47. Will
WILL
I got out of bed and headed for the shower. I dressed and made myself two eggs over easy and a single piece of buttered toast, which I ate while listening to NPR. I liked NPR. They covered real news, not my father’s stroke or Derek’s eyepatch.
I took the train up to the Bronx and got off at Cypress Ave.
A few people waved and said hi, the fathers, aunts, and cousins of some of my students.
It was a dangerous part of the city, perhaps the most dangerous, but I wasn’t afraid.
They knew me here. They knew I worked at the school, that their kids spent hours every night coloring pictures for me.
I was early for my meeting, so I walked down the hall to my classroom.
All the furniture had been pushed into the center of the room.
The floors had been waxed and the walls painted.
My classroom had been colorful before. Above the bulletin boards, there had been a border of painted shapes circling the room: green triangles, blue circles, orange squares, yellow hexagons. Now everything was sea-foam green.
“Hi, papi.” Jamie, the custodian, poked his head in. “What do you think of the new paint job?”
I didn’t care if the research supported calm, soothing colors. I liked it better when it was bright and fun. “It’s nice,” I lied.
The school was so different without students. It was quiet and smelled of grime and floor wax. The bulletin boards were bare, and the hallways seemed twice as long.
I stepped into the office and found Mary standing behind the counter.
“Mr. Chapman, how are you? How’s your dad?”
“Better. He’s out of the hospital.” I glanced at King’s door, which was open. A faint whiff of cigarette smoke drifted out. When students weren’t in the building, King smoked right in her office.
“I hope you know that no one here believes any of that garbage they’re spreading about you. We all know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I know. Thanks, Mary.”
“You should have heard King on the phone with the superintendent. She gave her a piece of her mind, I’ll tell you.”
“William,” King’s husky voice barked from her office, “is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I gave Mary my usual here-I-go nod and stepped inside.
I took off my backpack and sat in my usual chair across from my boss.
The blinds were open, and the sun was hot on my face and neck.
Theodore Roosevelt stared down at me from his portrait, still insisting, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care. ”
King rose and turned on her electric tea kettle. “I’ve given the matter a lot of thought, and I’ve decided not to move you up to fifth grade next year, after all. You have such a nice voice, and I think you’d make a great music teacher.”
“I’m resigning.” I opened my backpack and pulled out the letter I’d written. I’d imagined this moment countless times before. In my fantasies, it was righteous and dramatic. But in reality, I felt nothing but shame, like I was surrendering my dog to the pound.
“You don’t have to. I’m going to ask the teachers to take their preps in their rooms next year, so you’ll never be alone with students. I’ve already cleared it with the superintendent.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, handing her the letter. “I really do. But I think it’s best for everyone if I just disappear for a while.”
King pulled a cigarette from the pack on her desk. She lit it and sat back. Smoke curled up toward the cracked ceiling. She looked exhausted.
“You’re going to be okay, William. I hope you know that.
Those kids put you through hell, and you never gave up on them.
So don’t give up on yourself, okay?” She pushed her auburn hair behind her ear, and I was surprised to see gray roots showing.
“Are you a hugger, William? Because I’m a hugger.
” She set the cigarette on the corner of her ashtray and stood.
“Uh, sure.” I let Principal King hug me and was surprised to find she was soft and squishy and barely came up to my shoulder.
“And if you ever need anything, a letter of recommendation or anything like that, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”
“Okay.” I stepped away from the hug and retrieved my backpack. “I should probably go. I have to meet my mom for brunch.”
King perched on the edge of her desk. “Okay. You won’t forget us now, will you?”
“Never.” And I wouldn’t.
“Mr. Chapman,” Mary said as I walked back through the office, “will you sign this before you go?” She unrolled a poster, and I stopped short when I saw my eighteen-year-old self staring back at me.
I’d never forget the first time I saw this image, the single tear running down my face, the words The Beautiful etched in elegant print across the top.
