Not Real Friends

 

            The combination of temperature and breeze created a perfect, comfortable setting in the park that day as Evgeny sat alone eating his peanut butter sandwich. If it was Thursday, he would have added raisins to his sandwich, as a special treat for himself. He found great pleasure in watching the birds capture bugs and worms from the massive lawn before him. Though he sat and ate alone, he was surrounded by young mothers pushing their children around in strollers, the occasional jogger, and the old men who sat a short distance away playing chess.

              He checked his watch to see that he had ten minutes to finish his lunch and return to the office that towered behind him. As Vice President of Finance, his office consumed the largest corner of the 7^th floor, looking out over the park he now enjoyed. He dropped his disposable cup and his lunch wrappers in the waste receptable as he left the park, dropping a twenty-dollar bill into the lap of a homeless man who sat on the curb at the edge of the street.

              The day finally finished as he completed his work of formulating and advising the wisest path to follow for the company’s branch of investment. Joining three other men in the elevator down to the parking garage, he could only cringe as he listened to them speak about their latest purchases, their latest vacations, and their plans to divorce and remarry much younger women. He had nothing to contribute to the conversation as none of these things were part of his mindset.

              Each man said goodbye to all of the others and Evgeny drove home, watching the homeless people, the street kids, and the prostitutes weave in and around the sidewalks. His home was a long way from extravagant, being just large enough to keep him safe and comfortable, providing just enough room for his few needs and the basic necessities. Measuring just over 1200 square feet, he saw no need for anything larger, as it would simply be wasted space that offered him no value.

              His week had passed uneventfully, and he always looked forward to Friday night, as it gave the opportunity to leave the office behind, enter the streets, and interact with those who were lost, confused, poor, and suffering. Evgeny dressed down to blend into the casual and coarse world of the street people, slipping out of his front door and finding the dirtiest and most dangerous places in the city.

              As he rounded the corner of a distant alley that seemed to know him well, many people called out his name as his face lit up from the burning barrels. Scores of young women in little to no clothing greeted him and appreciated his kind words, his gentle embrace, and his fatherly attitude toward them. He understood that most or all of these girls knew nothing but abuse and deprivation at home, selling themselves to provide enough income for their most basic needs.

              It had grown dark, and he watched the moon slowly move across the sky, as he spoke with, encouraged, and loved all of these broken and dirty people. Despite being one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the city, these street people had no understanding of who exactly he was, the kind of lifestyle could lead, if he so chose, but only saw him as a kind, old man with a slight Russian accent. He could see the pain and suffering in the eyes of most of these girls and it was on this night that he chose to invite four of them back to his home for warmth, for safety, and for high quality food.

              Neither they nor his co-workers knew or understood just how much he sacrificed to provide for those in need. He personally funded two different soup kitchens in the neighborhood, he paid large sums of money to cover the expenses for orphaned children, and he gave away bags of groceries each day to homeless people. He could see no sense or rationale to burying himself in comfort and excess when so many other people had little to nothing and often went hungry.

              As he and the four girls returned to his home, he let them into the spare bedroom with two bunkbeds, an abundance of clothing, and a private bath. While they warmed up, cleaned up, and clothed themselves, he made dinner for all of them until midnight arrived and they all slept well several hours into the next day. Evgeny rose early, wanting to make a good breakfast for everyone and see them off for the day, trusting that his influence would draw them toward that which was good and right.

              A few hours after they departed, he made a trip to the grocery store and began his regular Saturday morning delivery to several dozen homeless people, and families that struggled to feed their children. Returning from the temple on Sunday afternoon, he walked through multiple blocks of the neighborhood, speaking with and encouraging those who knew him and loved him. Monday morning came around and he delivered the same story to his co-workers about his activities on the weekend.

              The response was always the same. “Why do you waste your time and money on these sub-humans, they’re only taking advantage of you? You really should take care of yourself, live a little, be comfortable, and enjoy the large amounts of money that you earn.” Evgeny had tried many times to explain his behavior and his thoughts about philanthropy and love for others but none of them understood him in the slightest. So eventually he gave up trying to explain. Instead, he began suggesting that they focus on helping others rather than selfishly focusing on their own comfort.

