You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.
There's something to be said about a man named Will. Or Billy. Or W. Eddie. But never Willy.
It was a crisp fall day when we met for the first time. The sun was shining through the brittle tree skeletons once plush with green life as if it knew that something amazing was about to occur. And what happened did amaze me. My dim life was about to be illuminated by a boy of 15. I was a woman of 17, bound tightly in the corsets of society, disillusioned with the grey world that I had been presented with. It is hard to believe that such a young man could breathe such vibrance into everything around me. Especially since he's colorblind.
The days grew shorter and our conversations grew in both length and depth, but not girth. We talked of life and death and beauty and cell phone plans, each of us in rapt or at least moderate admiration of the other's words and acknowledging them with a halfhearted affirmation.
Our relationship has only grown stronger throughout the years. We have each turned into very different people. I, a sad scholarly ne'er-do-well and he, a young man of grace and poise and, above all, a fellow uber-patron of the local Praline's Ice Cream Shoppe. Whether we are unwrapping a piece of his mother's homemade saltwater taffy or the layers of our respective personalities, we are not afraid to show each other what is hidden beneath the thin, waxy protection.
Though now we are geographically parted, I still feel a part of him with me all the time. Whether I get the sudden urge to stop and talk to the man urinating on the subway tracks, or to take a picture of the dead bird against the cold marble stairs, I know that that is the Will in me bubbling to the surface like clam chowder on the stove.
Fate, be cruel. Twist as you must; keep me guessing. I assure you, this Willy will be forever inside me.
It was a crisp fall day when we met for the first time. The sun was shining through the brittle tree skeletons once plush with green life as if it knew that something amazing was about to occur. And what happened did amaze me. My dim life was about to be illuminated by a boy of 15. I was a woman of 17, bound tightly in the corsets of society, disillusioned with the grey world that I had been presented with. It is hard to believe that such a young man could breathe such vibrance into everything around me. Especially since he's colorblind.
The days grew shorter and our conversations grew in both length and depth, but not girth. We talked of life and death and beauty and cell phone plans, each of us in rapt or at least moderate admiration of the other's words and acknowledging them with a halfhearted affirmation.
Our relationship has only grown stronger throughout the years. We have each turned into very different people. I, a sad scholarly ne'er-do-well and he, a young man of grace and poise and, above all, a fellow uber-patron of the local Praline's Ice Cream Shoppe. Whether we are unwrapping a piece of his mother's homemade saltwater taffy or the layers of our respective personalities, we are not afraid to show each other what is hidden beneath the thin, waxy protection.
Though now we are geographically parted, I still feel a part of him with me all the time. Whether I get the sudden urge to stop and talk to the man urinating on the subway tracks, or to take a picture of the dead bird against the cold marble stairs, I know that that is the Will in me bubbling to the surface like clam chowder on the stove.
Fate, be cruel. Twist as you must; keep me guessing. I assure you, this Willy will be forever inside me.