It was like a declaration of love. At least, it elicited the same lightning-in-a-bottle feeling, this tangible proof that my dream finally had a foothold in reality.
“I was going to ask you later, but I overheard—”
“Sure, of course.”
I was five minutes early to meet my mother and was surprised to find her already seated with two mugs of steaming coffee on the table. “Thanks for coming,” she said.
“Sure.” I sat down and immediately set to work turning my coffee into a calorie bomb.
“Your father’s feeling better. He keeps calling me to make sure we haven’t struck the sets yet. That man doesn’t know when to quit.”
I was aware. He’d been hounding me nonstop about rewriting the script and filming a few key scenes before he was no longer able to.
“This might be a blessing in disguise,” he’d told me.
“If the studio knows what’s good for them, they’ll take what we’re giving them.
My death will be far better marketing than anything they can build around Derek or whoever they try to replace me with.
And with Derek out of commission for the next month, if they want me, they’ll have to take you, too. ”
He was overestimating how much the studio cared about him winning an Oscar. Awards magnet or not, he hadn’t been a serious box-office draw in decades, and he was grossly underestimating how much everyone hated me.
If Mom had called me here to push Dad’s far-fetched agenda, she was wasting her time. “What do you want, Mom?”
“You haven’t returned any of my calls. I’m worried about you. What’s wrong? I didn’t know about James, you know. I had no idea. I was just as surprised as you.”
“I don’t care about that.”
It was a lie, of course, but I wasn’t a foolish teenager anymore. I’d always known James was too good to be true.
“He liked you, William. I know he did. I think he just wasn’t ready for all the—”
“Are you seriously defending him right now?”
“Don’t get mad at me.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You could’ve told me, you know, saved me the embarrassment.
How hard would it have been to say, ‘William, hon, you’re barking up the wrong tree.
Derek likes vaginas, especially mine?’ I feel like such a fool.
And when this leaks—and you know it will—do you know what they’re going to do to me? ”
“Jesus, William, I’m—”
“Save it, Mom. Derek was never mine. You didn’t steal my boyfriend.”
Totally missing the point, she asked, “Did James tell you?”
Jesus Christ. Of course James knew. “No, James didn’t tell me.” I took a sip of my coffee. Disgusting. But I drank it anyway. “Well, I haven’t seen it in the papers yet, so I assume, what, you paid him off?”
“Your father took care of it.”
“Of course he did. Well, it’s been fun, Mom. I’ll see you at the funeral.” I stood and slapped ten dollars on the table for the coffee.
“Wait, William, come back. Let’s talk about this.”
I didn’t look back. I just walked out of the restaurant.
I was in Barnes & Noble when I got a text from Theo asking to meet up. He wouldn’t say why, just that it was important. So, an hour after storming out on my mother, I plopped my ass down on the rim of Bethesda Fountain next to a lanky, blue-eyed teenager.
“Thanks for meeting me. I know you must hate me. I’m sorry I—”
“I don’t hate you, Theo. Jesus.” If I hated anyone, it was myself for thinking James might leap out of the bushes with the perfect “I can explain everything” excuse to make the last couple of weeks seem like an unfortunate blip, rather than my new normal.
“I’m sorry I lied and made you pretend—”
“Seriously, it’s not necessary. I’m not mad at you. I get why you did it. I’m not even mad at James.”
“You should be.”
“Well, I’m not. I guess I’m just a forgiving person.”
Theo scoffed. “If that were true, you’d have forgiven yourself years ago.” Instead of looking at me, he dipped his hand into the fountain and studied the way the sunlight played across his skin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re just like Uncle James. You think pretending things don’t matter will make them not matter, but that’s not how forgiveness works, especially not when it comes to forgiving yourself. I should know. I’m the reason he killed himself.”
It took me a second to realize Theo was talking about his father, his real father, Travis. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he replied matter-of-factly. “He didn’t want me to watch him get sick and die like he had to watch Grandpa, so . . .”
