Excerpt: The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker

The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker

May 9 - Dear Starlog:

I never really know how to start these diary pages. I think it sounds kinda girlish to write “dear diary”. T-Harv, my English teacher in 10th grade (oh, that’s Mr. Harvey by the way) started us writing daily journals and while I wasn’t much for that back then, I think I’m going to give it a try again. I graduate in a month or so and I thought it would be a good idea to get some of my thoughts down. It seems like the year is going by so fast, and while I’m not a big fan of high school, I would like to have some memories jotted down so I can look back one day and see what all this “I wish I was your age” crap my parents have been feeding me is all about.

Oh, my parents. What can I say? They are okay. I think a lot of times they don’t even see that I’m here, but you know, that’s all good with me. Most of the time I would rather they not be around. They told me the other day that they had a surprise for my graduation. They were buying me a plane ticket to go to Chicago to stay with my uncle for a month or so during the summer. They tell me that I will love the big city and that I need to see more of the world and that this is a great opportunity and that Uncle Rich is a great guy and Aunt Carla is really looking forward to seeing me. Happy graduation they tell me.

Wow, great opportunity, right? Not really. Turns out Mom and Dad are going to Europe for three weeks. My guess is that they don’t really trust me enough for me to stay home by myself while they are gone.

My parents are really possessive. We have whole rooms in my house that I’ve never actually been in. Well, I guess I’ve been in them but as far as being functional, they don’t really have a use. The “living room” is about as dead as a room can be. It is the pace where the nicest furniture goes. It’s the place where we keep the piano, and a nice silver candelabra that has never actually ever been introduced to a burning candle. The carpet is white, and I mean white. Mom intends to keep it that way. Dad doesn’t care as long as he has his big screen TV and I completely ignore the place.

It’s like that in my house. Dad sits in HIS chair, clutching HIS remote. Mom has HER living room, and HER sewing stuff (I learned all about that when I tried to cut up some cardboard with a pair of her scissors). I have MY room, with all ITS rules and regulations placed upon me by my parents. Make your bed. Pick up your clothes. Vacuum your carpet. Dust your dresser. Take those posters off the wall you’re going to scar the drywall with your poster putty. Funny how my space comes with rules governing my behavior while their spaces come with rules governing, well, my behavior.

I can’t wait for graduation.

CHAPTER 1: CHICAGO

With his hand tightly gripping the armrest of seat 32A, Wyatt felt the plane’s tire absorb the bounce of the runway as they touched down at O’Hare airport in Chicago. An audible exhale came from many of the less seasoned flyers and those who were not big fans of flight (including Wyatt) as they began to coast to a stop in front of the terminal.
Immediately the click of seatbelts filled the air as bustling travelers unclicked their belts, stood and began pulling over-stuffed carry-on bags out of the overhead compartments.
Wyatt felt the pressure of a man’s pelvis pressing against his shoulder the guy stretched forward to reach his briefcase shoved back in the recesses of the compartment.
“Welcome to Chicago, Wyatt. Would you mind if I drape my junk over your shoulder?” Wyatt could imagine the man thinking.
“How freaking ridiculous is this? They should make these asses go back to kindergarten and learn about taking their turns,” he thought and he slowly leaned to his left, separating himself from the man’s groin.
Luckily the seat to his left had been empty; otherwise Wyatt would have been cozying up to who knows who.
“Will this freaking guy hurry up,” he thought as the arm rest dug into his side, making him more uncomfortable by the second.
Finally the briefcase came free and the man hurried off down the aisle of the plane, shoving his way past others who continued to struggle with their baggage.
“Well, there’s no sense in hurrying, I’m sure my uncle isn’t all that excited to see me. At least he isn’t if he shares the same sentiment as I do.” Thinking this, Wyatt did the only thing he could think of, he simply sat there, watching as everyone struggled to exit the plane, seemingly at the same time.
After a few minutes it actually became quite humorous. More than once a person shoved past another, causing one to lose balance and fall into the lap of another completely innocent passenger. The image of rats trying to escape a sinking ship crossed his mind. It was pretty entertaining.
It took about fifteen minutes for the plane to completely clear, leaving Wyatt and the flight crew as the only occupants of the deserted cabin. Standing up Wyatt caught sight of one of the flight attendants. A look of impatience appeared on her face. It was clear to him that these people were not only aware of the chaos that ensued at the gate, but welcomed it, for it meant that they too could escape the cabin and free themselves of the oppressive confines of the coach cabin. Wyatt was the last participant of the lemming like departure and the denizens of the air who made their living flying from one city to another were impatient to be rid of them. All of them.
Wyatt took his time removing his carry-on bag, whistling a titleless tune to himself, taking care to look up and smile at the flight attendant every few seconds. He knew what she was thinking and after being powerless for the last four hours he was reveling in this new found control.
It took him a few minutes to get his bag down, check the back of his seat to assure he hadn’t left anything there, retie his shoe, tuck his shirt in and comb his fingers through his hair before he figured there wasn’t anything left to do that could stall his departure. With a smile he made his way to the exit, and even when he caught the slight rolling of the flight attendants eyes, he didn’t allow for the smile to fade.
“You know, you folks really do have a great job,” he said to the woman standing at the exit.
“It’s not too bad,” she replied, allowing her impatience to show in her tone.
“Yeah,” he said with a wink, “all you have to do is sit around flying back and forth, must be great doing nothing and get paid for it.”
He didn’t hesitate to hear what she had to say, instead, he just walked past, leaving her behind to digest his words.

