I Did It!

12 September 2030           

Today’s the day I change. Today’s the day I finally crank out the rest of that long-awaited Master’s Thesis I need to submit before next week. Besides, I’m just a few hundred or so paragraphs away from handing it into the professor, who will congratulate me before I receive my Master’s degree in Psychology. I worked as a therapist back in the day. That was, like, four hundred years ago, I have an amazing memory—an unequivocal asset to my future job as a Traveling Psychologist. So, right now, I’m writing all about therapy—especially athletes and the incarcerated.                  

“5 more pages before next Tuesday’s presentation. Here I come!” 

4 hours later…

I don’t see the point in writing all of this stuff if I’ll just stuff it in the trashcan after I graduate and, more importantly, celebrate with my girlfriend, Marci! But it’s a good thing I’m 1500 points away from graduating with top honors from Princeton. And that I’m dating the girl of my dreams. But she won’t marry a dishonest man.

You see, I’ve struggled to tell the truth. I’ve always been afraid of honesty because the whole school—the whole entire school, complete with the principal and staff—circled around me on the playground during one fight with the bully. I stood up to Mark. At least I thought I did. I told him to shove off. He didn’t like that. I, eyes wide, stumbled backwards, falling down and hitting my head. I blacked out, but when I came to, no one helped me up. I looked up, groaning, into the face of my school counselor. Scratching my eyes, I scrambled up, told her I’ll get back to class, and hurried away. I felt her eyes on me. Her head spinning with stories to tell my parents about my duplicity.    

At least I was the only one brave enough to face Mark! I was angry the rest of that day, balled fists and sour face. Yes, I am a redhead—but we redheads are known for their tempers. Well, I have a smile on my face now, as it has slowly slid up my face. I am winning this essay! I am typing and writing! It’s like a race. I can feel it in myself to keep going and going—

Hah! Yes. I think I finally have the first two thousand words down. It’s more like two thousand pages, but I’ll cut some out before Tuesday. I got up out of my chair and stood in front of my masterpiece.

It wasn’t long enough. I kept writing. At lunch tomorrow, I met Marci for lunch. She sighed, running her fingers through curly brunette hair, a little annoyed I didn’t have the paper done yet.

“I’m working on it!” I expressed.

“Whatever you say! Just be yourself. Besides, you’re smart!”        

“No plagiarism here. I promise!”    

The prettiest girl and I laughed, chasing each other around the playground and swings, swinging in sync forever ago in second grade. I had been the new kid, and Mark and his cronies had decided to teach me the usual lesson that newbies weren’t anything but punching bags. So I tried facing him down, staring at him until he walked away. He didn’t. My eyes bulged in fear with every intimidating step as he walked tough and talked tougher, three other elementary schoolers following him like lemmings. I jumped off the swing, protecting us, telling him to go take a hike. He rolled his eyes, snarling. “You’re not going to lie to me like you did last time, are you?”     

Mark hated lying. It always made him mad—he told me he deserved the truth, too. Deep down, I knew he was right. I was just so tired of his bullying. Besides, I was treated like this for being new. So he deserved it!

“When was last time?” I lied again.

“Yeah!” Marci challenged. “When was the last time he—?”     

Mark snarled something incomprehensible and then ordered Parker, Nathan and Cillian to continue the bullying. I scrunched my face. Maybe he had enough of me? I didn’t know. I looked back at Marci, my best—and only—friend. She was swinging, eyes closed and voice singing something softly. I squinted and cocked my head. I could just make out what she said. When she opened her eyes, she grinned wide and asked whether anyone liked her song. Nathan, Cillian and Parker, I turned to see, were all staring at her, and then scrunched their faces. I shook my head. She sang louder. The three boys grumbled to themselves and walked away, muttering about these two weirdos. I smiled wide at Marci.     

“It’s our song!” She jumped off the swing and grabbed my wrist, taking me inside the school after the teacher yelled that recess was over. But we were too busy giggling about Mark and his friends to pay any attention as we raced for the door, entered and went to our last class.

Next Tuesday 

“I…don’t know what to say.”   

Marci looked at me. She held my thesis out to me, shaking her brown-sugar brown curls. “I don’t know, Dills. I mean, writing a story about how you fended us off from Mark and his gang isn’t going to cut it! I want a real paper.” 

My fork dropped from my hand, my hands pruned like they were when they were in the pool too long and my mouth formed a small o. I broke out in a cold chill. My jaw was heavy as I took the paper back from her, read some lines and nodded my thickly stiff neck. Breathing slowly, I blinked and then looked up at my girlfriend. Refusing to wish this was all a dream, I told her I’d be back and made the corrections. Hours later, I had the document in hand. I rushed back to Marci, showed her I had written a real paper and then showed up minutes before my graduation.   

