Bill to Bill

Bill had been sitting at his desk for hours. How much Elliot Smith could a guy listen to? Bill was depressed. Love is a myth and depression is real. That’s what he believed. That’s all he could think about, she was all he could think about, when he should of been thinking about his Lit paper so I doesn’t fail this fucking class.Love is a myth and depression is real? If one were to think any other way, they’d be a fool, right? It had been 45 minutes since he sent his last text. “I miss you, so much”, that’s what he said. He stopped typing for a moment to bury his face in his hands. He was pathetic. Have some self- respect, that’s what he thought. Sitting there, waiting for this girl to text him back, every minute she didn’t, his mind sinking deeper and deeper into that area he didn’t like. That part of his anxious ass mind that overthought every single little thing. Nothing was ever little when it came to love though. Why did he choose to write a paper about Naked Lunch, and why was it due tomorrow? It’s because Burroughs was Bill’s favorite author, duh! Bill also believed that if you could read Naked Lunch, than you could read anything since it took a special sort of tolerance to read Burroughs. Just than Bill’s phone lit up, and he raised his head so fast he got dizzy, hoping it was her. Hoping it was Makayla, that was her name and he feel in love with her almost the first time they met. Bill still could never understand why she had been at that Slayer concert alone. A tiny girl like her, all alone in a rough crowd, and she was tiny. She stood 5’1, and weighed about 105 pounds wet. It wasn’t her though, that lit up his phone. It was just Matt, telling him to “chill out” and “not overact”, but it was too late for that. Matt didn’t understand, Matt didn’t know how much love hurt and Bill honestly didn’t think many people did. Fuck this, dude, write the damn paper! Bill started typing again, he was only on the second paragraph. He now needed a quote as evidence for his thesis. He looked down at the closed copy of Naked Lunch sitting on his desk. He hadn’t bothered to make a single note while reading the book, but its contents were all vividly embedded in his memory. His phone lit up again, not her. Just the same message from Matt, refreshing itself. Bill opened the message, so it wouldn’t happen again, but he did not reply. He couldn’t reply to anyone else until she, replied to him. He once again checked for when he sent his last message to her. It had been just over an hour. Have I really been sitting here doing nothing for this long? Had this girl really taken up so much of his consciousness that he could literally do nothing but sit and think about her? She had. Bill could do nothing but think about her blond hair and green eyes that had specs of brown around the pupil like fireworks. Then there was the shape of her lips, which he thought was perfect, and her nose, which he loved, but she hated. He thought about kissing the tip of her nose. Don’t be a pussy, don’t cry. Bill took a deep breath, opening their conversation. “You mean so much to me.” He typed, thought about it “… please don’t”, no, not that, he erased that. He needed to get his point across without sounding needy, but wasn’t it okay to be needy to someone you loved. You need them. “I don’t want to loose you, you mean so much to me.” That was the message he would send. Bill could always say more to her, but that sounded good enough to him. “I love yo…” he wouldn’t send that message. Now the waiting game would start all over. He sat his phone face down on his desk, figuring it would be less distracting that way. Next to it, the copy of Naked Lunch, which Bill lingered on. If Burroughs were here right now, what would he say? Bill’s face was back in his palms.

“Is she worth it?” The voice said, a real voice, from across the room. Cigarette smoke rolled over Bill as he raised his head. The voice was familiar, so Bill didn’t question it, but greeted the man who now sat on his couch, smoking a cigarette like he was at home.

“What did you say?” Bill asked. Burroughs crossed his legs, taking another deep pull from his cigarette. He leaned forward so he could be seen. He was young, maybe in his mid to late 30s.

“I said, is she worth it? Worth all of this, pain you’re feeling?” Burroughs asked. “She’s worth everything to me.”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

“She knows.”

“Does she?” Did she? Bill wasn’t so certain himself.

“She does.” Bill said as convincingly as he possibly could. Trying to convince himself rather than Burroughs.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, honey. How can she know if you haven’t said the words?” Burroughs stretched, yawning. Bill picked up his phone, still no response.

“What would I know anyway?” Burroughs continued. “I’m just a hopeless romantic, I’ve never had a successful romance outside my first wife. If you would consider that successful, considering, how it ended.”

“Do you ever feel bad about that?” Bill asked.

“Every day.” Burroughs said ashing his cigarette on the floor. “But I’ve said it before, I don’t think I would have become a writer if I hadn’t done that. In fact, I’m completely positive on the matter.”

