William R. Connor (Short Story)

Perhaps I should introduce myself, I am a man of many anecdotes; Simple and sharp, cunning, wholesome or at least that's who the world sees. This is who I want to be. The simple shake of a hand, a wink of an eye-confidence exudes from gestures. Bright clothes, a wide smile, all is well in my world and the radiance sprays out like sun bursts through an entire room.

"Hey Bill's here! Howya doin today Bill?"
"Over-worked and under-paid" I quip and he "Hears that."

Oh how anecdotal.

Warning: Radiation may have undesirable side-effects and in some extreme cases cause death.

I spend my days making small talk with every John or Jane Doe that will listen. People love Bill, I...love Bill. He's a mans man and he cares about peoples petty complaints and whining and not one has a worry in the world about pro-rated sessions or expensive professional opinions.

He's god-sent, they swear!

But the Cinderella story of pseudo-happiness and misery collide Monday through Friday at 4:30pm and 2pm on Saturday. Bill is no longer enchanting, but he's William: Unflattering, mentally fatigued and alone. His best friend is a floor to ceiling mirror where he practices his best Bill routines. Second best is a VCR he uses to record late-night TV talk shows. It's a dream, unattainable.

Business hours pump life into the world like a heart racing on adrenaline- providing food for lonesome lips which speak only to the air around otherwise. Put on your best suit and captivate the world; Jack of all trades. Face their complains and grievances from the small to the still close enough to the surface to not be too personal.

I have all the answers and say all the right things. They wish they were me, pick at my brain over cup of coffee. But I never talk about myself because theres nothing to say and I have no answers.

Just uphill battles.
Just stock piles of empty calender pages from the months that have passed, just waiting for time- my time - to cease.

Here's Bill strolling into the office with his card board wrapped latte from Starbucks.

I'm wishing it was laced with cyanide, maybe just tainted with some kind of cleaner. It's a win/win situation: I die or live to receive a hefty settlement. I'm a believer in money buying happiness and I know she'd see me in a new light when I wear a bigger bank account.

Mark off another day.

I fall asleep on thoughts of her pristine, white wedding dress as she seems to float toward me. She vows to never leave me, only in death and I dream of her perfection carpooling the kids around, living the perfect life. This repeats itself on a nightly basis and it never gets old.

But to her I am neither Bill nor William, but an apparition at worst, a smile in the morning at best, maybe a mouthed good morning. I am but another face in the flow of the work day, I am alone and afraid. She melts me inside and I haven't a word to say.

My heart pounds and my body begs me to try, but I'm imprisoned by fear and cannot escape.

She's all you could ask for as a man: Short, maybe five-foot, black hair long enough to reach her buttocks, brown eyes and olive skin, her face is full and round, her breasts large and heavy enough to hang well below the sternum. She's ready for my children with her kangaroo pouch at her abdomen which protrudes from her pants.

She is all that I adore.

But I am only a spectator with a side-line view and she still seems far away.

I scold myself under my breath with my lonely eyes fastened to the sidewalk below. Another day passes, time is not on my side. My life is a broken record repeating the saddest part of the saddest song...