If the plane was chaotic, the terminal was insanity. A seemingly endless wave of people pushed past one another, scurrying for whatever part of the airport they needed to get to. Again, Wyatt gave way to them, moving as close to the wall as he could to get out of the main flow of human traffic.
Glancing at the digital readout on his Burger King watch (Wyatt had refused to wear the nice Casio his parents had given him for Christmas instead relying on the less than accurate treasure he picked up in a happy meal). It was now 3:30 local time and he knew his flight had been right on time. He wondered to himself how often that actually happened.
Uncle Rich knew Wyatt’s flight was supposed to land around 3:30 and had told his dad that he would meet him at the entrance to the terminal. The teen figured that was cool, and even though he hadn’t seen him in about five years, was sure he would be easy to recognize with his V-neck sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. Uncle Rich was pretty predictable. As far back as Wyatt could remember he had worn those ugly sweaters. Even in the summer his clothes failed to change. The only thing that ever really fluctuated was the length of the sleeves. In the summer it was a sweater vest. In the winter, long sleeves pushed up to the elbow. In the spring and fall, short sleeves.
Failing to see a sweater vest that he recognized, Wyatt went and retrieved his luggage from baggage claim. He didn’t begin to worry in the least when he noted that it was past four. Most times he was very cognizant of being where he was supposed to be on time, but the rules of the airport spit in the face of normalcy and he guessed that explaining his absenteeism to his uncle would be pretty easy.
After retrieving his oversized duffle bag (it had actually been an old hockey equipment bag he had found and picked up at a thrift store), he made his way back to the entrance of the terminal and with a bit of displeasure at seeing no one waiting there for him, found himself a place to sit and wait.
“Well this kinda blows,” he said aloud to himself. “Hell, if I’da known he was going to be late I woulda hung out on the plane a little longer.”
The blue bench that he sat on was actually a series of egg shell like chairs, bolted together to form a series of seats. Wyatt assumed that was to keep people from using the area as a bed, as he imagined it would be extremely uncomfortable to try to lie across them.
Now he found himself slumped down on one of these chairs, his feet splayed out in front of him. He ignored the looks he got from people who had to either steer around or step over his extended legs. Occasionally he would salute people who looked exceptionally put out, but most times he would simply smile at them.
Wyatt cared what people thought of him. He had spent so many years of his life trying to please everyone. It wasn’t until he figured out that this was an impossibility that he started doing things to invite reaction from people. It used to be that he did things to please people, but he found it was quite different to try to elicit different kinds of reactions. Sometimes he tried to surprise people, other times he tried to anger them, just to see how they would react. He never did anything malicious, he wasn’t a bully, he just figured he was a student of human behavior. Some people went to the mall to people watch; Wyatt went out of his way to try to draw a reaction from those same people.
People were funny animals. It was pretty amazing how they had the tendency to lose control of themselves, even while pretending to be in complete accordance with accepted behavior. Wyatt’s friend Steve had taught him that lesson. Steve had cerebral palsy and had met Wyatt when they were both eight years old. Wyatt had first seen Steve in his wheel chair at a park, sitting in the sun watching the other kids play on the playground equipment. Wyatt didn’t know better and just stood there staring at the other boy, twisted and bent in his red chair. Steve was peculiar to him and Wyatt couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
I woman beside the crippled boy called Wyatt over, “Hey, you. Yeah, you in the blue t-shirt, come here for a second.”
Wyatt had held his ground, not knowing what to think.
“Could you come here please, I need your help,” she repeated, motioning to him.
Wyatt, ever to be one to please others slowly shuffled over to the woman.
“What’s your name,” she asked when he finally got within arm’s length.
“Wyatt,” he replied, stealing glances at the disfigured boy beside her.
“Well Wyatt, I’m Charlene and this is my son Steve,” she stated, pointing to the boy in the wheel chair. “I saw you staring at us. You know it’s not nice to stare, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Wyatt looked away from both of them, ashamed to have been found breaking the rules. “I won’t do it again.”
“It’s okay, it just hurts Steve’s feelings when people do that.”
Wyatt’s mind was racing; he figured that the boy in the wheelchair was retarded or something. It had never occurred to him that he would be upset by people staring at him.
“Wyatt, I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said to him. “Steve is just like you and me. He is actually very smart, he just has a hard time communicating like you and I do. He’s a normal boy; he’s just stuck in the wheel chair.”
As if in confirmation, Steve raised his hand, waved and slurred, “Aaaiii.”
“He’s saying ‘Hi’ to you,” Charlene translated.
“Oh, hi,” Wyatt replied, somewhat amazed by his discovery, a smile creeping across his face.
After that, Steve and Wyatt had become fast friends and while it took awhile, Wyatt had learned to understand his friend’s garbled speech. Many years later, long after Wyatt had completely disregarded Steve’s disability, the two of them had went to an outdoor mall with Steve’s mom. As she shopped in one of the many upscale stores, the two friends sat out in the sun, beside a large fountain.
“See that lady over there,” Steve had pointed out to Wyatt. “Watch her.”
Out of the corner of his eye Wyatt watched the woman. While she was careful not to stare, it was quite evident that she was complete enraptured by the boy in the red wheel chair. She would steal glances at him and even had the nerve to point the crippled boy out to her friend who walked with her. Wyatt knew that she didn’t mean to be impolite, but the presence of Steve captivated her and she couldn’t help herself.
Later Steve had explained to him that he was used to that kind of stuff and that Wyatt had to be ready for it too. More than once during their friendship Wyatt had gotten upset at small children who had stared, or pointed and the disable youth. He had even more problems with adults who stared of mumble to their friends. One lady even told Wyatt how nice he was for pushing his retarded brother through the store one time. It had taken Steve more than a few minutes to calm his friend down when Wyatt yelled at the lady, drawing the attention of more than a few store patrons.
Yet these many times with Steve had taught Wyatt a great deal about people. Steve had constantly said, “Wyatt, they can’t help it.” It had taken Wyatt a long time to accept this fact. That’s when Wyatt started doing things to elicit reaction from people, and that why even with people grumbling as they step around him, Wyatt never even thought about moving his legs out of the aisle way.

