This story is by Jackson Fuller and was part of our 2022 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
A movie played in the background as we ate dinner. Tonight was takeout from Cilantro’s down the street. While normally we’re serenaded by the sound of golf commentators, tonight it was The Princess Bride. I sat at the counter top with my dad eating my tacos while my sister sat on the other side of the imaginary line dividing the kitchen and the living room. My mom stood over the sink washing dishes.
“So how are classes going, buddy?” she asked me.
“They’re fine I guess,” I responded in between bites.
Inigo Montoya shouted his name once again in the background. “Well, how are Michael and Leo doing? Have you talked to them any?” she probed.
“Leo’s doing well, I think. Haven’t heard much from him. Michael actually dropped out, which I wasn’t expecting.” I sat next to that guy in class for years. I used to copy his homework at lunch and in seventh grade we tried to race each other to see who could finish tests faster. I don’t know when he had flunked out, he didn’t want to tell anyone. He had only told me a few days ago when I saw him for the first time this summer.
Meanwhile Leo was on a roll. From what I heard from other friends at UTC, he was the guy everyone knew on campus. Mr. Popular who cracked jokes that everyone loved. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about that part. Cracking jokes was all he did in high school.
“That’s unfortunate,” my mom responded without looking up from the sink.
My dad chimed in from down the counter. “What happened?” he said, dipping another chip in queso.
“He just had trouble focusing on classes and stuff,” I said with a shrug. “You know, with the pandemic and everything, he just couldn’t get motivated.” Now that I thought about it, I don’t remember a time Michael was ever motivated. Classes were too easy for him in high school, he was that kind of kid.
A bit like Prince Humperdinck in a way, I thought as the character walked into his chambers to confront the Dread Pirate Roberts. Michael never paraded his intelligence around or tried to make others feel like idiots, unlike the prince, but he didn’t have to work for his talents either. Well, he did call us stupid all the time, but that was more of a guy thing than anything else. Sometimes we deserved it, like the time I tried to argue how humble I was in front of the concert band, or the time Leo flunked out of Spanish, a language which he can speak semi-fluently.
Everyone thought Leo was the Fezzik of the group, even Michael and I. A light hearted guy with stupid jokes who made you smile when classes were getting too hard. Boy did we read that wrong. He was the real Dread Pirate Roberts. Working every other night at Best Buy, doing his best to make ends meet because unlike the rest of us he knew what his goal was. And now he was on the verge of achieving it.
What did that make me? I never really focused on my classes either. I had to put in a little extra work compared to Michael but I sailed through regardless, only falling short when I refused to put in effort. I should have been in AP Calculus with Coach Elliot, but Mrs. Winfield had gotten frustrated with me in class, because instead of listening I just solved Sudoku puzzles. Now I played crosswords during Fluid Dynamics and my professor doesn’t care at all, if he even notices.
“A lot of people have been saying that,” my sister added from the couch across the imaginary border. “It’s hard to focus when you have nowhere to go. You’re just so used to relaxing at home.”
That must be it, the pandemic. I can’t focus at home, or on campus with one of those uncomfortable masks, or in my dorm. Nowhere is a safe place to study, there are so many distractions. Westley didn’t get distracted though, he didn’t even blink as he described in horrific detail what it means to fight to the pain. Inigo never let anything come in the way of his goals and Fezzik was always there to help others no matter what. I’m not like any of these heroes. I sit on the side watching and waiting for something but I don’t know what. I’m like the albino in the woods, weirdly watching as this fairy tale unfolds, doing nothing other than getting in the way of the real characters.
“Well I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” My mom said as she dried her hands. “He’s smart. He’ll figure things out eventually.”
I sure hope so, for my sake and Michael’s. I mean, if Leo could figure it out, we should be able to as well. I watched the final scenes as the grandfather closed the book and walked out of the grandson’s room, both happy and content. I wish highschool had ended like that. I really want us all to get our happily ever after.
My mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, buddy? You’re not eating much.” she said. I hadn’t even noticed her walk around the counter.
“Yeah I’m fine, just tired is all.” I said, hoping my face didn’t betray me. “I think I’m gonna go to bed early, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Or the nights before. I walked up the stairs to my room, my father not paying any attention as he had now joined my sister in flipping channels to find the next program.
“Okay, well I’ll put it in the fridge for you tomorrow.” my mom shouted after me as I disappeared into my bedroom.
I laid on my bed for a few minutes. I scrolled through Netflix and Youtube to find something to watch, but there was nothing interesting. I debated watching through the Witcher again. Maybe I should play through the game again. Make my own story.
I sat up on my bed, looking at nothing in particular. That nagged at me. Make my own story. How am I supposed to do that? Whichever way that is, I doubt Netflix is part of the answer. What kind of story would I be in anyway? I’m not a character meant for happily ever after, I barely deserve a role in the tale. But maybe I could be. Maybe I could be the hero of this story if I work for it.
A warmth started to enter my chest, as if my body had a will of its own and was trying to agree with my mind. I threw my phone onto my bed and walked over to my bookshelf. I started pulling out the books I hadn’t read and a notebook from when I had started writing but soon stopped. The warmth rose into a blistering heat emanating from my bones, boiling my blood and burning away my weariness.
Could I do this? This isn’t a fairy tale. Leo was able to do it, though. He’s almost there. I opened the notebook to a fresh page and picked up a pencil. My breath was shaking as I put the tip to the paper. What if I couldn’t? But what if I could.
I started to write. I kept writing. It wasn’t elegant but it was technically writing. Bouncing from thought to thought, I got out all I felt in the moment. I strung a few lines together to make a paragraph. It was barely coherent but it was structured to a degree.
A knock came at my door and before I answered my mom peeked her head in. “Yeah buddy, how are you feel-” Her gaze swept from my bed around the room until she noticed me on the floor with the notebook in my lap. “Oh, watching you doing down there?”
“Just writing some stuff.” I responded as if this was the new normal for me.
“Okay. I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“I’m good.” I said. She just smiled and nodded before closing the door. I don’t know what had changed, but she didn’t ask anything else or looked concerned when she left. I guess I looked more convincing than I had downstairs. A smile crept across my face as well. I’m glad she didn’t keep prying, there was a story that needed to be written. And a happily ever after awaiting me.
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