London, England
William Giles was the embodiment of the classical high school nerd. Wire-rimmed glasses were perched atop his nose and stuffy ‘proper’ clothing fitted loosely on his lanky form. Khaki trousers and white button-ups didn’t exactly earn him cool points. To make matters worse, he was rarely seen without his nose buried in a book.
More often than not, that book happened to consist of poetry, giving plenty of ammunition to anyone who wanted a laugh at his expense. He was used to the teasing and he’d learned to tune it out, having endured it for most of his adolescent life.
The dismissal bell rang, jarring him out of his poetry-induced fantasy world. He shut his book and began to gather his belongings. He’d finished his writing assignment a good twenty minutes ago and he’d busied himself with reading for the remainder of the period.
The other students around him were already geared to go and clambering for the door, some of them shooting him strange glances on their way past him. It was no secret that he wasn’t well-liked. When he wasn’t being ignored he was being picked on. He paid no one any mind as he slipped his shoulder bag on and headed for the exit.
He was at the back of the crowd and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder before he could escape the room. He turned and came face-to-face with his English teacher, Ms. Hall. She offered him a genuine smile and pulled him away from the group. As the last of the students wandered out she clasped her hands and said excitedly, “I was hoping to talk to you before you left. I just finished reading your work and I feel obligated to praise it.”
He ducked his head as his cheeks threatened to turn pink. He was obviously about to open his mouth in protest, but she cut him off by speaking again. “Really, William, I think you’re an incredibly intelligent and talented young man. You could go far with your writing if you wanted to. Don’t ever let anyone discourage you or put you down. I know these kids may not always be kind to you, but you needn’t take it to heart. You’ve got a gift that they could only dream of.”
He looked up and a real smile graced his lips. He was a little embarrassed that she’d mentioned the way he was treated by his peers, but he was more touched by the compliments she’d given him. “Thank you, Ms., it means a lot that you think so.”
She patted him on his shoulder and said, “Not at all, William. You’re free to leave now. I’m sure you have somewhere much more exciting to be.” He would’ve laughed at the absurdity of her statement, but he was too quiet-natured and more than a little humiliated. He didn’t have any great circle of friends waiting for him outside. All he had was his sickly mother to look after, which he didn’t mind.
He loved her more than anything and he was every bit the dutiful son she deserved. After she and his father had gotten a divorce, he’d chosen to stay in England with her. He could never understand why his father had abandoned the both of them to live in the states. He hadn’t seen the man in years and he’d stowed away a good amount of bitterness toward him.
When Anne had fallen ill to tuberculosis, which was extremely rare given the time period, he’d developed further unpleasant feelings toward his absent father. He’d since dedicated all of his spare time to caring for his mother and making sure she was comfortable.
The doctors had informed him that her condition was very serious, and all that they’d done to try and help her seemed to fail. She’d been sick for months now with no sign of recovery. He knew it was only a matter of time before her body gave out, and the weight of that knowledge constantly pressed on his mind.
He’d stopped sleeping well weeks ago, constantly worrying for Anne’s declining health. More and more often he’d hear her coughing in the middle of the night and he’d get up to check on her. As the weeks crawled by, the internal bleeding seemed to increase in volume and frequency.
He felt completely helpless; there was nothing in his power that could keep her alive. He could only watch as she suffered daily, and it was tearing him apart inside.
He smiled awkwardly at his teacher before leaving the room, too caught up in his turbulent thoughts to say anything to her. Her brow creased in worry as she watched him go, knowing that something was off with him. At the beginning of the school year he’d seemed to be a generally happy person, albeit just as quiet as ever. As of late he’d retracted further into himself and he’d been showing the classic signs of depression.
She chewed on her lower lip and made a mental note to pay closer attention to him. She would feel awful if something happened to such a sweet boy, who also happened to be one of her most promising students. She really believed that he could do anything he wanted with a mind like his.
William bumped into several people on his way out of the school. He wasn’t watching where he was going, in his haste to get home, and more than one obscenity was yelled at his retreating form.
Anne Pratt was busy washing and chopping vegetables when she heard the front door open and close. She smiled to herself as she tossed a handful of thinly sliced carrots into the salad bowl. ‘William must be home.’
He appeared in the kitchen seconds later and rewarded her with a warm smile. “Hello, Mother.” He enveloped her in a hug and she set her knife down to return it. When they broke away she had a new sparkle in her eye. It always cheered her up when she was near her son.
He was such a loving man and she really hoped he would someday find a woman who would take care of him. He was far more sensitive than most young men his age. It would break her heart to see him hurt.
“How was school, William?” She went back to carefully chopping the vegetables and adding them to the salad. He set his book bag down and went to wash his hands so he could help her.
“It was all right. Ms. Hall told me I have a knack for writing. I think she’s a bit batty to be honest.” He laughed lightly with a glimmer of amusement in his cerulean eyes. It warmed Anne’s heart to see him happy for a change. He’d been sulking around for weeks, worrying endlessly about her condition.
“She’s right, dear. I know you don’t want to listen to an old lady like me, but you’re a very smart boy, William.” He ducked his head and complained good-naturedly, “You have to think that. You’re my mum.” She laughed and swatted his arm. “Nonsense. I mean every word.”
They continued their easy camaraderie as they prepared the evening meal. Dinner consisted of hand-tossed salad with Italian vinaigrette, accompanied by baked chicken breasts and buttered sweet potatoes.
Afterward they cleaned the dishes together then sat down in the living room. It was a normal routine for them to spend the evening together, each knowing that they might not have much time left. Anne settled herself on the sofa and patted the space beside her. William sat and asked, “Would you like to hear some poetry, Mother?”