June 19 - Dear Starlog

Yesterday’s trip into Chicago was all kinds of fun. I ended up sitting at the airport until well after 8:00pm because Uncle Rich decided to play golf with some guys from work and completely forgot about picking me up. Aunt Carla ended up picking me up and let me tell you, Mom may have said she was looking forward to seeing me, but based on her reaction when she finally found me I would beg to differ. I couldn’t tell if she was mad at me, or at Uncle Rich for forgetting about me. My cousin Lindsey came with her and told me as we were walking through the airport that she was supposed to get her nails done but instead had to come get me after Uncle Rich called and told her that he was going to be home late because he was still at the country club. Makes me feel really good about being in Chicago. My uncle is playing golf and my aunt is making nail appointments while I’m sitting in the biggest airport in the world doing absolutely nothing. What a great graduation gift. I have to make sure to let Mom and Dad know how wonderful everything is starting.

Not everything is that bad though. My room here at the palace is pretty nice (I call it the palace because it seems Uncle Rich does pretty well with the business that he owns). In fact, the whole house is nice. Aunt Carla has a living room as well (although she calls it the sitting room yet no one ever sits in there. Maybe I’ll suggest to mom that we start calling her no enter zone a sitting room too).

Anyway, they stuck me in what’s called an “extra room” over the garage. They moved a bed in there for me and I’ve got a foot locker to put all my stuff in so it isn’t too terribly bad. There are a series of three big windows on both sides of the room looking out over the driveway in the front and the big backyard and pool in the back. It’s a pretty good view. Uncle Rich was using the room as a work out area, so there are a bunch of weights and a punching bag he has hanging in the corner. He also has a big 36” television hanging on the wall. I’m pretty happy about that.

Uncle Rich suggested putting me in the guest bedroom but Aunt Carla told him no. She said I would like it much better in the extra room. I think she just didn’t want me in that room. It has a nice frilly bedspread and a four post bed and I think she didn’t feel I was worthy of sleep in such a nice area. Uncle Rich didn’t care, he just wanted access to his weight room. Frankly I’m happy where I’m at. It is at the other end of the house from everyone else and I figure I can escape here whenever I need to get away, which I’m figuring is quite often.

Lindsey is pretty cool. Actually, Lindsey has completely changed since the last time I saw her. When they came out to visit us in Boston she was pretty much a little geek. Of course she was only eleven back then. She had just gotten braces on her teeth and wore some funky looking pink rimmed glasses. She doesn’t have braces anymore and she lost the glasses. I tell you, she’s still a geek, but there is something about her. She’s kinda cute in a weird way. Anyway, she at least talks to me. I get the feeling that I’m not really welcome, but hey, I should have known that coming in. I don’t mind being shipped off to a place I’m not wanted, at least the expectations of me won’t be that high.

I haven’t done much today being Sunday. Uncle Rich is out playing golf (again) and Aunt Carla is out shopping. I guess Sunday is shopping day. Lindsey went with her and I’m stuck here with the housekeeper (who normally doesn’t work on Sundays) but Aunt Carla asked her to come by today to “tidy up”. My guess is that they don’t trust me here alone. At least they didn’t ship me off to my mom’s other brother in New Jersey until they got back.