              Year after year passed and he began to see most of the women from the streets move on and begin regular, balanced, and healthy lives, only to be replaced by the next generation of young girls. Yet his pattern of support and encouragement remained the same, knowing that his efforts were making a difference. It was when he reached his seventieth year that visitors began to arrive at his home, bringing him small gifts, warm and loving greetings, and news of how his words and support had saved them from certain destruction.

              His retirement plan had started after his seventieth birthday, and he lived comfortably with the investments he had made, knowing that he would not work forever and would one day need a balanced income that required nothing from his work as a financial advisor. He kept careful track of his visitors, taking photos with each one and nearly bursting with joy at the impact his efforts had made in so many people.

              As he continued to grow older, his outside activity became less and less, and he no longer brought street people home with him. He later learned that many of those he had helped over the years began to imitate his words and behavior, helping anyone they could with their limited incomes. “It’s always right to do the right thing,” he thought. “There is no value in comforting yourself, in living in luxury, or always having the newest and best thing, whatever it is.”

              Having never married, having never had children, he created a very articulate will for his wealth and belongings to be given away, sold, and distributed to those in need and organizations that would do good. As he approached his eightieth year, he began to give away his things, allowing him to move into a retirement center. He could then spend his time with those his own age, of his own mindset, and enjoy peace for the last years of his life.

              He could see his ninetieth year approaching, so he created a very specific plan for his funeral. He found his record book of visitors from the many years before and began writing letters of invitation to his funeral, whenever it would be. He gave explicit instructions about mailing these letters on the day of his death, allowing for his many friends and associates to prepare for his funeral.

              Three days short of his ninetieth birthday, he laid down in his room, closed his eyes, and knew that this was his final night of rest. For forty days after his repose, he watched his body be moved from the rest home to the morgue, his belongings distributed to those in need, and the hundreds of people travel to his funeral at the massive Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul.

              The joy he experienced in seeing the changed lives of so many people traveled with him into eternity, knowing that he had done everything that he could to focus on others and not himself. He then finally rested in ultimate peace and holiness, surrounded by those he had known in his younger years.

Uncomfortably Unlike

 

The young boy lay flat on his back in a pile of leaves beneath the canopy of multiple trees providing a respite from the heat of the day. His thoughts were like a swarm of birds that constantly changed its direction and shape, moving from one avenue of thought to the next, always wondering why he was, who he was, and what was the ultimate purpose of his existence. He had an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom were very normal and easily connected with their peers, while he, Lysander, seemed incapable of genuinely connecting with anyone.

He was loved by most and he appreciated the relatively shallow connection he shared with smaller children, with his peers, with his family, and with the elderly in his small community. As he moved from childhood into his teen years and into his early adulthood, he was known as the one to go to when a question needed to be answered. His encyclopedic knowledge, his grasp of common sense, and his ability to find answers in nearly every category of understanding gave him a definite advantage over all others.

Though he knew so much, understood so much, and possessed a skill at tying together seemingly different categories of knowledge, he still longed to deeply connect with someone and have someone with whom to intellectually wrestle. As he watched the few clouds peek through the branches overhead, he could literally think of no one within a reasonable distance that provided any type of worthwhile conversation. He ached to find someone of a like mind, a like heart, and possessing the same passion as he for something more that simple distraction.

Since completing his studies at the age of sixteen, he began working in his father’s fishing company but found the work mind numbing, boring, and lacking any sort of challenge for his ever-racing intellect. After three months of catching fish, selling fish, and struggling to interact with their customers, the idea came to him that he needed to leave their small village and travel as widely as possible in search of someone who could offer him something greater than small talk and smiles.

With a carefully crafted plan in mind, he stayed up later than everyone else in the family, replayed his plan over and over, step by step, waiting for the moon to reach its zenith, knowing that everyone was asleep in his home and everyone in town as well. He crept to the side of the house, reached through his window opening to retrieve his bag to then silently reach the dirt road that led to the next town further north.

He knew the potential danger of walking in the dead of night, certain that many wild animals had already seen and smelled him. He kept his senses on full alert, listening for any activity or rapid approach. The full moon provided enough light for a clear path forward, eventually reaching the next town before the arrival of the morning light. He found an obscure corner of forest that provided darkness and protection, needing to glean a few hours of sleep before the new day began. The sound of laughing and playing children woke him from his sleep and he emerged from his obscurity to organize himself, making himself presentable for hopefully normal social interaction.

