William Mundane

(2648 words)



My name is Billy Mondain and I live in the town of Chesterbrook, New Hampshire. I am in the eighth grade at the Whinebrook Elementary Academy. The reason for this writing is because my teacher, (Mrs. Johnston) always wants me to write stories in English class. I don’t mind usually, I write her something made up about a fishing trip, or a kid scared of taking a test, pretty lowly stuff. Today though I am drawing blank, and can’t think of a thing. Once I wrote a story of a boy and his dog Walter. They had to spend a night alone in the woods after they got separated from his mother, some of my best work if you ask me. Mrs. Johnston must have liked it as well because I got an A on it.  Although, I always get A’s, always in the same corner with some ludicrous comment like, “Keep up the good work Billy,” or, “Great job Billy.” Always, with that dreaded empty A written in red Sharpie. I wonder if my teacher actually reads my drivel. To tell the truth I don’t even try most of the time. I guess that’s what comes with being “gifted,” or, “special,” or “touched,” or one of the many other names they have for me. I wish they would just call me “Billy the normal kid.”



I don’t get to do the usual work the other kids do. No, they have different assignments for me because of my “special abilities.” It all seems to come easy to me though. My teachers are always telling me how smart I am, or how good I did on this and that. Every Tuesday I go and see Dr. Baxter, he’s nice enough and lets me call him Dr. Ben. He has always got some lame Knock-Knock joke, or one about horses with long faces in bars. I tell him I think they’re funny and laugh. Mostly just to see the look on his face as he laughs along. I actually think he finds them humorous, which I find humorous. After all the hilarity is over with its right down to business; we do different series of tests. Mostly little games and mind teasers with questions thrown in. I guess they want to see how a smart kid ticks. I don’t mind though, I like Dr. Ben. He treats me like a normal kid. I hope he finds what he’s looking for with all these tests.



Every one treats me different then they treat the other kids. The adults are usually nice enough, but I can tell they want to get away from me as fast as possible. I don’t have many friends, any friends I should say. All the other kids think I’m peculiar. They avoid contact with me at great lengths. Some at least acknowledge me once in a while, but I hear their remarks of how I’m “weird,” or “funny,” (not the same kind of funny Dr. Ben thinks his jokes are) when they think I’m out of ear shot. Some kids are quite mean to me, and pick on me a lot. I just shake that off though. I know they are just scared of me.



I have a couple of kids I guess I could call friends. I see them on Tuesdays. They are some of the other “gifted,” kids of Dr. Ben's. They know how it feels when people don’t want to talk to you, or kids don’t want to play with you. To tell the truth, I even find them a little odd. At least I get to hang out with some other kids though. I never let on what I really think of them. They actually listen to me when I talk, most people don’t. Not even my mother. Sure, she smiles and nods at all the right times, but I can tell she’s not paying any attention. Sometimes I think I must be speaking a different language. They always answer me with some vague indistinguishable comment, like I’m already supposed to have all the answers. I never let on that I catch this. I like to let them think they have me fooled. It’s easier that way.



The only person who ever treats me like a normal kid is my brother Tommy. Tommy is bigger than me even though I am one year older. He’s not good in school like I am and has to try very hard for B’s and C’s. He’s a lot better at sports then me. We play basketball or soccer or football. It doesn’t matter; he’s good at them all. He lets me win the odd time so I don’t get discouraged, then pats me on the back. I don’t mind though, I let him think I don’t know he lets me win. Tommy even lets me hang out with him and his friends sometimes, even though they hate it when I’m around. They would never say anything, especially to Tommy. Everybody always looked up to Tommy and wanted his admiration. My brother Tommy had a way of making everybody around him feel comfortable, like they belonged. I miss my brother. Tommy died last summer and it should have been me. Maybe I should write about that. I remember it so clearly…

*******

The sun was high in the sky that late August day. Not a cloud to be seen. The temperature was a comfortable 80 degrees, with a feeble south west wind blowing over the lake. It was the last day of our vacation and the best one yet! My mother rented us a cottage every year on Lake Winnipesaukee for the last two weeks of summer break. A nice little treat before the monotony of another school year began. I always looked forward to the cottage all year long. My brother and I had the best times there. I would almost feel normal at the lake. The kids we would meet every year were always nice to me. I guess I can fool kids for a little while before they notice my oddness. It doesn’t hurt to have a brother like Tommy that everybody gravitates to. It’s relatively easy to stay in the back ground.



The summer was like the most; Aunt Ruth would come down from Pittsburgh and the four of us would go on some outings. Once we went to the Jones Brook Wild Life Park where they have lots of animals to see. Some stuffed that look so alive, especially their eyes. That place fascinates me.



Some days we would go for long boat rides to Welch Island, where the sparkling sand always reminded me of millions of diamonds crushed into dust and forgotten there for eternity. Every night would end the same, around the camp fire roasting marshmallows or hot dogs, listening to my mother and aunt singing songs or telling terrible ghost stories. I liked all those things, but I liked just hanging around the cottage catching fish or swimming off the dock. Those days my mother and her sister would laze around the back deck; drinking tall icy drinks under the shade of the great fir trees that litter the property. You could hear them giggling and laughing like the girls in my grade do. They would reminisce about times when they were children. The things they did, the boys they dated, and the trouble they would get in to.  Always lowering their voices to a shallow whisper when they talked about the bad things. Then erupt into joyous high pitch squealing that I suppose could pass for laughter. On those days it was just Tommy and I. Kings of our dominion, free to explore the wonders of our monarchy for treasures and lost Indian tribes. That was my favourite game. I think Tommy’s too.