CHAPTER 2: LINDSEY

It was apparent after a short time that while Wyatt was a guest of his aunt and uncle, they were not going to go out of their way to ensure that he had a good time while in Chicago. Most of his days were spent in the room above the garage, watching television, reading or simply sitting around doing nothing.
During the week everyone scurried through their various activities. Wyatt’s Uncle Rich would leave for work around 7:30 and not get home until late in the evening, typically spending a good deal of time in the late afternoon at the golf course. At least once a week he would go out of time for the evening, checking on one of his out of town offices.
Aunt Carla was rarely home. Wyatt didn’t really know what she did with her time, but figured it involved her nails, hair or feet because she always seemed to have a spa appointment. On occasion she would have ladies from the country club over for lunch, which usually meant that Wyatt either had to go find something to do or stay in the “extra room” until everyone was gone. Again, this didn’t bother Wyatt much. He really didn’t want anything to do with either Carla or Rich.
On this particular day his aunt had some errands to run and had left around 10:00am leaving Wyatt at home with Lindsey and Chaya, the housekeeper (who was happily picking up quite a few overtime hours with the extra time she was spending at work over the weekends (on babysitting duty as Wyatt called it).
Lindsey typically went with her mom but today she decided to stick around the house. It seemed her friend Shelly was coming to pick her up and take her to some movie the two wanted to see.
Wyatt decided he was tired of sitting in the ER (or the “extra room” as he called it) and decided he would take a dip in the pool. It had been exceptionally hot all week and he was bored.
The pool was oval shaped and surrounded by chase loungers. One end, closest to the house, had a patio with a slatted veranda that offered some shade from the Midwestern sun. Wyatt figured he would just hang out here all day. While Aunt Carla was anal about certain things, she was pretty open about others and Wyatt was comfortable raiding the refrigerator. Uncle Rich had even told him that he was welcome to a beer or two, as long as he stayed at the house and didn’t have anybody.
This, of course, struck Wyatt as a bit odd. First off, where the hell did Uncle Rich think he was going to go? Secondly, and even more ridiculous, who the hell did he think he was going to invite over. It wasn’t like he had friends calling on him here in Chicago. Wyatt seriously doubted any of his friends would be flying a thousand miles to come and visit him just to drink his uncle’s Budweiser. Wyatt was tempted to point this out to his uncle, but decided against it.
Wyatt grabbed a silver serving tray out of the cabinet and loaded it up with lunch meat, bread, cheese, chips, grapes, and other food from the fridge. There was no way he was going to eat it all but figured he would just waste the afternoon away snaking on it out by the pool. After taking the tray of food out to the veranda her returned and grabbed two beers, sticking one in an ice bucket to keep it cold.
Wyatt had never actually drank beer, but figured he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity if it was offered to him. Besides, his vacation hadn’t seen much adventure. He figured that drinking his first can of beer might end up being the highlight of this whole trip.
Taking the beers out to the pool he opened and took a long pull on the can. It had a terrible after taste, but in the heat of the day he figured that he could get used to the taste. Besides, it was beer. He figured it would be an acquired taste and today, under the veranda, he had decided he was going to start acquiring it.
After eating a sandwich and finishing his first beer Wyatt got up, pulled off his t-shirt and went to get in the pool. The water was cool and took his breath away when he first dove in. Wyatt had always been a decent swimmer and enjoyed the water. He was swimming laps back in forth and never noticed Lindsey come out. When he stopped and looked over at the veranda Lindsey was sitting at the table drinking the other can of beer Wyatt had iced down.
“Hey, you shouldn’t be drinking that,” he called out to her.