He walked to each corner and place of social gathering in the town, introducing himself, looking for someone with whom he could connect but finding no one in the town any different from his own community less than an hour away, so he remained until darkness fell. As the town became silent and inactive, he continued his walk to the next town, even further north, hoping that he would find someone similar to him. He repeated this process over and over, passing through seven different towns and unsurprisingly, he found no one with whom to deeply connect.

In the last town he visited, he overheard rumors of a group of older men who lived in the deep woods, remaining reclusive and relatively silent, not actually connecting with anyone and maintaining an air of mystery about their relationship with the world outside and the nature of the community. He gathered as many details as he could about them and made the goal of searching through the woods to find them and possibly join them, as he suspected this group of men may be very much like himself.

The sense of disappointment was nearly overwhelming as he thought back over multiple small communities he had visited, certain that he would eventually find someone, yet failing to do so. As he wandered the deep woods, looking for this mysterious community of older men, he eventually became disoriented, failing to find them in what seemed like an unending maze of paths, trees, bushes, and shrub.

After searching for three days, he felt his heart continue to shrivel, to ache, and become overwhelmed with despair and loneliness. As darkness settled after the third day, he found a spacious cave to call his home. A stream was nearby with copious fish and a large patch of fertile soil at the edge of a meadow. He eventually gave up all hope and decided to become a recluse like the old men that had been described to him, determined to stay away from anyone and everyone, with an occasional visit to the last small town in order to barter for his basic needs.

He made a habit of keeping track of seasons and years, knowing that he needed to maintain a good handle on the passage of time. As each year passed, he wondered about the fate of his family, his original community, and what would become of his overall wellbeing, as he was immersed in solitude with a million ideas a day on how to make life better, how to be a better person and how to positively impact the society around him.

He could feel himself growing older and less inclined to interact with anyone, feeling sad over the loss of possible interaction and positive influence. After making use of his careful use of documenting the passage of time, around his fiftieth birthday, he returned to his original town to find that both of his parents had passed away, and he now had multiple nephews and nieces. It took several days before he could convince his brother and sister of his identity, both of them convinced that he had died many years before.

His disappearance brought an overwhelming despair and grief upon both of his parents, and search parties were formed in hopes of finding an answer for his sudden absence. Within a few years of his disappearance, stories began to circulate that he had fled to the big cities of Greece to find a likeminded community where he could exercise his mind and brilliance, to eventually become a teacher in one of the schools of philosophy. He internally laughed at this premise, wondering why he had not thought of making such a journey a reality for himself.

Weeks and then months passed, and he once again became part of the community, answering questions, feeling lonely, but at the same time enjoying the simple interaction with his now much larger family. The last thirty years of his life in near solitude changed his heart and mind about the value of family, the value of interaction, and the importance of positively influencing those in one’s community. Having returned to the community he had formerly despised and found disappointing, he could feel his love for his fellow human beings grow, despite their sad lack of self-awareness or understanding.

It was not necessarily a selfishness with which he struggled but it was instead a hope for something more, something deeper, and something of greater value than mere small talk. Over time, he became the wise old man who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, who became an influence upon the next generation, motivating them to not settle for the low bar of ease and simplicity, of mindless distraction, and of shallow and meaningless day to day life. As Lysander grew older, he became filled with joy as more young men and woman began to ask deeper questions, began to demand more from life, and began to find joy in learning, in growth, in maturity, and in adulthood.

Lysander could feel his final years drawing to a close, so he began to document everything that he had learned over his nine decades of life. Filling twenty volumes of memories, he called the town elders together and implored them to call a town meeting that would allow him to communicate his thoughts, his memories, his dreams, and his goals to everyone who was interested. This would become his final town hall that fed those he loved with the knowledge and wisdom he had acquired over his many years of thoughts and questions.

It was on his ninety-seventh birthday that he made his final journey to Mt. Athos to live his final days out among the mysterious old men he had heard about so many years before. Several young men from his community took him by wagon to the docks, to board a small ship and eventually land on the shoreline before the huge collection of monasteries and wise old men. He lived his last month among the old men who were, unsurprisingly, very much like him. He and they were not interested in the shallowness and emptiness of casual, worldly living.

He eventually reposed among these old men and sent his final words to his extended family and community, assuring them that they were now on the right path and encouraging them to send some of their young men to Mt. Athos to imitate the path he finally found during his last days.