“I know, I’ve read that somewhere.”

“I’m sure there are lots of places you can read about me. I promise it’s all true.” Burroughs grinned playfully.

“Even the mugwumps?” Bill laughed.

“Especially the mugwumps.” Burroughs smile was warm, like a hug from an old friend. That’s what he was to Bill, an old friend. Just than Bill’s phone lit up in his hand. It was her.

“You mean a lot to me too” a few moments later, followed by “I don’t want to loose you either. But I can’t keep waiting for you.” Bill stared at his phone unsure of how to feel.

“What did she say?” Burroughs asked.

“She said she doesn’t want to loose me either, but she can’t keep waiting for me.”

“There’s your answer.”

“But I don’t understand.” Bill said. “What’s she waiting for? I’m here, I’m hers, I mean she’s… she’s like my soulmate. I… it just all hurts so bad.” Again, Bill’s face was down, his chin pressing hard against his chest. “Love is a myth, depression is real.” He said.

“But you’re only depressed because you’re so in love.” Burroughs said leaning forward, his face peaking out the shadows.

“I would know. I’ve been in love before.” “Allenrton, right?” Bill asked. “From Queer?” Burroughs smiled, revealing small teeth.

“Yes, Allerton” he said in that reminiscent voice. “He was my unfulfilled love. In my life one day, and than gone the next, poof, vanished like he never even exited. I don’t think I’d ever wanted another human being so bad.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could see Allerton in his head. “It was a long time ago though. I was a young man, than.”

“You still are.” Bill said.

“What I am is a dead man. I’m a figment of your imagination, talking to you about your love life. I’m only young because you’re imagining me so. I must say I am much more appealing at this age than I was when I died.” “

Did you have any regret in the end?” Bill asked. “About Allerton?”

“Of course I did.” Burroughs said. “You always think about what you could have done differently, what you could have said or shouldn’t have said. I missed him all the time. I still do. I’ll be the first to tell you that the heart wants what the heart wants even in death. You sometimes think it would be easier if you had never even met them at all, to spare you the pain and yearning.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Wish you never met Allerton?”

“Christ no! As much pain as I felt, as much as I feel. I would have never experienced that love without him. See, you’re right when you say love is depression, but that’s also where you are wrong. Love is happiness, sadness, and depression. It is equally the deepest pain you’ll ever feel and the happiest you’ll ever be. That’s the sacrifice we make when we choose to be in love. Psh, what do I mean choose, you don’t choose it, it just happens. And if you’re lucky enough, they love you back. Allerton never loved me. I know that.”

“How do you know?” Bill asked. “Because he never told me.” Bill remained silent. He opened up their conversation, reading over her last message to him. “I can’t keep waiting for you.”

“What if I say it and she doesn’t say it back?” He asked. “What if she does?”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“So than so what, be like me. Use the traumatic event to become a famous writer. Or maybe I’m infamous; it’s hard to tell these days. But what if she does?” Bill thought to himself. Saying those three words seemed like the scariest thing he would ever have to do in his entire life. The thought of her not saying it back was just as heartbreaking as it actually happening.

“You’re scared.” Burroughs said. “You’d be fucking stupid not to be.” Burroughs took another long drag from his cigarette. Throughout their entire conversation it seemed that the cigarette never grew any smaller.

“Do what you feel you need to, Bill.” He continued. It’s better than just carrying it around inside. I still carry Allerton with me, a memory of a time we never even had.” Burroughs laughed. “Ignore my self pity, it’s exhausting, I know.”

“No more exhausting than my own.” Bill said.

“Maybe you and I are soulmates?” They both laughed at this. That genuine, warm laughter that eased worrying, making you feel for a moment that things could actually get better.

“Go on.” Burroughs said. “Tell her how she’s your everything. How she’s your first thought when you wake up in the morning and the last before you go to bed at night. Do it, I believe in you.” Bill smiled, and for the first time that day, he didn’t feel completely broken. He typed “I love you! I love you so fucking much!” He stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the send button.

“Do it.” Burroughs said. “I’m right here.” He smiled. Bill looked over at him, feeling something he might call hope. “Thanks, William.” He said, as he pressed send. Sealing his fate. Burroughs exhaled a long stream of smoke.

“Call me, Bill.” He winked. “Thanks, Bill.” Bill said, his phone lighting up. It was her.