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Ford tapped his pen against the page. Slow and methodical, leaving black smudges among the calligraphy scrawled out on the page. Each tap echoed on barren walls and bounced off hard covered textbooks from the library. His eyes stared at the words, hardly flicking in a way that meant he was reading. He was simply staring. He was simply tapping. If not for the rhythmic movement one may think he fell asleep with his eyes open.
Can someone understand you better than you can understand yourself?
Simple question as were all those that came before it. However, the philosophy course he was being forced to take as part of his core had a tendency to blindside him even when he was not exhausted.
He swallowed, his throat felt scratchy and rough but he remained still. Staring at the scrawl as his eyes flicked just a bit higher on the page.
Is the desire for connection rooted in an instinctual fear of isolation?
Ford was at a loss with those questions that the professor put up for them. His mind had stalled out and given up after thinking about it for so long.
It took five months to hit a wall. A big glass wall painted with bright colors that promised him success. Climbing it didn't work so he would have to spread his newfound wings and flap harder than Icarus himself. He was destined to overcome shortsighted obstacles.
He lifted his head to look at his alarm clock and found it was early morning, too early for the sun to be up. He swallowed again, this time unable to ignore the uncomfortable dryness. He pushed out his chair with a long and lazy scratching sound as he moved from his desk to the small kitchen to grab a glass of water.
He let out a jaw cracking yawn as he put his empty cup down. Now that he had done that, his stomach was starting up. He looked through his cupboards to find he didn't have anything substantial. Pulling out a snack would be the best he could do until the cafeteria opened for breakfast.
He sat back at his desk, turning so he could see out of the window as he snacked away on trail mix. At an hour like this not even the partiers were still out. It was the absolute pinnacle of silence on a college campus. Classes start at eight and the sun was nothing more than a line of light on the horizon.
His eyes slid over to his bed, a larger bed than he was used to and more room overhead than he had ever had in his life. He moved to sit on its plush surface, looking up like he would find a bunk above him. Of course, that would not happen. That bed would remain in his childhood home— or perhaps it was gone now that Stanley was also gone. Would Pa clean out the room now that they were gone? Would Ma let him?
He flopped down, eyes now gazing at the corkboard and map on his wall. There were fifteen push pins placed along the coast heading south. The most recent one placed in the smallest port town of Golden Meadow, Louisiana.
Something swirled in his chest as he looked at the map. He couldn't figure out what it was but he could feel an ache each time he looked at the map. It didn't stop him from doing it frequently between the infrequent calls from Stanley.
Stanley…
A glint from the window had him turning to see the sun's light peeking through the curtains. He didn't even sleep. He felt like he couldn't sleep even if he tried. Whatever feeling was growing in his chest was making it impossible to focus.
His alarm was going to go off in an hour and a long day would be ahead of him because of this. The problem was, what was this? It wasn't a feeling he felt before leaving for college nor one he wanted to get accustomed to. It made his heart feel far too pronounced in his chest. Each beat slow but heavy and carrying with it unease that made it impossible to get good rest.
It was seven in the morning. His work was only half done due to the exhaustion that was seeping into his bones. The wise words of his brother kept echoing in the back of his head. Don't forget to take care of yourself. His brother asked so little of him, spoke so little to him now that they were so far apart. He should at least honor the few requests he was given and yet here he was. Not sleeping, forgetting to eat even when his brother had reminded him, not even drinking when his body required it.
Ford let out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. It was a bad idea to close his eyes even for a moment, he had classes to go to and if he fell asleep now he would sleep straight through that alarm clock. Did he even set it? It's not like he completed his nightly ritual since he didn't go to bed.
He should get up…
He should get…
He should…
UP.
Ford jolted up in bed, looking around wildly before his eyes landed on his alarm clock.
…
…
He could feel nothing but disappointment in himself. He was a well disciplined individual, or at least he would say he was, but he let himself get comfortable enough to fall asleep and now half of his classes were over!
Ford grit his teeth as he quickly cleaned up, changed his shirt, and grabbed his bag. The least he could do was attend his last two classes of the day.
As he walked, a heavy thunk to his steps trailed him and forced other students to step out of his way. He couldn't muster any part of himself to feel bad for them when they all looked at him with that haughty glint in their eye.
Silver spoon trust fund children. Most of them probably bought their way into the school through money and connections. "Hey, Stanford!" A voice called out causing the man to nearly vocalize his displeasure. He was not only trying to get to class after missing half of his classes but he really hated this guy.
He forced a crooked smile onto his face as he turned to face a very well kept gentleman. As always his hair was trimmed and perfectly styled and his outfit meticulously made to be both stylish and perfect in every way.
"Greetings, Julian." Stanford greeted stiffly as the man two years older than himself.