A Sad Shriveled Soul

 

The sight of every brown bottle made his stomach turn, his jaw ache, and his heart quiver at the thought of what followed after the contents of said bottle were drained. He had gone through life from infancy through high school watching his father down two six packs most evenings, hating his life, feeling inadequate and weak in the face of anger and abuse. Like a weight lifted off of his shoulders, his transition from high school to university gave him a freedom he had never before experienced.

Much to his own surprise, he found himself imitating his father every weekend, drinking cheap beer with his college buddies and playing the female field to give himself a feeling of control and domination, moving from one girl to the next each weekend. After six months of earning a reputation as an insensitive and abusive boyfriend, he eventually found that a secret circle of communication had built up, cutting off his supply of willing and needy girls.

Simon sat alone on one particular weekend, drinking cheap beer, watching movies, and laughing about his innumerable sexual conquests with his three roommates. His fourth year of university was drawing close to an end, and he had built up a list of job possibilities, trusting that his good grades and manipulative personality would land him a job in IT that would pay well. After graduation and three job interviews, he finally received a job offer, which much to his delight was in a company in his hometown.

He began the new job, doing well in the role, but remained alone for the next decade, knowing that he had sullied his own name with most of the females in his age category in his hometown. As he worked the job, he saw the company begin to downsize, laying off department after department, until he too received a pink slip with his paycheck, informing him that his role would cease to exist within three weeks.

With his disappointing news in hand, he once again began his new job search, hoping to find something comparable in or close to his home, not wanting to move out of state or across the country. Simon made a goal of sending out at least two job applications each day and after twenty-six applications were sent, he received a phone call requesting an in-person interview. He was happy to learn that the job was in a nearby town and while not exactly an IT position, it did involve data type of work.

After the interview, he received an offer for the position and as he arrived on his first day, he learned that he and another individual would be working together to create some order and rationale to the current data system. The role turned out to be a lump of clay in his hands, having the freedom to organize and form the role into his own vision. As the next five years passed, he and his co-worker continued to add people to the department, further enhancing and refining the end goal, bringing order out of chaos.

As time passed, he worked hard to put on a face of excellence, superiority, and control, struggling to keep his insecurity and the self-loathing hidden from his boss and co-workers. He understood that this unceasing passion to control and manipulate others, shaping them into what he desired to be, was a reaction to his early years of being controlled and overpowered by those in authority over him.

It was when Roger became part of the team that he finally met his match. This man was not one to be manipulated or controlled, for his intelligence and skills vastly exceeded Simon’s. While it was undeniable that Simon was very good at what he did, he was, as much as he hated to admit it, not really that intelligent or thoughtful. He distracted himself with sports, with entertainment, with beer, and finally with a woman who agreed to be his wife.

It was with the addition of children that gave him an even great feeling of power and control, now having a spouse and children to control and direct. He knew he was weak willed, manipulative, and selfish, doing all that he could to create the image of power and control. It was with creating the right image and impression that he could fool himself and others into thinking that he was something that he actually was not.

As the years passed, he grew more and more frustrated as he eventually learned that he would never control Roger, that Roger would never become another version of himself, and he began to become desperate in his drive to win this battle. As much as he hated losing, he refused to give up the fight, pushing harder and harder to control every detail. In the deepest part of his soul, he knew that this was a battle he could not win, but he continued to manipulate the situation, he continued to try to deceive those around him about what was actually taking place.

As he could feel his soul withering and shrinking, he became more and more desperate to overcome what seemed to be an inevitable loss. But being the irrational and self-centered person that he was, he continued to fight, turning his frustration and anger towards others around him, needing an outlet to convince himself that he would eventually win.

With nothing else toward which to vent his frustration, he could see Roger flourishing and succeeding in every endeavor in which he poured himself. The frustration of seeing Roger succeed was too much stress on his already shriveling soul. He became desperate and did all that he could to sully Roger’s reputation, but all of those who knew Roger recognized his goodness, his kindness, and his unwavering willingness to pour himself entirely into his role.

As more time passed, Roger’s reputation only continued to grow and his abilities continued to be recognized as remarkable, helpful, and a great addition to the company. Simon could feel himself becoming more and more desperate as he dried up on the inside, watching himself succumb to frustration and watch Roger constantly improve in every area of his life, receiving adulation and words of thanks for all of his contribution to the success of the company.