The last day was always the saddest. Mom would make us pack up and clean the cottage early so we wouldn’t be rushed when we left the following morning after breakfast. Once we had all our chores done we were off to say goodbye to our kingdom and our new found friends in hopes of seeing them the following summer. That day we found ourselves at  ol’ Weaver dam which was the end of our territory. We were never to cross that dam or go near it. The water here was fast running with dangerous undertows. We always gave the dam a respectable girth. This summer was different though, and we had grown tired of our usual yearly hang out spots. Like the old tree house off of Shaver road, or the mud flats which made the best pies this side of Henbrook. Even the old dam had lost most of its deadly allure. I asked Tommy if we should cross it and lay claim to new land for the further-meant of our empire. Tommy agreed. I was a little frightened myself. The rocks looked loose and slippery. I peered down at the water and was taken back by its velocity. Tommy had no fear; I think he was born without that particular feeling. I had to go through with it; after all it was my idea.



Tommy went first with me following behind like a shy, lost puppy. I watched how he made every sure footed step on the rocks that shifted slightly under each stride.

“Come on Billy!” my brother called back, when he saw how visibly shaken I was. “You can do anything in-our-Kingdom!" He was right; I could do anything in my Kingdom. I didn’t have the kids at school teasing me or the grownups encouraging. No, in this kingdom I was just another kid getting into mischief with his brother, and best friend. I started walking across cautiously at first, letting my feet get accustomed to the sleek unstable rocks. I was getting better with each step and was half way across when I really started picking up the pace. Tommy was on the other side of the dam already, cheering me on like he always did.

“King Billy Conqueror of th--,” a rock dislodged under my foot and Tommy’s words disappeared from my ears as I disappeared under the waves. I was instantly sucked down under the rapids and thrust around like an aquatic pin-ball. Being thrown up out of the water long enough to take a much needed breath, and to see Tommy racing towards me with an expression on his face I had never seen before. It was as if time froze for that split second, as our fearful eyes met. I wanted to scream at him to stop, that the undertow was too powerful, that I would be okay. But it was too late, and I was pulled back under by an unseen powerful force spinning and spinning me like the old wooden top at home. Then, I felt Tommy’s strong arms around my chest, his feet kicking frantically trying to break the force of our downward spiral. It seemed like a futile, unending struggle. I felt him pushing me higher and higher until my head breached the crest of the water and I was launched up on to the slimy rocks. I violently scrambled for grip and leverage, eventually pulling myself up to the safety of the old dam. When I was certain I had sure footing I turned around with my hand out for Tommy, but Tommy wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. I frantically scanned the ravenous rapids but to no avail, he was gone. I wanted to jump right back in the water to save him but I was too scared. A coward. I screamed and screamed for him to stop fooling, that he was scaring me. I kept waiting for his head to pop up from the water with that sly look on his face, “ha ha fooled ya!” but he never did. I screamed for what felt like hours. Dripping wet and rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Eventually a man fishing heard my screams and found me near dusk. It took three days to find my brother.

*******

Home is a lonely place now, it’s eerily quiet. The house itself is an empty morsel of what it once was. My Mother is a shadow of her former self. She wonders aimlessly throughout the house, always ending up in Tommy’s room. I hear her crying at night through the heat vents when she thinks I’m asleep. I think she blames herself for Tommy’s death, but it’s not her fault. It’s mine. It should have been me. Tommy could have comforted my Mother in ways that I can’t. Tommy could do anything. Some nights I dream of Tommy. He comes in my room and sits on the edge of my bed. He asks me questions about my day or about stories I’ve written. He tells me to take care of mom. I tell him I’m sorry and it should have been me. He just laughs and shakes his head telling me it was always meant to be him, that I have greater things to do than he ever could. I don’t believe him though.  I never remember how the dreams end; they just kind of fade away. I like it when he comes; it’s the only normal conversation and interaction I get now. I feel so alone and trapped in my own body.



No one has ever asked me how I feel about losing Tommy. It’s like they think I don’t know he’s gone. I have strange feelings and thoughts about people now, like I’m the butt of some inside joke. I just wish they would treat me like I was normal. Like Tommy did. I wish Mrs. Johnston WOULD ACTUALLY READ MY STORIES and share with me her feelings. Maybe I could share mine, but that’s highly doubtful. My class time is now up so I better end this pointless story. It’s a Tuesday, so I have to look forward to Dr. Ben with another dull Knock-knock joke, or maybe one about a vegetable in a bar. How absurd, but I’ll laugh and keep up the charade. It’s what my life has come to now, endless charades. It should have been me, not Tommy. Everybody liked Tommy, when they see me they are just reminded of him and look away. I can never be half of what Tommy says I am. It’s such a waste. I miss my brother.  Well time to hand this in… another ineffectual A no doubt... Good Grief…

******************************************************************************

Mrs. Johnston was at home grading papers that night in front of her TV, half asleep and drinking green tea. David Letterman was on, poking fun at the president and roasting the latest celebrity to have a drunken, drug induced run in with the law. She was tired and still had half a stack to go through. They were the mid-term assignment that seemed to be the same regurgitation every year, circling grammar and spelling errors, mostly C’s and B’s, with the occasional F’s and a few A’s. When she came across Billy Mondain’s work a slight smile crossed her lips. “Oh Billy,” she said to herself, “my own little Shakespeare.” She flipped through the handful of loose leaf in front of her, it was more than usual. Turning it page for page with mild interest as she always did. It was more of the same; each page was covered in a series of erratic scribbles, devious horizontal and vertical lines with odd shapes and incomprehensible abstract art. The young woman thought she could almost make out a dog on one page and was sure she could see waves and a big sun on another. Mrs. Johnston took out her red Sharpie pen and brought it down to the usual corner of the first page.

“Wow Billy, great story! Your best one yet!!!"

 A+…