It wasn’t uncommon for Anne to request that he recite something. She seemed to gain some honest joy from it and he was happy to oblige. Her face lit up at his offer and she nodded eagerly. “Please. You know I love to hear poetry from you.” He took her hand with a sheepish smile and said, “Well I don’t have anything new that I’ve written, but I’ll be happy to recite someone else’s work.” He squeezed her hand and smiled brighter as he began.
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight…”
He was interrupted suddenly when she was thrown into a vicious coughing fit. He instantly jumped up to fetch a glass of water, as she pulled out her handkerchief and caught the flecks of blood that would’ve ended up on the sofa. He returned quickly and sat beside her, offering her the glass and rubbing her back with his free hand.
She took eager gulps of the cold liquid as her body calmed once more. He helped her to stand once she finished and he escorted her up the stairs to her room. She insisted that she was fine but he fussed over her nonetheless, helping her into bed and asking her if she needed anything else. “I’m fine, William. You need to stop worrying about me so much. You’re going to become an old man before you turn eighteen.”
Her eyes crinkled a little as she smiled up at him, even though her head was resting tiredly on the pillow. She patted his hand lovingly and said, “I just need some rest and I’ll be good as new. I promise.” He smiled back at her but it didn’t reach his eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Her promise was empty and they both knew it.
William shut himself up in his room and finished his homework quickly. He breezed through the assignments without giving them any real thought. As far as he was concerned, the work was fit for elementary students. It was a shame that most of his classmates were incapable of using the brains they’d been given. The result was that his teachers were forced to lower the bar to accommodate the general populous.
He pushed aside his history textbook and thumbed through a stack of papers on his desk. He drew out a piece covered in various scribbles; his latest poetic disaster. He kept trying to get his thoughts down in a sensible order, but the words were eluding him. All he’d come up with were random bits and pieces that had no artistic flow.
With a scowl fixed firmly on his face, he put his pencil to the paper and tried once more to call upon his muse. An hour later he huffed in frustration and stood from his chair, stretching his stiff limbs and abandoning the poem for the time being. He turned off the desk lamp and quickly changed for bed. His body was rent with exhaustion and he didn’t have the energy to fight sleep off tonight.
“Well what do we have here?” William looked up from his notebook and gulped when he saw Parker Abrams, the captain of the rugby team, staring at him with a smug grin.
His buddy Jake decided to pitch in with a loud guffaw. “It looks like little Willy is scribbling love notes again.” Jake snatched the notebook up, much to William’s dismay, and handed it to a laughing Parker.
William groaned inwardly and looked down in shame as the two started reading it aloud. Everyone knew that he had a crush on Cecily Addams, but the thought of public humiliation in front of her hadn’t occurred to him until now.
“This woman dost not cognize
The wealth of love I have bestowed,
For she hath proved to paralyze,
To her my deep affection is owed.”
Everyone within hearing range busted out in laughter, ranging from belly-laughs to girlish giggles. His cheeks flamed and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He tuned the rest out as he bolted from his seat and ran out of the lunchroom. He didn’t stop until he’d cleared the building completely, gasping a little for breath since he wasn’t accustomed to physical exertion. He made a note to visit the gym sometime soon.
His muscles strained and his lungs burned in protest as he ran the rest of the way to his house, skipping out on his classes for the first time in his life. He didn’t let the tears fall until he was inside the front door. At that point he collapsed tiredly and let his emotions get the better of him.
Cecily’s laughing face was burned permanently in his mind. She’d been among the crowd with her friends, making fun of him like everyone else. He could hear her voice ringing in his ears, calling him ‘William the Bloody Awful Poet’ as he’d run away.
Anne heard the commotion from her study and emerged to find William slumped on the floor, crying and muttering under his breath. Her heart clenched with worry and she quickly went over to him. He flinched at first when she wrapped her arms around him, until he realized who she was. Then he sank into her embrace with relief, feeling like a little boy who’d scraped his knee on the playground.
After a time he regained control of himself and relayed the events of the afternoon. Anne listened attentively and scowled when he finished. Children could be so cruel when they wanted. Her heart broke a little for him as she wiped away his remaining tears.
“I’m so sorry, dear. They had no right to invade your privacy and say those things. They’re wrong about you, though. I happen to love your poetry.” She smiled encouragingly at him, hoping it would help to lift the sadness clouding his persona.
He felt increasingly embarrassed as his mother tried to comfort him. He knew he shouldn’t listen to the criticisms of insecure teenagers, but sometimes they cut him deeper than he’d like. His poetry was one of his weaker points and they’d preyed on it without hesitation, cutting him down and making him feel worthless.
He looked at his mother and forced a smile onto his face. “I know, Mother. I’m sorry for causing you concern. It’s difficult to bear at times, but I know it’s more about them than me.” He laughed bitterly and said, “I feel bloody stupid now, sitting here crying like a pathetic git.”
Anne frowned and said sternly, “Don’t say such things about yourself, William. Even the strongest people have feelings, and sometimes they get hurt. Never feel ashamed of your tears.” She kissed his forehead then stood and offered him her hand, helping him to his feet as well.
“Why don’t you run upstairs and clean up? I’ll make some chicken parmesan and spaghetti.” She knew it was his favorite dish and she was happy to do anything that would improve his mood. He kissed her cheek and dashed upstairs to do as she’d asked. He already felt a little better about what happened, but a small part of him would always be slightly scarred from the experience. What didn’t kill him would make him stronger.