He came home on a particular Tuesday to find an empty house, an empty bank account, and a note from his wife, declaring him persona non grata, warning him to not bother looking for her and the children. He could feel the rage building up in him as he thought about the anger, the abuse, and the hatred from his childhood. He thumbed through his wallet to find enough cash for two six packs from the corner store.

He sat alone in the relatively empty house, drinking himself into oblivion, finally alone, and finally reaping the fruit of his life of empty distraction, selfishness, and deception. He woke the next morning more than three hours after his normal start time at work, to see five voice mails on his phone, from an angry boss, confused co-workers, and a single warning from his wife, again reiterating her warning to not look for her.

He placed a call to his boss, explaining the dire situation in which he found himself, hoping for mercy and understanding but only received accusations of excuse making. He found out later that despite all of his false imagery, his manipulation, and his attempts at deception, all of it failed to deceive anyone, everyone knowing that he was an empty, cold, heartless, and selfish person, who cared only for himself and his bank account, which, at this point was now empty.

He had spent the last twenty years of his life trying to build a positive image of himself but found that no one had any words of commendation or support for him as he struggled to find another job in an IT type of position. He again began his habit of sending out two applications a day to eventually receive no offers, no phone calls, and no interest. As weeks passed, he placed a few phone calls to the positions which seemed to offer the best possibility, to learn that no one from his work history gave any recommendation for him.

With his last phone call, he received the message, “Karma can be an ugly thing.” Now angry and desperate, he gave up searching for work in his field of specialty and settled for a job driving a delivery truck for a bread company. With each delivery, he could feel anger and hatred burning holes in his soul, leaving him frustrated and full of despair, loneliness, and frustration.

I Don't Want To Be You

 

An unending stream of profanity, gunfire, and explosions flowed from the living room, down the hallway and into Billy Joes bedroom as he worked through his assignment on quadratic equations, needing to finish the work before bedtime, which was a mere forty-five minutes away. The math was not a problem, as numbers had always come easy to him, but the source of his gift he couldn’t identify.

He had an older brother named Clem who was borderline literate, always looking toward Billy Joe for help on his schoolwork. Billy Joe’s older sister Annabelle was four years older than Clem and had the unfortunate combination of stunning physical appearance and an IQ even lower than Clem’s, which was difficult to imagine. Billy Joe leaned back in his chair, struggling to filter out the noise from the living room, knowing that his father had less intelligence than even Annabelle, constantly, repeatedly, incessantly filling his mind and attention with video games, professional wrestling and monster truck rallies.

He did his best to avoid interaction with any of them. His relationship with his mother was easy enough to maintain, as she too was remarkably beautiful and unbelievably ignorant, making the task of saying the right thing at the right time an easy chore to accomplish. He felt bad for them all, wondering what it must be like to go through life without a clue about reality, about how everything functions, and without being able to read above an elementary school level.

He understood that his father meant well, and he was thankful that he chose to get married and reproduce, for without those two decisions, Billy Joe would not exist, would not have dreams, goals or aspirations, which were all carefully planned out for the next twenty years. He stuffed tissues into his ears to block out the noise, giving him a brief reprieve to complete his homework. Packing away his books, his notes, and his assignments, he noiselessly slipped into the bathroom to take a shower.

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom, the living room lacked the cacophony that filled every room less than twenty minutes before. Again, working to remain unnoticed and silent, he paused at the end of the hallway to see his father passed out on the couch with a now silent television in front of him. Clem was already sleep, it appeared that Annabelle had gone out for the night, and he saw his mother sitting alone in the silence of the kitchen.

He joined her, ate a few cookies and chatted until he felt tired enough to call it a night. His alarm jarred him from his sleep at seven a.m., giving him thirty minutes to dress, eat breakfast and climb into Clem’s pickup for a ride to school. His father had already left for his job at the rendering plant, his mother was cleaning and organizing their small living space, and Annabelle was still in bed, after doing God knows what for how many hours the night before.

Dropped off at the front door of the school, he watched Clem drive around the building to park in the rear parking lot, away from everyone else. He floated through a normal day at school, offering answers, offering help, and connecting with his wide variety of friends between all six classes. He liked to think of them all as friends, when in reality they were actually just acquaintances who connected with him for the academic help he could offer.

The school year ended, and he and Clem spent the summer working together building fences for a massive local ranch. Clem had graduated that year, a remarkable achievement considering that he could barely read or perform even basic math. As the summer ended, Billy Joe’s morning routine remained the same, finding himself being dropped off at the front door of the school to watch Clem drive away to his new job at the rendering plant, learning the basic skills of slaughtering, dismemberment, and shoveling offal into large bins for incineration.