“Why? You’re not twenty-one either!” She called back, a smirk crossing her face.
“That’s not what I meant. You’re dad didn’t say you could have that and I don’t want to get in trouble if he finds out.”
She flipped her hand as if to say who cares and took a long drink from the can.
“Come on Lindsey, you’re only sixteen. Knock it off,” Wyatt called out as he made his way to the ladder to climb out of the pool, intent on getting the alcohol away from her.
“This is ridiculous,” he thought. “Why in the hell is she doing this?”
As he approached her she turned, pulling the beer away from his outstretched hand, “Come on Linds, give it to me.”
“What’s it matter to you if I drink it, it’s not like you care. You just don’t want to get in trouble,” she barked at him.
“I care. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble either,” he pled, sticking his hand out again.
“Why would you give a shit about me? No one else seems to.”
Wyatt began to see a different problem arising from this. Lindsey was pissed off about something and Wyatt had a pretty good guess.
“It’s okay Lindsey. I care about you a lot. I don’t want you to get in trouble and there is no reason to be pissed off at me. I can tell you’re mad at your parents,” he wasn’t sure it was her mom or her dad, but he was sure it was one of them.
“I’m not mad at my mom,” she started.
“So, it’s you dad then, what did he do?”
“It’s not what he did, it’s what he doesn’t do. He’s never home. He doesn’t care about me, or mom, or anyone but himself. I’m tired of him promising to be home then not showing up until ten o’clock at night, drunk on his ass. He promised he would taking me shopping for cars for my sixteenth birthday and that was a month ago. He wasn’t even home for my party. It makes me sick that he doesn’t even bother to talk to me,” as she shouted tears welled in her eyes.
Wyatt wrapped his arms around her. “It’s alright” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “My parents are the same way. My dad rarely talks to me and when he does he’s normally yelling. My mom doesn’t care if I’m ever around, in fact, I think she would rather I not even exist. Why do you think they sent me here for a month, it’s to get rid of me.” Wyatt too was letting his anger show.
“I thought they went to Europe?” she asked, looking up at him.
“They did, but you would think that for my graduation they would do something more for me rather then sending me here. Not that being here with you is bad,” he added.
The look she gave him changed, and immediately Wyatt was uncomfortable. It was as if her eyes glazed over and she looked inside of him. It was not a look he was comfortable with coming from his cousin. In no way was Wyatt experienced in the ways of the world, but something inside of him made him cringe internally. He could only imagine her thoughts and it caused him to loosen his arms just moments ago holding her tight.
“I know Wyatt,” she proclaimed as she took his hand. “It is terrible how they treat us.”
Wyatt broke her stare at the same time removing his hand from hers. “Well,” he stuttered, “they all suck. But that doesn’t mean we should be drinking your dad’s beer. That’ll just piss them off more.”
He was at a complete loss for words. “Come on Lindsey, give me the beer, okay?”
She stared at him for a moment longer and the spell was seemingly broken. She flipped the beer can at him, the nearly full container sloshing the cold drink on his bare chest. “It tastes like crap anyway,” she admitted, getting up out of the chair and heading back inside.
Wyatt just stood there, the beer puddling at his feet. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he was afraid that his cousin had been looking at him as more than just his cousin. Strangely however, Wyatt wasn’t completely appalled, and that’s what bothered him the most.
He had never really dated anyone in school. Mostly it was because he stuck to himself. Some people thought he was weird and frankly he never really pursued any girls. This was really foreign territory for him. The one thing he did know was that he hoped he was wrong. Lindsey was attractive, and sweet, and truthfully had a very nice body, he had seen that when he looked out his window and saw her sunbathing by the pool. But she was his cousin, and he knew that it was creepy to even think about her as being anything more.