I must be next! I waited, tapping my foot incessantly, my heart beating. But the woman on stage never called me up. No one waved me over or acknowledged that Dills Pickles—graduate cum laude—was leaving Princeton University forever. As my classmates were hugging and smiling and congratulating each other, I stood there, almost gawking at them. I couldn’t believe it.

I’m alone in a cabin in the woods. Writing on my laptop on my bed, bear spray on my nightstand. A graduate who didn’t even graduate. I rented this cabin after I fled my college president’s office after being told he had already called me up. I explained I was late. It was too late, he said. Too late for graduation. Now I’m penning every word to escape this nightmare. Every word was going to come out as much as possible. As true as possible. And Marci was going to love such a book! 

2 Hundred Tuesdays Later

“Will you marry me?”

The gorgeous ring was exposed up at Marci, her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise. She nodded, speechless. I threw a huge grin on my face, and got up to hug her back after slipping the engagement ring on her finger. “You know, Marci. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” We had broken apart.

“Sorry for not being the smart-aleck you always wanted.” I gave a lame smile.

 She responded in kind. I asked her whether she still wanted to marry an honest person.

“Will you be faithful to me, too, Dills, as my honest fiancé?”

Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes. But, soon, I looked only at her curls. Those tight spirals did indeed wind down to her shoulders. Like my life. Spiraling out of control. Outside, I tried. But, inside, I was drowning. Desperate to prove myself. I didn’t want to tell people what I couldn’t even prove. I needed proof I was important. Then I’d let that day go, like Marci has gently—but constantly—told me to do.

I told her of my idea. I returned to Princeton, and knocked on his door.

“Come in!” A cheery voice answered. I twisted the knob and entered, halting when I got to his desk.

“Mark?”

He looked at me, and blinked. “Dills? Is that you? From elementary school?” He put out his hand to shake mine. “Come on, shake it! I’m not going to chop it off.”

“Mark.” I sighed. “I just—”

“Hear me out. You missed graduation. Now, I won’t give the diploma to you now, as it was four years ago, but—you graduated! You just missed graduation. That’s it.” His happiness was contagious, but I couldn’t catch such joy. “Besides, Marci’s told me she’d rather date a real guy than someone who fakes. Like you.”

I feigned innocence, as he was bullying me again. “No—I was never called up. I was late. Now, I’m engaged to a woman who’s frustrated I can’t let this whole graduation thing go. I know I lied to you at one point, but I’m sorry! I’m sorry tired of being forgotten.”

“Of being lied to?”

I sighed.

“If you don’t have a diploma, you’re not that Traveling Psychologist.” He snapped his fingers, trying to think of something. Then he pointed at me. “How about you tell people you graduated, but you were just late for your graduation. Huh?” He spread his arms and grinned comically. “What’s the harm?” A chuckle escaped.

I sighed big and long. Then I went for it. “Mark, I was the loser back in elementary school. I’m sorry I lied—I just didn’t want to seem weak. If you don’t give it to me, I’ll get it from the school president. I was expected. I was there. Maybe they called me and I never showed up, but I just don’t get it. I just don’t—” 

“Yes, they did call you. But you weren’t there like you promised. I told them you’re a liar, so they believed me!” 

  I stared at him, jaw dropping.

“Yes, Pickles. I did.” He scrunched his face. “You didn’t see me?”

“I was too shocked and dismayed!”

Suddenly, a curly-haired beauty burst through the door. “Come on, Dills, we’re late for our engagement party!” She looped her arm around mine, smiling brightly. Tugging at me, she reminded me, “You don’t want to miss those fresh pickles I ordered for you, do you?” A trill failed to make me chuckle. She laughed. “Come on!”

Nathan, Parker and Cillian will mock the “graduate who never could,” shoving their P.U. diplomas in my face. I answered lamely, “No.” To Mark, I said, “You know what. I can always turn things around. I’m not a procrastinator—”

“Or hopefully a liar!” ” He called out as I reluctantly left with a beaming Marci. As she drove, I thought: Marci was worlds more important than some rolled-up scroll of congratulations. But I was just as important as every other graduate—so why wasn’t I? Mad at Mark, I talked to myself. Marci asked what I was saying. Glad Mark wasn’t with us, I told her. She nodded, her smile revealing cute dimples. We laughed about not caring whether Nathan, Parker and Cillian laughed at me, the so-called graduate, and his fiancé for agreeing to this whole marrying-the-loser thing. But as the weeks stretched into months, she would decline dates. I frequently saw Mark and her at lunches and brunches together. But, fortunately, she always stayed right by my side, the outings just being those. One night, we were driving to the movies after dinner. I was glad she was excited about it.  

Then I screamed for her to watch out.