He knew full well that his father expected him to join them immediately after graduation, but the idea of being locked into a mindless, violent, and gory job was an impossibility in his mind. As his third year of high school continued past, he obscured all of the paperwork for his plans for attending university from everyone except his mother. He knew that with his grades, he would be receiving a full scholarship into an engineering program.

This was a plan he had worked through in his imagination more times than he could count. The vision was clear, articulate, and flawless. The suitcase under his bed would be packed the night before, he would hurry home after his last day of school, and have two hours to gather his few things, buy a bus ticket and be out of sight before his father returned home. He could picture his mother putting on a dramatic act of “Billy Joe didn’t come home yet,” she would say. “You should drive by the school and see if you can find him.”

His third year ended, he worked another summer building fences, saving up his money in a bank account of which no one in his family knew existed. As his final year of high school drew close to an end, he replayed every detail of his last day of school over and over in his mind, that now included a trip to the bank to withdraw all of his money for his bus ticket, for schoolbooks, and for whatever insignificant items he would need at the university.

As his last day of school finally arrived, he hurried into town, bought his bus ticket, hurried home to spend a few moments with his mother. Role playing how she would react and speak when his father arrived at home in a few hours. His emotions were a strange combination of excitement, fear, and grief, hating the idea of leaving his mother behind as he would grow to become a different human being. He hugged her a final time and walked the back streets to the bus station at the opposite end of town.

He waited in the shadows, knowing that his bus would depart in less than an hour, giving him the opportunity to watch the small town of Driftwood disappear into the darkness, trusting that this would be the last moment he would spend in this horrid, empty, painfully dirty and ignorant place ever again. He and his mother had developed a plan to write letters once a month, updating one another on progress, news, and anything of interest. Fortunately, the mail was delivered well before his father arrived home, giving his mother time to read his letter, write a response, and mail it the next morning after his father had left for work.

Billy Joe, now presenting himself as William, graduated at the top of his class in mechanical engineering and received a job offer with an aerospace company in Austin, Texas. He looked at his first paycheck and thought back to the minimum wage pay he received building fences, trying to wrap his mind around the overwhelmingly large amount of money he would receive every two weeks. He and his mother continued their letter writing exercise and he began to wonder if there was some way he could rescue her from the deplorable state of her current existence.

After two years at his job, he received a letter from his mother informing him that Annabelle had left late one evening and did not return home, and at that point had been gone for over a week. Considering her choice of men and entertainment, he was not surprised. He learned as well that his father had “accidentally” fallen into one of the grinders at work. While Clem did all that he could to rescue him, he managed to lose only a hand and not his life.

“Well, there’s my answer,” William said to himself. With this new cache of information, he scheduled a one-week vacation, bought a comfortable SUV and return to Driftwood to steal away his mother, settle her into his home until he could establish her in her own apartment relatively close to his own condominium, giving him the opportunity to take care of her needs, protect her, and care for her as she had cared for him.

As he made the one-hour drive to his hometown, a particular phrase repeatedly came to mind, “I don’t want to be you.” His father now gone with no chance of making a connection or saying a final goodbye, his sister having disappeared, and his brother now handicapped and incapable of doing any other type of work, he could only think of making his mother’s life as comfortable and safe as possible.

His skin crawled and his stomach turned as he entered the small town, catching a whiff of the smell that he had completely forgotten during his time away. When he pulled up in front of his childhood home, now in a terrible state of decay, having been neglected for easily ten years while his father was focused on video games and wrestling, he wondered how a husband and father could be so blind to the needs of those who depended upon him.

The one-hour drive back to his home was an unending dialog. His mother was a constant stream of stories about Annabelle, about Clem, about the ladies at church, and the sorry decline of Driftwood in general. William gently turned the conversation around to the reality of her new life, her new possible friends, and her reality of never lacking anything she would need to make her life good, right and comfortable.

The following day after arriving home, he took her shopping to find everything she could possibly want or need. As William and his mother walked from store to store, the phrase continued to play in his mind, accompanied by an image of his father, “I don’t want to be you.” Knowing that he had taken the skills with which he was born and shaped himself into a successful man, allowed him to care for the one person who truly loved him.