June 25 - Dear Starlog

Lindsey won’t talk to me and truthfully that’s all fine with me. I’m really beginning to believe that the whole thing that happened the other day, with Lindsey looking at me and all was completely in my head. Sometimes I think way too much into things. I think she was just pissed at her dad. Maybe it was just hopeful thinking. I’ve had a girlfriend and all, well, not a real girlfriend, but a girl who I went out with for a short time in eighth grade. Her name was Caroline. We started going out at a dance we had and kinda were together for about a month or so. She was okay.

I can’t really picture Lindsey liking me (I can’t believe I’m writing about my cousin like this). She’s pretty cute and really I’m not much of anything. That’s okay with me. It really is. I don’t have self esteem issues or anything. I’ve just never really cared all that much about going out with girls. Sure, it would be cool but I certainly don’t base my life around the whole deal. If Lindsey did like me I really wouldn’t understand it. She told me she had a boyfriend but they broke up back in April so I know it isn’t like she can’t find anyone.

I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this. It doesn’t really matter. I am going to try to talk to her because I don’t want her mad at me seeing as I’m going to be here another three weeks and she is the only one in the whole state of Illinois that has even threatened to have a conversation with me. Besides, I’m not being true to myself if I let her control me. Not talking to one another is her idea and frankly, I’m just allowing it to happen because of this funky feeling that doesn’t really even exist. I need to get over the fact. She has no interest in me and I really should be happy about it. What would everyone think if they thought I had the hots for my cousin? I certainly don’t want to deal with it.

Of course it isn’t really like I even know her. I think I’ve probably only spent about two weeks with her over my entire life, including this week. She has come out to Boston once or twice and stayed with my folks with her family, but that was quite some time ago. We hung out then, but we were a lot younger and being an only child, I never had anyone to hang out with. Whatever. I’ve got to just drop it and quit thinking about it.

I’m kind missing my folks. Well, not really my folks, but my life that I’ve become accustomed to. I’ve never really spent a lot of time away from Boston and I’m learning that it sucks pretty bad. I really miss my friends, though I guess I didn’t even talk to them before I left on my great Chicago excursion. You know, the more I think about it, the more I fail to understand what I really do miss about home. I mean, I have my room at home, but there really isn’t any more their than what I have here. Sure, my books are there and I can always walk down to the gas station for a pop if I get bored, but overall it’s the same. I suppose I just need to keep things in perspective. Things aren’t really that bad and this place isn’t that different than my regular life. Okay, maybe I lied. Wow, my life kinda sucks.