"I was quite shocked when I noticed you weren't in class earlier. Whatever happened to you?"
Ford hoped his face didn't look too disdainful as his smile almost hurt to maintain. "I was unwell this morning. I will be present going forward." Robotic and overly formal but it worked in getting the message across. "Please excuse me, I am heading to class." Ford turned to leave but found his steps being matched by another.
"I had intended to ask you about our thermodynamics project, however if you have been ill perhaps you have not engaged much with the literature we were assigned." Julian let out a light chuckle that Ford mirrored if only so he wasn't called rude. "As the more informed among us, I would not be opposed lending you my journal to read over. If you are so inclined?"
"I politely decline." Ford grated out smoothly as he opened the door to the humanities building and didn't bother with politeness. He got satisfaction from the small displeased noise as Julian was forced behind him. When the man went to rematch his steps, Ford noticed his smile was also more strained.
"May I inquire why?" Julian asked.
“I prioritize relationships that contribute positively to my cognitive and professional development. I’m not convinced that you have obtained anything I cannot obtain easily on my own.” Ford stated as if it were a simple matter but it froze Julian to his spot.
As Ford walked into his class, he hardly registered anything aside from the sound of the imaginary steam whistle coming from behind him. His smile faltered as he heard a loud and harsh whisper from behind him.
Bottom-feeder. Freak. Leech.
He could feel more bright paint coloring the glass wall. They were just trying to block his view of the other side. Just keep flying higher. He could fly further and faster than all of them.
He paused as he saw his professor at the blackboard erasing the previous class' ideas and thoughts. His feet had taken him here without much thought and he just realized that his first class of the day since his annoying impromptu nap would be the most annoying class of his core. Philosophy.
It wasn't so much philosophy that he hated but the way it was set out and the professor. The class was set out so that they progressed from the self and Identity and ended with the existential and theoretical.
Ford sat down on the right side of the lecture hall, toward the middle. As the classroom filled, there was a bubble around him that simply did not. Students sat with their friends and study groups and Ford had all the room in the world to spread out his class materials.
"As we ended last class on an interesting note, I want to start this one by asking the same question. Can someone understand you better than you can understand yourself?"
Oh, good. One of the questions that keeps haunting him. He almost wished the professor would just move on but he was almost curious what other people thought. "Missy, thoughts?"
"I don't think its possible for someone to know you as well as you know yourself. To begin, unless I tell someone, how can they tell what I am thinking if I do not show it on my face? Humans are prone to assumptions and perceptions. They can only truly know what they can see." She explained and Ford couldn't say he disagreed with her.
"I would like to refute that." Another student said to the delight of the professor. "There are plenty of things that you wouldn't notice that someone else would. We become so accustomed to these small quirks in our daily lives we don't acknowledge them as tells but body language is a powerful tool in many fields for a reason. Micro expressions, twitches, the way you walk, talk, hold yourself when you are simply standing there can tell someone a lot about who you are and how you are feeling." The student turned around to face Missy. "I can tell for a fact you are on guard by the way you are holding your drink." Ford looked and noticed that the lady was holding her water bottle in front of her with both hands. He didn't know what that meant in terms of body language and couldn't say he was all that interested to find out at the moment.
The discussion went on a bit longer before the professor moved on with the lesson. "The unit on Self and Identity is coming to a close as we transition into Perception vs Reality, but before we can do that, we will be completing an essay." The professor smiled as he smacked a pile of papers on his desk. "You will choose one of the topics on this page. Plain and simple. Class Dismissed." Stanford sighed. This was an essay heavy class according to other students but hopefully it would be a short one he could get done in one night.
The class started to pack up and collect the essay instructions. Ford was among the last to do so as he had almost two hours until his final class of the day.
Three page essay, usual font size, usual spacing, a list of five topics. simple and quite elementary essay.
The whispers caught him again as he left out the door.
Welfare case. Deformed. Freeloader.
Was it a wall or was he trapped in a dome? A net of preconceived notions of who he was and what he could be. It was no longer all about what he looked like but his background. A new kind of isolation. An insult to real intelligence in a place filled with purchased talent and reputations. It was a good thing he didn't need anyone to achieve his goals. Keep flying.
As he made his way back to his dorm to get started on his work… okay, so maybe he wasn't really planning to start on his work. Something was bothering him and today the fuse ran out, the metaphorical bomb went off and he needed to confide in someone.
He had reached the point where he was going to call Shermie. He had thought about calling Ma but he always found his voice stopped working when he needed it.
The moment he walked through the door, he sat himself next to the phone and dialed the number, hoping his brother wasn't too busy to pick up.
It rang once, it rang twice, wait… most people are at work this time of day.