“Jesus, Theo, even if that were true, you can’t blame yourself.”
“I should’ve known.” He pulled his hand out of the fountain, eyes fixed on the drops hitting the water’s surface. “It was right there in the song.”
“You don’t know that he did it on purpose, and even if he did, that’s just what dads do. They protect their kids. You can’t blame yourself for that. It would be like blaming yourself for being born.”
Theo met my gaze. “You blame yourself for Derek, and you don’t remember anything from that night, so it’s basically the same thing.”
I nearly choked on my own saliva. “What are you talking about? I got blackout drunk and nearly killed someone. Our situations couldn’t possibly be more different.”
“Why not? I don’t remember being born.”
I didn’t mean to laugh, but what the fuck?
He scowled. “I’m making a good point. You just don’t realize it. Intentions are important, sure, but so is impact. It’s like how at school you can’t say, ‘that’s so gay’ and expect a free pass just because you ‘didn’t mean it like that.’ The impact of those words still matters.”
I swallowed, unsure where he was going with this.
“You keep punishing yourself for what happened to Derek, but from what I can see, he’s fine.
Better than fine, really. He got a fucking Oscar out of the deal.
So there’s no impact, which leaves only intention, and you can’t even remember attacking Derek, let alone why.
It could’ve been an accident for all you know. So that part makes no fucking—”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“You don’t know that. You’re a very sloppy drunk. Maybe it just slipped out of your hands. That seems just as plausible.”
“Why does it matter? Who cares if I forgive myself?”
“Because maybe then you’ll finish the movie.” Theo wiped his hands on his jeans. “I want you to play Dad, not Derek.”
I sighed, touched by his sincerity, however misguided. “I have no control over any of this. The studio wants Derek, not me. He’s the star. He’s the one who’s going to put asses in seats. Look on the bright side, though. Maybe they’ll replace my dad with someone cool, like George Clooney.”
Theo stood, casting a long shadow over the red bricks. “Donna says your dad doesn’t wanna give up.”
“It’s not up to me. Don’t you get that? It’s not up to my parents either. Sometimes, things are just the way they are, and all we can do is deal with it.”
“Yeah, but you could at least try, right? Once they see the footage, they’ll know how amazing you are. Uncle James said you’re incredible as Dad, and if you don’t hurry, Robert will be—”
“I know that.” I closed my eyes and took a breath.
Theo was just trying to be helpful, even if his optimism was annoying as fuck.
“But he’s had a long career, and never winning an Oscar will probably be the thing that keeps people talking about him.
He’ll be the next Peter O’Toole.” I stood, too, ready to get out of there, maybe hit the gym.
“And I’m not some victim you need to pity.
I’m just a guy serving his time. I probably shouldn’t say this, especially as a former teacher, but the truth is: sometimes you lose, even if you really try. ”
Theo jumped onto the rim of the fountain. “I know that. But your problem is, you don’t even try.”
I considered Theo’s words as I walked the long way home through the park. Did I try? Did I forgive? Or did I just skip all the messy parts—all the fighting and failure—and go directly to resignation and defeat?
I'd never seen the point in throwing my pain back at someone. Why give them any more power? Even if I succeeded in making them feel guilty, how would that serve me? It was better to learn from my mistakes in private and move on, find better people to trust, or no one at all.
Besides, what would trying even look like? They weren’t going to throw Derek over for me, and it wasn’t even what I wanted. I didn’t want my comeback to come at Derek’s expense.
I paused at the pond at the base of Belvedere Castle and watched a turtle paddle lazily across the algae-green water.
Dad’s plan was beyond a Hail Mary, but he didn’t need certainty.
He needed hope. As long as he believed there was a chance our version of the film would find its way to theaters, he could die in peace.
It didn’t matter if it actually happened. Maybe I could give him that.
I turned and started heading in the other direction, toward Grand Central Station. If I hurried, I could be at my father’s before dinner.