “L” was crowded and smelled of summer sweat as people jostled for seats, or attempted to maintain their balance as the train rattled down the tracks. There was a distinct sound to the train, one unique to Chicago.
The car was loaded with people of all walks of life. Just when it seemed as if the cabin had been packed as full as it could, the train would make another stop and few would leave in comparison to those who got on. It was nearing the end of the work day and people were making their way home to the city outskirts, or in Lindsey and Wyatt’s case, the suburbs.
The two cousins stood facing one another and the train continued to plow forward stopping every few minutes to exchange passengers. A man bumped Lindsey and shoved her in to Wyatt, who grabbed her to keep her from toppling. She immediately pulled herself away and apologized. It was at that point that Wyatt began to realize that the feelings he had thought she had displayed on the veranda were false. Lindsey wasn’t interested in him, and he was relieved.
The trip back to Kenilworth (the suburb they lived in) was the end of the line for the “L” and by the time they had arrived at their stop, the train was much less crowded. About half way there they had grabbed a seat from a group of people that had hurriedly exited the train.
Wyatt thought about the day they had shared. It was nice and it suddenly hit Wyatt that this was the kind of day you were supposed to have on vacation. He knew that the rest of his time here in Chicago was likely to be uneventful, but he was glad he had one day that he could look back at and remember fondly. Now he figured he just needed to put in the rest of his time, which shouldn’t be a problem now that Lindsey was not the problem he originally concerned himself with.
The trained screeched to a halt at the Kenilworth station and the two of them, along with a few dozen others exited the car and made their way through the station and out into the afternoon sun. When they had left to go downtown Lindsey’s mom had dropped them off at the station and planned on picking them up at five thirty when they got back.
Wyatt wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see the car, having enjoyed the wait at the airport weeks earlier. The two of them plopped down beside one another on a dark green bench in the shade outside of the station. It had cooled slightly, but was still baking in the sun and the shaded spot felt good.
It wasn’t long before Wyatt spotted a black and white patrol car pulling into the station parking lot, making its way to the front of the building. It pulled up in front of the two of them and the officer rolled down his window.
“Are you Wyatt Klinker and Lindsey Morgan?” he asked them to their surprise.
“Yeah, we are,” Lindsey answered, leaning forward, “is something wrong?”
“I need you both to get in. I’m supposed to take you home,” he told them, a bit of tension in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” listened asked, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Just get in, please. We’ll talk about it once we get you home. The back door is unlocked.”
“Is my mom okay? Is she hurt?” Lindsey was beginning to lose control.
The officer turned around as they slid into the cool interior of the cruiser, “I’m Officer York, and you’ve got to calm down. Your mom is okay. We’ll discuss this once we get you two home.”
Wyatt knew that something had happened and he immediately felt bad for Lindsey. She really cared for her dad, though he never seemed to offer her any attention. Wyatt allowed a hundred different scenarios to play through his head though he figured it was going to be a lot less traumatic that what Lindsey was figuring. Uncle Rich had probably been pulled over for drunk driving or something and Lindsey’s mom had gone down to bail him out. He figured that once she realized Lindsey was sitting at the train station waiting for her she had asked the police to send someone to pick them up.
The trip back to the house was a short ten minutes, but to Lindsey it seemed like an eternity. As they pulled up to the house they saw another police cruiser as well as both Carla’s Lexus and Rich’s BMW in the driveway.
“Well,” thought Wyatt, “it wasn’t a DUI otherwise they would have impounded Uncle Rich’s Beemer.” Now Wyatt was even more curious.
The officer turned to them, “Officer Rawlings is inside with your parents. He’ll explain everything.”
The officer got out of the car and opened the back door for them so they could slide out. He held the door as they both turned to thank them and Wyatt was sure he saw remorse in the young policeman’s eyes.
“You two take care of yourselves,:” he said as he got back behind the wheel of his car before backing out and driving away.
“I wonder what that is all about,” Wyatt asked Lindsey as they made their way through the garage and in through the kitchen door.
They found Rich and Carla in the den with who they assumed to be Officer Rawlings. He was an older, heavy set man with white hair. His cheeks and nose were bright red, as if he had recently been exerting himself.
Lindsey ran to her mom and dad who stood up and wrapped their arms around her.
“Oh my god!” the young woman exclaimed, “I thought something had happened to you!”
Both Rich and Carla had grim looks on their faces, and when Rich opened his arm up and offered Wyatt an embrace, he knew something terrible had happened.
Wyatt didn’t move as he turned to look at the officer, “What?” he asked, “tell me.”
“Wyatt, I’m Officer Rawlings, and I’m afraid I’ve got some terrible news regarding your parents.”

July 6th - Dear Starlog

I don’t have a lot of details, but I know that my parents died when the tour bus they were riding on overturned and rolled approximately five hundreds yards down an extremely steep embankment in a rural part of southern France. In addition to them, thirty-seven other people, including the driver, died. There is a forthcoming investigation but initial reports say that mechanical failure was the likely cause.
I don’t know what to think right now. It seems very unreal to me. My uncle was pretty shook up, seeing as it was his sister that had died as well. After the officer had told me he asked if I was alright. What kind of question is that? I really didn’t know how to answer it. If I said “yes” it was a lie. How the hell could I be alright, my parents had just died in a freaking bus crash? If I answered “no” they would think I was losing it.
I’m sad that my folks died, I really am. My dad was a good guy and my mom, though psycho at times, was a decent enough lady. I know they loved me, and I loved them too. Sure, we didn’t have the greatest relationship and we weren’t incredibly close, but they were my parents and I like to think they did a pretty good job raising me. It’s not like I’m a crack head or anything like that.
What do you use to grade the success of a parent? The more I think about it the more I realize how ambiguous the whole “good parent, bad parent” thing is. I once heard that Jeffrey Dahlmer’s parents were good people. Did they do something that someone didn’t know about that was the biggest sin of parenting?
My parents fed me, they gave me a place to sleep, and they took care of me when I was sick. They would talk to me, and took interest in my grades. My dad would come watch me play little league baseball and would even play catch with me when I was younger.
My mom helped me with homework and did my laundry and put band-aids on my knees when I was a kid. She told me she loved me, at least she did when I was little. I can remember that. I got spankings from both parents when I was little and did something wrong but they never really hurt me or anything like that.
The more I think about the more I realize that my parents, if anything, were normal. They didn’t do anything crazy other than be possessive of the remote control and lounge chair and have an off limits living room in our house.
Maybe it’s me? Maybe if another kid had been born instead of me, that kid would have turned out differently. Maybe I’m who I am much to the conflicting efforts of my parents. I wonder if they ever thought, “I wonder why Wyatt isn’t how we want him to be, are we doing something wrong?”
The more I think about it, the more I realize that there is something seriously wrong with me. Here it is, less than twenty-four hours since I learned my parents were killed in a horrible bus accident and I can’t think of anything but myself. Why aren’t I sadder than what I am? The truth right now is that I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do. My parents are dead, I’m eighteen years old, and I’m completely clueless about what comes next.