"Hello? Pines residence." His brother actually picked up the phone…
"Shermie, it's Stanford." He said and got a hum of acknowledgement.
"That's interesting, are we sure this isn't Stanley? I recall that I don't hear from Stanford unless I call him. Even then, it's only when he feels like picking up the phone." Sass well deserved, he was man enough to acknowledge that.
"Shermie…" He let out a short breath as he tried to find the words.
"Something serious?" His brother asked and he almost nodded.
"Something has been bothering me. I can't tell what it is but I know its between me and Stanley. Since I left he's been different. He doesn't talk as much and he doesn't really call that often even though he promised he would. He's just… he's different…" He explained, or rather rambled.
"I hear you. I've talked with him a few times in the last few months and noticed it. Ma also told me that it started before you guys graduated high school."
Ford paused at that. She said it started before they left not after? "Did she say anything else?" He asked.
"No. I assume you would know something. Did anything happen leading up to graduation? Did he get dumped? Did Pa…" Shermie trailed off and Ford was quick to deny. Or at least deny in that he saw Stanley and Pa get into any arguments leading up to graduation. If anything, Stanley was more absent.
"Well… something did happen. We got… we got into a pretty big argument…" Ford cleared his throat as the other line went silent.
"Tell me everything."
Ford spilled every detail he could remember of that night. It wasn't something he enjoyed remembering or worse yet divulging. It brought up strained and agitated feelings. By the time he was done, that ache was back in full force.
Shermie… has been quiet for quite a while.
"Damn knucklehead! You go and tell him that he is suffocating?! You.. You… Both of you are…" There were a string of muffled words before Shermie came back to the phone, calmer but still obviously upset. "Stanford. You know that Stanley has always been soft-hearted. You wonder why he stopped talking to you? You practically told him to stop…" Shermie's voice ended on such a soft note that Stanford was almost mad.
He wanted to be mad at the accusation because that wasn't at all what he…. meant… but …that was what he said. He actually told his brother that his personality was suffocating. That just being himself was making Ford feel trapped.
"I… I didn't…" Ford's voice was quieter than he had meant, weaker than he had meant. What had he meant when he told Stanley that? Why had he said it to begin with? Since parting ways with his brother it had become so clear that he didn't want to be apart from him at all. He hated being alone.
"I know. I know you didn't mean it like that but does Stanley?" They both knew the answer to that based on their brother's calls alone. Ford should have known better. He had been so blinded for this damn school that proved to be…
"I've… got to go…" his heart was beating way too loudly. "I've got class in a minute," His eyes were starting to burn and his thoughts wouldn't slow down for one damn second to let him catch up. "I'm… I'm gonna go."
"Ford, don't you d—" he put the phone on its hanger as he took heaping breaths to try and calm himself down. He could fix it with just one call. Next Stanley called him he could make sure his brother knew that their argument had been a misunderstanding.
He didn't find his brother's presence a hindrance. He didn't hate those really bad jokes he always told. His personality wasn't suffocating. "I didn't mean it…" he whispered, feeling so unbearably angry at himself.
What he had wanted was a little space to do his thing and for Stanley to find his own thing, too. When they were in school, he had really done that. He had taken to the boating thing and stuck with it enough to leave. "I didn't want you to…" treat him the same way he treated Pa.
Had it been a lie? Had he done that because he felt Ford didn't want him around? But they made a plan. A four year list that ended with them coming back together.
Did Stanley think it was a lie?
He couldn't breathe. His hands were shaking and his eyes burned. His throat was starting to ache. Did Stanley think he was just making it up to appease him?
He bit his lip, trying to make it stop quivering as he held his head in his hands, fingers tangling in his hair. The phone started to ring again and the noise just made it worse.
He wanted to lash out, he wanted to throw things, his muscles ached to move but he had disciplined himself well and was as still as a statue. Even as his fingers tightened and pulled at his hair, he refused to move.
At times like these, Stanley had always been at his side, pulling his hands from his hair and holding onto them firmly so he wouldn't hurt himself. Stanley wasn't here. Stanley thought Ford didn't want him around.
His hands flexed, pulling at his scalp painfully as his jaw clenched. Men don't cry but the tears were coming anyway.
Men don't cry but the more Ford tried to hold back the worse it felt. Taking off his glasses gently had never been so difficult in his life.
The phone rang again, the loud blaring noise triggering something so angry that it vibrated under his skin. It made him tear it from the wall and fling it across the room with a clatter that did not make him feel any better.
Men don't cry but the only thing he could do was keep quiet as his body disobeyed him. His body heaved with heavy sobs and his chest hurt each time he held it back like a dam about to break. He slipped into the small space between his bed and desk, arms crossed and holding onto himself with white knuckled grip.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there crying. However, he knew he felt exhausted and numb. He wiped away lingering tears as he gathered up the courage to move, to put back the disrespected objects in his possession.
