Chapter Text
Sometimes something happens
better than all the riches in the
world. It could be anything, but
very likely you notice it in the
instant when love begins.
Mary Oliver, ‘Don’t Hesitate’
It was Neil’s twenty-fifth birthday and in his opinion, the day couldn’t end fast enough. He peeled off his starchy lab coat and switched into his favourite cashmere sweater, one that he had specifically picked out for the drive home from the hospital. Something to make today feel different from all the other days, though he realized now that it didn’t make any difference. Every day would always be like the next.
He was exiting the staff room, on the way to the parking garage when Carmen stopped him with a touch to his shoulder. “Neil!” Her dimpled cheeks stretched into a broad smile. “A little birdy told me today’s your birthday.”
Neil ducked his head. “So word’s got around.” He smiled demurely, wishing that it hadn’t.
Carmen was one of the newer nurses on the block, fresh out of university with the enthusiasm to show for it. Her blonde hair bounced on her shoulders when she walked and it appeared as though her makeup had always been freshly applied, at least when Neil saw her. She’d tailed him several times now on his way heading out of the hospital or when he was on his break by the coffee machine and always seemed overly engaged in the mundane details of his life; where he was heading after work, whether he’d had a good shift, what did he think of the weather today?
“Do you have any plans to celebrate? Having friends over, family…?” She looked expectantly at him, brows raised and lips perked into such a particularly friendly expression that Neil couldn’t bear to tell her the truth and say his only plans were to make a casserole and watch Here’s Lucy.
“Oh, yes. I’m having a small gathering for dinner tonight with a couple of old friends from Harvard.”
Her brows lifted even higher, and Neil began to wonder how much higher they could possibly go before disappearing into her hairline altogether. “That’s amazing! I hope you enjoy it, Neil.”
She had a consistent habit of peppering his name into conversations and each time it was as though she’d tapped him in the chest, reminding himself that he was a real and physical entity she was speaking with. “Thank you,” he said warmly, while shivering under the cold fluorescents with only his cardigan.
“Here, let me walk you out,” she said, already beginning to walk towards the nearest elevator. Neil could hardly refuse.
“Do you have any plans for your day off on Thursday?” Neil asked. He’d reflexively memorized many of the hospital staff’s timetables, a former habit from his boarding school days, and it seemed to please Carmen that he knew her schedule. She flushed a splotchy shade of rosehip and was quick to answer.
“No, not really. I was thinking of going to the Fitzwilliam, they have a new exhibit there that I’ve been meaning to see on Victorian life and leisure, but it’s not worth much if I have nobody to share it with.” She cast a glance at him. “Say, you should take a day off sooner or later, particularly as you’ve had a birthday. You could come to the Fitzwilliam with me.”
The elevator hummed, then chimed loudly as they arrived at the parking garage. “I suppose I could,” Neil managed, smiling lightly.
“Think about it, will you? You deserve a break too, now and then.”
“Thank you, I will.” Neil stepped out of the elevator and smiled back at her as the elevator doors closed.
She was a friendly enough girl, he supposed, as he turned and walked through the warm, humid air to his rusting Pontiac LeMans. She was gentle with patients, smart, and had a kind smile… However, there was nothing quite intriguing about her. He knew her name, schooling, and family life; he had no desire to know more. She was simply one of those girls you met throughout life that was as simple as a sheet of paper. Sure, she was conventionally attractive but he didn’t get the allure that his male coworkers often talked about. Blondes weren’t his type, anyway.
The car grumbled silently out of the parking lot and he headed west onto Highland Avenue. He sighed as he noticed his gas was running low. He’d leave that for another day. For now, all that he allowed himself to think about was sinking into his leather couch and letting the television set buzz his brain into oblivion.
He lived in an apartment a short distance away on Hancock Street, a modest place that he would soon have the funds to move away from. All the same, he liked the beaten up brick walls and the sense of sharing one big home with a hundred and thirty strangers.
He weaved through the evening traffic, listening to the spitting of tires against concrete and the laughter of Ivy League students as they drifted across the sidewalks in hordes, fresh-faced from their library study sessions. He had been young once, he thought, his gaze trailing after them and their carefree arms slung across one another’s shoulders. It had never really felt like it, though.
Neil walked into the lobby and was struck by the brittle, cool air that washed over his damp skin. He yawned and walked towards the wall of mailboxes, quickly slotting his key into number twenty-eight. Neil opened the mailbox and slid out two envelopes; the first was his monthly electricity bill, and the second was addressed to “Dr. Neil Perry” from Middlebury, Vermont. For a moment, time stopped. His brain stuttered and his hands tightened around the envelope, crushing the edges into his sweaty fists. When was the last time someone from Vermont had contacted him? It felt like a lifetime ago now that his father had taken him out of Welton and sent him to Braden Military School in Cornwall. He hadn’t seen or talked to anyone from that part of his life except for his parents. He felt a lump surge in his throat and he quickly thumped up the staircase to his apartment on the third floor.
He had barely closed the door behind him when Romeo, his slate grey Maine Coon, weaved through his legs and mewed hungrily at him. He dropped the envelopes on the kitchen table and grabbed the cat kibble from the cabinet by the sink and poured a heaping into Romeo’s dish. He was awarded with a happy mew and a head bump before Romeo busied himself in his dinner.
He went to his room and rummaged briefly through his closet. When he emerged, he was pulling a warm, weathered sweatshirt over his head with block letters written in red: Welton.
At last, he reached the kitchen table and sunk into a seat, already knifing through the cream envelope with his thumb. He pulled out a double-sided sheet covered in tightly scribbled words. He flipped it over to check the sender, and his blood froze at the name staring at him. He swallowed thickly for a moment before he turned the page over, this time starting at the beginning. The more he read, the more he sank deeper into his chair, and the more clearly he could see the author in his mind and hear the sound of his voice recite the words.
June 26th, 1968
Dear Neil,
I don’t know what’s compelled me to reach out to you now after the past nine years. Maybe Mr Keating has wormed his way into my h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ brain and is making me do something out of the ordinary for once. Maybe it’s me trusting my gut. Maybe it’s me wishing my last memory of you wasn’t your pained face as you climbed into the backseat of your father’s car in the wet snow.
(We later heard that your father had sent you to a military school, but for the first day or two I thought you would be coming b ack. I made your bed and I organized your calculus notes and I waited for the door to open and you to swing in with a jolly grin, like always. It still hurts to look back on.)
What I’m getting at is that I decided to do something different and write to you.
I visited Welton last week for the first time since graduation. I was invited to do a reading (I have a book out now, by the way) and take questions from students. After I finished reading the first chapter of my book, I invited the boys to ask any questions they had, regardless if they were related or not. A young boy, maybe fourteen, raised his hand and asked me whether I’d liked my time at Welton. I think I laughed before I told him that my year at Welton was the very best year of life. What I didn’t tell him was that it was also the worst.
It sure was odd visiting dear old Hell-ton again (it became much more of a hell after you left). I kept expecting to see Meeks or Pitts or Charlie come roaring around every corner. It hasn’t changed one bit since we ran hungrily through those halls. I wouldn’t say that I miss it but sometimes I think of it, and our friends, and how everything felt possible and cupped in our palms.
Well, I don’t know what I’m going on about. I just thought you should know that I thought of you. I don’t know, maybe this is silly. If it is, forget it, I’m sorry I wrote in the first place.
It’s been a long time. I hope you’re doing well.
Sincerely,
Todd Anderson