Free Will

This story was published in the Fall 2013 edition of FishHook

 “Do you believe fate’s a fixed thing?”

I started as Emily turned to me, catching my eye. I’d been looking at her hair and the way the long waves fell along her shoulders while she swept down the straight and narrow aisles of the sports section in Wal-Mart. Soon she would be half a world away at a private university, and I would no longer watch and marvel at how the blond tresses caught the light and shimmered. It made my breath catch painfully.

I looked away, pretending to study the faded blue polish on my nails. “What do you mean?”

“Like, do you feel as if we are always running towards our futures, inevitably?” She picked up a metal bat with black tape artfully crisscrossed for grip, and balanced it in her hands. “Is every step we make up to us, or are we always taking the steps we had to take, carrying us toward the end that we were always destined for?”

I frowned and watched her swing the bat slowly, testing it further. That was Emily in everything though, testing, pushing, questioning the world. Next fall her parents were paying for her to study art and philosophy with a minor in humanities and it always showed. Even now, sometime after midnight in the only twenty-four hour Wal-Mart in town, buying a present for her brother’s birthday at the last possible moment, she must philosophize. I watched the way she crouched down and pretended to get ready to slug a home run, her beautiful neck extending slightly as she looked down the length of the bat. Down the row an older man in a stocker vest eyed us with a frown. It drew heat to my face but Emily giggled and stuck her tongue out at me. The fearlessness of it, this moment, this conversation, was something I admired in her, even coveted and wished for myself. And yet, I wondered if she could see the trepidation I felt when she started in. In the fall I would be enrolled as a freshman at the community college two miles from my house studying business and communications, my father’s choice.

I clasped my hands together, then stopped and surreptitiously wiped them on my jeans. Shaking my head I drew a breath to finally answer her question. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it not matter either way? You’d still get the same ending.”

“It isn’t a question of whether it matters, it’s a question of free will.” She sounded out her statement, her tone calm and introspective. Slowly she swung the bat a few more times. “Are we helpless to deviate from the tract, or do our decisions count?”

 I didn’t answer this time and left her to her own musings. Emily loved to talk about free will. It was easy for her to do. I was relatively sure her parents had been coaching her from the womb to come out screaming about freedom and the perils of losing one’s individuality. I shook my head again. I sometimes wondered if I’d know what to do with the choice if I had it.

Picking up a tennis ball from a basket of them, I tossed it from hand to hand, my thoughts back on the future, as they always seemed to be lately. When Emily and I filled out applications, she’d made me apply for every one she did. When I got the acceptance letters to every one that Emily had, including one she hadn’t, I hid them between my mattress and said nothing. I scuffed my shoe hard against the floor’s shiny beige tiles, all but kicking it as I thought of them. No matter how many nice schools I got accepted to, and no matter how much I wanted to go, my father would never allow it. His money, his choice, he liked to say. I had yet to tell her we weren’t headed in the same direction and I felt sick every time I thought about it.

“So, I think this is it.” She licked her lips. A flush ran through me and I jumped when she spoke again. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

I nodded. “His old bat is dented to hell, he’s needed a new one, even if he refuses to hear reason.”

As we headed to check out Emily walked just ahead of me and I watched her graceful gait and thought about what she had said, about destiny and choice.

It was Saturday tomorrow, the first day of summer vacation, and I’d be back at Emily’s house for her brother’s birthday party. But tonight she dropped me off at home.

I walked up the drive, squinting at the darkened windows as I went. If I was lucky no one would be waiting up. I unlocked the door and edged inside, closing it carefully, trying to stop the hinges from squeaking. Behind me the lamp turned on. For a moment I froze and closed my eyes, bracing myself, and then slowly turned about to face my father. He sat in the old brown armchair near the wall arms crossed, the yellow glow of the lamp only barely reaching him. Even half in the shadow I could see his eyes boring into mine. My father was a large man, imposing. I took after my mother, or at least how I remember her before the cancer; slight and plain, with black hair, defenseless.

            “Where have you been, Anna?”

            Heat burnt its way across my skin. I hated him. “Me and Emily went to Wal-Mart – to get a present for her brother, Sam.”

            “It’s almost one in the morning.”

            I shuffled my feet and glanced at him, found his direct glare still leveled on me, and instead focused on the crucifix that hung on the wall a few feet from his head. How many times had I avoided his eyes? I didn’t have to think about it, the occasions were countless, this house with my father’s will and my fear. I thought again free will. Of Emily.

“Go to bed. Pray to God for forgiveness.”