It was too late. She was thrust forward, and then slammed back into the seat. Glass shattered everywhere. The car’s hood was squashed. Marci lay lifeless, bent over, her head on her door. I somehow had the power of resisting a car crash, as not a scratch showed. I checked her pulse. She was still alive, just unconscious. I fished my phone out and dialed 9-1-1. The cops came, opened our doors and ran Marci to the hospital, me right beside her. I explained the whole thing. Soon, I was waiting in the waiting room, and called Mark. He immediately came.

“Dills—I’m so, so sorry!” We talked, and I, shaking, strived to calm down. He ordered hot chocolate for himself, and then the dreaded news: Marci was in a coma. “The next four and a half, it looks like. So sorry!” The doctor lay a firm hand on my shaking shoulder and walked silently away.   

I sat there, numbness having coated me. I couldn’t move. Crumbs fled a hand once the hand was stuck outside the car window to let the wind take them away. But the hand was crushed in the window. And it wouldn’t feel anything but pain for the next four and a half years. I wouldn’t marry a coma-induced person. I would sit by her side, waiting for her. I didn’t care if I spent the night talking to her. Honest words of love would pour from my mouth like water from a pitcher.

I jumped, a slurping sound distracting me. After Mark drank his chocolate, he just left, returning the mug. Parker, Nathan and Cillian would always shrug their shoulders indifferently whenever Mark asked them whether I was still a liar. The three would always send me birthday and Christmas gifts and cards to prove their repentance after I told them to stop slandering me. Not Mark. He would offend me in public. After looking at me whenever I saw him, he’d feign innocence.    

Five months later

“Dills.”   

I woke up groggily one night, blinking. A nurse came into focus. She was coming in to check on Marci, I assumed. “Yes?”    

“I need you to leave. This isn’t a hotel—”

Red hot anger flowed through me. This was not the time to order me to shut myself in a hotel room, away from my Marci! We were engaged. I was going to be faithful to her just like she had been to me all those years ago. Now was my chance to demonstrate honesty! “She’s not just a celebratory event in my life. She’s my love. I’m keeping my promise—to spend as much time here—”

“Dills, I understand you’re married or engaged. But we need you to get some sleep. You look exhausted.” The nurse eyed my ring. “That’s a beautiful engagement ring. But you must circle around town.”

Whatever. I muttered some things coolly under my breath, and she gave me hard looks. But I forced myself to saunter away, staying in a hotel down the street. The nurse called that night, and I sat up straight, wide awake. “You’re Mark’s fiancé! Sophie, is it?”

“Sophia. Yes, Dills, I know you. I also want you to know that outside the hospital, I care more for people—they go through life hurting more from the drugs and others’ abuse than they do from the medicine.”   

Her words resonated with me that night.

I heard Mark and Sophia went through a horrific breakup—Sophia couldn’t bear losing someone like Mark. Like Marci, she made excuses, seeing Mark only when convenient. A year later, Marci started moving her arms and hands a little. I yelled for Sophia to come into the room. She hurried in, but she wasn’t surprised or elated. “She’s moving in response to the medicine.” She pursed her lips and blinked, tears forming in her eyes. Sophia’s voice cracked. “I don’t think she’ll make it. I’m so sorry, Dills!”    

Five days later, I was standing at the podium. A couple of them had small children, and they sobbed. I tried not to wipe too many tears: they were Marci’s sister’s children. Their cute aunt and enjoyable babysitter was gone from their lives. I didn’t speak much for fear I’d lose it. But the words I did manage were about Marci’s faithfulness to me from second grade onward and my dedication to her up until her death. And then I told the audience the worst part: we never said “I Do.” That engagement ring was the first and last circle around her finger, I blurted out before bawling. 

Mark spoke some words about his childhood classmate, but my loud thoughts of Marci drowned out everything. Endless tears flowed as I sat, completely inhuman. I saw a therapist for the next few years and then canceled myself out of the world. Marci’s mother’s phone calls went to voicemail. I just wanted to write it all out. So I did. Told Mark, Riley and Sharon, Marci’s sister the truth—that I’d write a book. Then I got to work.

Seven years later

“Yeah. My adventures from second grade until now—forty-two years old.”

Some writing conference audience members muttered under their breath. A few nodded sympathetically. I droned on for two hours and walked back to my chair, ignoring the hands wanting to be shaken.

“But you’re famous!” Some voices retorted.  

Not without Marci.

I made that cabin in the woods my home. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with water. Then I studied the tub. I’d be happier with her in heaven. She’d be with me forever. Besides, what fiancé doesn’t want to be with his partner again?

Then I shook my head voraciously. She wouldn’t want that.

When Mark and Sophia started dating again, I ordered him to stop slandering me. He would just smirk. Sophia broke up with him forever. She and I remain friends till this day. At her wedding, I wasn’t just some tuxedo-wearing guest. I mattered, especially to her because I was an honest friend. She helped me let go of Marci, and I eventually did, grateful.

I rewrote the first novel, and then put a new one next to it.

A duology.