CHAPTER 3: CHAYA

Chaya slumped down on the recliner and flipped on the television in the den. It was Saturday, and she had been working every day for two weeks. Normally she got Saturday and Sunday off, but Mrs. Morgan had asked her to work again. There really wasn’t anything to do, but Carla Morgan had wanted her there to keep an eye on things in case their visitor, Mr. Klinker from Boston, didn’t get into any trouble. The one thing Chaya realized was that Mrs. Morgan wasn’t going to sacrifice her afternoons to baby-sit her nephew. It was okay with Chaya though. She was getting double time and she and her family could use the money.
She heard footsteps in the kitchen and looked over her shoulder, seeing the Morgan’s house guest rummaging around in the refrigerator. She stopped slouching and straightened up in the chair. Sure, she didn’t answer to the boy in the kitchen and Mrs. Morgan was away but she still felt guilty getting caught sitting around when she was getting paid to work.
Wyatt walked in a flopped down on the leather couch, propping his feet up on the glass of the coffee table, “What’s up?” he asked as he bit into a hastily built bologna sandwich.
“Mr. Klinker, pardon me, but I just cleaned that table and I don’t think Mrs. Morgan would be happy with your feet on it,” Chaya replied, lying about the table and Carla’s reaction.
“When is ‘Mrs. Morgan’ ever happy?” he returned through a full mouth.
This caused Chaya’s mouth to curl up in a smile. Immediately however, she changed her expression, appearing stoic and irritated. “Mrs. Morgan has rules against putting your feet on the furniture. Besides, I don’t want to have to wipe the smudges off of it again. I just cleaned it.”
Wyatt put his feet on the floor drawing a “Thank you” from the housekeeper.
“Do you like working for my Aunt Carla,” he asked her, leaning forward a bit while taking another bite from his sandwich.
“She is very good to work for. Of…of course I like working for her,” she replied with a less than convincing answer.
Wyatt laughed out loud, leading Chaya to stare at him.
“What is so funny,” she asked, becoming irritated by the teen.
“I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoying working for my aunt. Hell, I can’t even stand being around her. I can’t believe anyone would enjoy working for her. You must be some kind of saint or something,” he replied.
Chaya felt a bit embarrassed by the accusation, mostly because it really hit home, “It isn’t easy to find a job,” she explained. “I’ve got three kids that I’ve got to take care of and your aunt pays me decently. There are better jobs, but I’ve not found one yet. She’s isn’t that bad…”
Immediately Wyatt looked at her with that ‘you’re lying to me again’ look and Chaya back tracked, “Well, she’s very strict, but she’s the boss and I guess you have to be…”
“Bullshit,” Wyatt interrupted with a laugh. “My aunt treats everyone like they are beneath her. She does it to me and I bet she does it to you. You mean absolutely nothing to her or this family.”
Chaya looked down at her hands as she wrung them in her lap. What could she say? The boy sitting next to her was completely right. She glanced up but didn’t say anything. Wyatt just stared into her eyes and she once again dropped them to avoid his gaze. She could feel tears starting to well up. She felt humiliated.
She was able to choke out a question, “Why are you saying this to me?”
“Because this is all a load of crap and you shouldn’t have to put up with it, no one should. Lindsey says you have what, three kids?”
She nodded.
“Well why aren’t you spending today with them? It’s a beautiful Saturday and you are stuck here with me. There isn’t anything to do here, the house is spotless. You and I both know that the only reason you are here is that my Aunt Carla wants you to keep and eye on me. Tell me I’m not right?” he pressed.
“You’re right, she admitted. “But I need the money, and Mrs. Morgan does pay me overtime. This is easy money, my kids are okay.”
“Whatever,” Wyatt pressed. “I’m sure they don’t mind you being gone all week and then going to work again on Saturday and Sunday.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do? I can’t bring them here?” she justified.
“Why not? My uncle has a big pool in back, a huge lawn they could play in. It seems to me that you have every right considering you are stuck babysitting me. You might as well watch your own kids as well,” Wyatt continued. “Besides, you could always tell my aunt that you CAN’T work for her unless she’s lets you bring them.”
Chaya considered this for a moment, but before answering Wyatt cut in again, “Just tell her you don’t have a sitter. Tell her you have to bring them in or you can’t work. You think she’s going to let me stay here by myself? There’s no way. She doesn’t trust me.”
“I don’t know,” the housekeeper replied, though Wyatt could feel her cracking.
“You bring your kids in and there is no way in hell my aunt is going to be anywhere near this place. Chances are she would be gone long before you even got here. Come on Chaya. Stand up for yourself and quit letting that old bitch control you,” Wyatt allowed his voice to rise, trying to inspire the young Hispanic woman.
“Why do you care about me and my kids?” she asked him.
“Don’t change the subject Chaya. Are you going to bring them?” he retorted.
“Tell me, Mr. Klinker. Why does it matter if I bring them here or not?” she pressed.
Wyatt looked at her, his blue eyes staring into hers. He was testing her. If she broke eye contact he knew that she would give up on asking. He held her gaze and after a good fifteen seconds she continued to stare into his. She was strong when she wanted to be. He allowed himself to relax and took a deep breath.
“I’m lonely. I hate it here. I don’t fit in with Aunt Carla and Uncle Rich.”
“But what about Lindsey, she’s about your age. Why don’t you hang out with her?” she asked.
“Lindsey is stuck up and snobbish,” he snapped back quickly, as if anticipating the question.
“No she’s not, she’s nice. She’s the only one that will talk to me. You should ask her to do something with you, she would probably enjoy that. She’s here a lot more this summer than she was last year.”
“Listen, I just don’t like her,” Wyatt was visually uncomfortable. “Okay, just drop it.”
“Okay, but I don’t know why you just don’t try to like her. She’s a sweet girl,” she stopped when he glared at her. “So why don’t you go out and do something if you are bored?”
“I’m not bored; I’m just tired of being here by myself. I like being around people, but I don’t know anyone and I’m not entirely comfortable running around Chicago by myself.”
“Chicago isn’t a bad town, you’d be okay. You should try going down to Navy Pier,” she offered.
Wyatt was tired of the focus being on him. He was never comfortable with it, “Maybe sometime, but right now why don’t you just bring your kids over and see how it goes? You know you like the idea. Besides, I’d love to meet them.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her, but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll ask Lindsey to take you out to see the city before you go. Okay?”
Wyatt considered. He was only here for another couple of weeks and it was possible his time would run out before he had to make good on his promise.
“Okay,” he said, seemingly giving in to her request, “it’s a deal.”

