Chapter Text
The last bell of the day rang, and Wilson O’Connell all but ran to his truck. It was the last day of school, and Wilson was finally free for the summer!
He turned the car on and fussed with the AC settings until it was on full blast. He rolled the windows down and waited for his best friend, Olive Lacy. They’d been practically attached at the hip since they met in third grade.
Luckily, he didn’t have to wait that long, because it was then when the passenger side door to his truck opened and Olive slid into the car.
“Well, Wil, we made it out alive,” Olive says, flipping the sun visor down and checking her hair in the mirror.
“Only one more year left,” Wilson sighed while putting the truck in drive.
The ride home was silent for the most part, other than the radio playing the same five songs. Both friends were exhausted from all the goodbyes, have a good summer’s, and see you next year’s that come with the end of the school year.
Only when Wilson gets off the highway does Olive finally speak.
“You’re going back to camp this year, right?”
“Yeah. It’s my last year before I age out, and you're not allowed to be a counselor until you’re at least twenty-one.” Wilson had four years to go. Not like he was complaining, though. Working with kids stressed him out.
“You leave soon, right? Do you need me to help you pack?” Olive glances at him. “You’ll need my fashion advice, especially if it’s your last year. You should try and impress you-know-who before you, like, never see him again!”
'You-know-who' refers to Wilson’s longtime camp crush, Brando King. Ever since they started going to camp at nine, Wilson’s liked him. Even before Wilson knew he could like boys in that way, he felt it.
“Liv, I told you, he definitely doesn’t like me back,” Wilson turned onto their road. Olive only lives a few houses down from him, so their carpool works out well for the both of them. “He’s as straight as they come, I’m positive. I told you already, he has a girlfriend.”
“Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning that,” Olive recalls. “Damn, I didn’t realise they were so serious. You told me about it a while ago. What was her name again? Heather?”
“Yeah,” Wilson turns his blinker on and turns into Olive’s driveway.
“Well, you never answered my question, so I’m going to assume it’s a yes. I’ll be over tomorrow to help you pack,” Olive called over her shoulder as she walked to her front door.
Wilson sighed, backing out of her driveway and driving three blocks down to his own house.
Stepping through the door, Wilson could already tell that something was wrong. He’d gotten good at being able to tell when his mom was in a mood.
As quietly as he could, Wilson slipped his shoes off and padded up the stairs to his room. If it was as he predicted, and his mom was drunk or high again, she’d start screaming the moment she found him home.
His dad had left years before, when Wilson was too little to remember him at all. He didn’t blame his dad for his situation. He would’ve left, too. He’s been close to running away many times. But Wilson wishes his dad fought harder for custody over him. Living with his mom was rough. Luckily, he could go to Olive’s when his mom’s fits got bad and she started getting violent.
Wilson made it safely to his room without notifying his mom that he was home. He flung his bag on his chair, not caring to empty it of the remnants of the school year.
He sat in his bed, surrounded with notebooks filled with sketches and lyrics. His guitar sat in its case at the foot of the bed.
Normally, Wilson loved playing it after school. But not today. He didn’t like playing when his mom was drunk. She’d likely shout at him to put it away. It’s okay. Wilson didn’t feel like playing today anyway.
Wilson’s door creaked open a crack, and his cat peeked through before sliding all the way through. His cat’s name was Lucky, which was ironic, because she was a black cat.
Lucky made her way to Wilson’s bed, pausing briefly to thoroughly sniff a shirt that was left on the floor. Jumping up to his bed, Lucky started purring as she settled down on Wilson’s chest.
Wilson paid no mind to this. His chest was her favorite spot to sleep. He scratched behind her ears as he was lost in thought, thinking about what Olive said.
You should try to impress you-know-who before you, like, never see him again. The thought of never seeing Brando again freaked Wilson out.
Wilson couldn’t bear to think about never seeing Brando again. He looks forward to seeing him all year. Their time zones being different made it difficult for them to call on the phone. Besides, whenever Wilson was on the phone for more than a few minutes at a time, his mom would get mad. Talking on the phone is nothing like talking in real life anyways.
He’d see Brando again. Right? Planes exist. A flight from Texas to London is ten hours. Not ideal, but doable. If he were given the option to fly to see Brando right now, Wilson wouldn’t hesitate.
After puttering around his house all afternoon, doing mindless tasks, Wilson made his way down to the kitchen to make food. Because his mom was always too drunk to function, Wilson handled the grocery shopping.
He needed to go to the store soon, Wilson decided after a very unsuccessful look around in the pantry and the fridge. Finally, Wilson decided to make a simple dinner: an omelet with slimy carrots from a bag.
He was very much used to making dinner for himself and his mom. Even when she was passed out on the couch he made her a plate and left it out for her to eat when she woke up.
As much as he hated his mom’s addiction, he still cared about her. When Wilson left each summer, he was always nervous to leave her alone for that long. Luckily, his Aunt Ivy often checked in on them every once in a while anyway. Wilson usually counted on her to make sure his mom- and Lucky- got what they needed while he was gone.
Wilson brought the dinner to his mom, who was sitting in a recliner. She was watching a mindless program on TV, but he wasn’t sure she was actually watching. Her eyes were glazed over and slightly red. But at the sight of Wilson bringing her food, she peeled her gaze away from the TV.
“Wilson, I told you, you don’t need to make me dinner every single night,” She slurred as her head lolled to the side, facing him. “I’m perfectly capable of making myself food. I’m a grown woman, for god’s sake.” After a beat, she gestured to the coffee table. “Leave it there, I’m not hungry anyway. The cat’ll probably eat it all before I do.”
Doing what he was told, Wilson set the food down and left the living room without a word. He should be used to it by now, but seeing his mom in that state always scared him a bit.
By the time Wilson got to his room, his omelet was cold. Not ideal, but he decided it was better than skipping dinner again. He ate in silence on his bed, flipping through channels on the TV that sat on his dresser.
By the time the sun had set, Wilson was already asleep. The TV was still on, playing a random reality program, his dinner plate was left half eaten on his desk, and Lucky was curled up by Wilson’s feet.
Wilson was dreaming for the first time in a long time.
He was dreaming about finally seeing the boy he loved again.