He would be lucky if he didn't break his phone and need to get a new one…
His eyes flicked around until he spotted the phone he had thrown, a plain black spot across the room— or two black spots.
He pushed himself away from the wall and scrambled toward it. This was the only phone number Stanley had for him and he threw it across the room.
Ford's jaw wobbled again as he carefully picked it up and inspected it. The phone and receiver looked fine, the cord was alright as well but he wouldn't know until he plugged it in.
He carefully put it back in its place and plugged it in, pulling the receiver to his ear. When the off-hook tone blared in his ear he felt himself take a breath of relief.
He thought he was past throwing things around like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
He rubbed a hand over his face as he walked to the kitchen and grabbed himself a glass of water, or rather two as he drank the first so quickly he didn't get a chance to sit down again.
His eyes ached as he looked toward his alarm clock and realized his last class had started. Well, today was never going to go well. The rumbling of his stomach reinforced that belief as he realized the only thing he had eaten was trail mix today.
"Take care of yourself, Ford…" Ford tried to mimic Stanley's tone before scoffing. "I'm doing a great job of that." He croaked and perhaps that helped him mimic his brother better but it didn't sound good regardless.
He really didn't want to leave his dorm looking as he was. He could imagine he looked… really bad. He settled on the ground next to his bed, putting the water next to him and the trail mix to the other side.
He picked through for his favorite parts. Such a small act brought him some kind of comfort. He could remember the times where Stanley would pick it apart for them and eat the parts he didn't. Silly now that he thought about it but…
He fumbled to grab his glasses from the bed before he leaned over and opened his book bag, taking out his notebook and opening it to the most recent page. Before he could finish, the phone rang.
At least he knew now that it worked.
He took a deep breath and one last drink of water before picking up the phone. "This is—"
"I almost got eaten by an alligator today." Stanley blurted out. One beat of silence, then two passed as Ford processed with a slow mind what he had heard and from who.
Something so unexpected. Unexpected and yet something he had so desperately needed. "You have my full attention, Stanley. How exactly did that happen?" He asked and something changed.
Something was different. Stanley didn't sound like he was walking on eggshells, he didn't hold back. He told a ridiculous story that could have been half fictitious for all Ford knew but he was delighted regardless.
Tears fell but he laughed at the dramatics of his brother's story, realizing how much he missed the boisterous, expressive, whole-hearted voice that belonged to Stanley. He asked questions and his brother met him beat for beat like he had in their youth.
"That sounds like quite a day. You must be tired after a near death experience." Ford's cheeks hurt.
"Yeah, it was nothing, the guy slapped the alligator and I jumped over some bushes to get away." Stanley said before a silence took hold.
Ford had to say it. He knew he had to say it, before Stanley would take that as a hint to leave. "I need to say something." Ford blurted before Lee could say anything leading to a hang up. "I'm sorry. The… the argument we had in high school… right before the fair?" Of course he remembered, why was he specifying?
"What?"
"I said something I didn't mean. I'm sorry. I never meant… I just…" Ford's words started to fail him, he didn't want to say the wrong thing again but he couldn't find any words. "I really… miss you. I miss talking with you like this. I miss your stupid jokes and bad puns and your crazy stories. I never meant to make you think I didn't want you around. I just wanted some time to focus on school and I wanted you to find your calling as well." Ford rambled on and on, probably more than he should have.
"Shut up!" Stanley's voice cut off his words and they went silent. "Getting a word in when you do that is a pain." he muttered, Ford noticed he was trying to deflect like he often did with Pa.
"Lee…"
"Stop. Don't you dare start again." The phone must be a little broken, he swore the sound warbled. Lee cleared his throat "I'm sorry, too. You're not the only one responsible for that argument, I know I was clinging back then, should have known it would blow up eventually."
"This isn't your fault. I said something I shouldn't have and you've… you… probably thought I hated you." Ford trailed off, feeling the anger at himself still buzzing under his skin. To think his brother would think that for a second made him mad.
"Forgiven."
"What?"
"Forgiven."
One beat of silence, then another. "But—"
"It's my choice whether to forgive you or not. You're just going to have to deal with it." Lee spoke with a stern stone that left no room for retort. Ford wasn't sure how to respond.
"Once I get the boat fixed, what cha say I head to California?"
"I'd like that. I'd really like that."
Perhaps flying higher than Icarus wasn't the way to escape the dome of preconceptions that kept him trapped. So he thought, with a very fond heart, he should take a dive to be at his brother's side instead.
How could he forget that some birds were made to swim?