July 3rd - Dear Starlog:

Chaya brought her three kids over yesterday. It was pretty cool. Her son, Eduardo is a pretty cool kid. He’s only eight but he acts a lot older. I was nice to actually have someone to hang out with. Her two little girls were pretty nice too. I think Sophia is six and Josephina is four or five.

Aunt Carla was not real happy when Chaya asked her if she could bring her kids over. She walked around here grumbling for two days before finally agreeing. I know she spent at least an hour calling around trying to find someone to come over here. I have no idea why she doesn’t trust me. I think it is a bit of a paranoia complex. It’s not like I stole her mother’s fine china or anything. Hell, I hardly know the lady and she thinks I’m a parolee or something.

Anyway, Chaya brought her kids over at about nine o’clock. I could have sworn Aunt Carla was in the garage waiting for her to pull up so she could immediately race off to where ever she goes to on weekends. It’s pretty sad if you really think about it.

Chaya and I have been talking a lot and she has really loosened up a bit. Yesterday she sat out on the veranda with me as we watched the kids swim. I guess she’s a single mom. Her husband left her about a year ago and she really hasn’t heard from him. She guesses he probably went back to Mexico or was deported. It’s sad to think that he just left his kids here without regard to them. Funny, that’s exactly what my parents did to me, though I suppose being eight and being eighteen are two completely different things. Besides, in two weeks I get to head back to Boston and all this will be behind me.

I wonder what he is like. I can’t really picture Chaya with anyone. I mean she’s cool and everything, but she seems so busy with her work here and her kids. I can’t imagine her going home to a husband.

I was surprises when she told me she was only twenty-seven. I hate to say it but I thought she was older than that. I mean she’s not bad looking, maybe a little chunky, but not ugly at all. She just looks older than twenty-seven. I guess people have said I look a lot younger than eighteen. Appearance is a strange thing.

Chaya asked me again today if I had asked Lindsey to take me into the city. I told her no because I haven’t, and I don’t plan on asking her. I’m just not comfortable around her. That day a week ago really freaked me out and I hate being out of control. I’m probably just crazy, but I’d just as soon play it safe.

Chaya lives on the south side of the city. She says it’s not that nice, but the rent is a lot cheaper. It makes me sick to see someone like her struggling while my aunt just seemingly takes everything for granted. This world is one strange place. I wonder if my aunt was like this when she was younger or if my uncle’s money made her this way. Lindsey doesn’t seem like her. I hope she doesn’t evolve into a she-bitch like her. That would be sad.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 anythin