“I don’t think God cares if I went to Wal-Mart after midnight.” The words slipped out. It took a moment for what I said to register but once it did my father’s eyes bulged in shock and anger, his large brown mustache adding to the picture, making him look like a walrus being strangled.  It was so absurd I could have laughed.

Before I could do anything my father was up and out of the chair, standing at his full height. He struck hard and fast and I wheeled backward with the force of the blow, my cheek burning. He stood still, almost surprised by his own actions. His breathing was harsh, as if he had just run up a hill.

Hand to my cheek, I straightened. “I’m tired.”

He didn’t reply and I turned away, retreating down the small dark hallway that led to my room at the back of the house. I didn’t turn the light on or take my clothes off, only stumbled forward in the semi-light of the street light that slipped through my half open blinds. I felt for the edge of my bed and then fell onto it. I hadn’t lied. I was tired. Tired of doing as I was told. Tired of staying on the straight and narrow path that, according to my father, leads to salvation.

I kept my eyes closed, ignored the heat and sting of my cheek, and drifted.  Hair like warm sunlight, long and soft to the touch, drifted through my thoughts. It fell across my face, trails of perfect gold. And lips, small and soft, but with the slightest hint of chap, moving over mine. And everything inside me felt warm and ached simultaneously.

I forced my eyes open, shuddering. My pulse thudded too fast and I listened to the beats war with the ticking clock in the silence of my room. My stomach twisted in on itself. A bitter path burnt its way up my throat as I swallowed convulsively. I became afraid to close my eyes, afraid of what I might see, and ashamed of what I might want to see. God might not punish me for going to Wal-Mart late at night, but he might for who I went with.

I curled into myself and tried not to think. Sleep did not come easy or stay long. I would glance at the hour hand ever so often and watch as it moved further around the face, but there was no rest. There could never be any rest.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the instant ringing of my phone. My body and mind felt heavy, but I pulled myself up and answered the cordless phone by my bed, stifling a yawn.

“Oh, good, it’s you! I always hate talking to your dad.” Emily’s voice was filled with energy. “You really need to get a cell phone.”

I suddenly felt much more awake. “Yeah, but you know how my dad is.”

Her voice lowered. “Yeah.”

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was just a little after noon. Cradling the phone between my head and shoulder, I peeled off the wrinkled clothes. Pausing over my open drawers for a moment, I finally settled on a blue blouse and shorts, pulling them on. Emily had helped pick out the shirt as the only one I owned that properly flattered my figure. As I smoothed my hands over my breasts, I felt a flutter in my chest. I wondered if she would remember saying it.  

Emily had started humming absentmindedly on the other end, her tone low and throaty. A rush of warmth traveled down and through me at the sound, and I shifted my legs against the ache it left between my thighs.

I looked up at my wall suddenly, at the crucifix that hung there next to a small mirror. A familiar bitterness of guilt and fear filled my mouth with the taste of copper. I looked away from Jesus in his pain and into the mirror instead, taking in my flushed cheeks. One was darker, a not quite bruise and I lifted a hand to it, touched it softly, how I imagined Emily might touch me. She had never hurt me, never made me feel this pain. Slowly a conviction fell into place as I listened, and though it made me squirm, it did not lessen. “So when do you want me to pick you up?” she asked, breaking back into the conversation.

“I’m ready,” I said.

***

The party was going well. Everyone was relaxed, except me. Jock guys and a few of their girlfriends stood about in groups or danced to the music that pulsed a booming beat from a stereo off to the side of the yard.  It reminded me of school, of the pressure of fitting in.

Sam’s friends comprised of the high school baseball team and a few miscellaneous people. Though they were all a few years younger than me I still glanced about nervously, wishing Emily would hurry up and come back. The two of us had been running around on errands for her parents all day, picking up things for the party, helping prepare the food, and setting up. Emily was on yet another trip to the corner store to pick up more paper plates. I’d been tired and declined her offer to go, but I’d regretted that decision the moment she’d left.

I caught sight of Sam, laughing and pantomiming some kind of story to his friends and marveled at how different he looked. When it was just his family, he was always so laid back. At those times I could see how he could be Emily’s brother. Now, however, he was a different person entirely, and it reminded me why I could never be absolutely comfortable around him.  

Around his friends and at school, Sam became one of them. No longer was he the open minded son of the only liberal family in town. He was the star baseball player that strutted down the hall, who led a group of followers like a shepherd. The funny thing was, it seemed to me that the sheep were actually herding him.

Sam playfully punched one of his buddies on the shoulder, and I felt a spike of nerves spiral as I thought about the decision I was on the edge of making. There had been a conversation I couldn’t ever quite get out of my head.

During spring break, Emily insisted the three of us watch some movie that I can’t remember the name of, but in it, a brother walks in on his sister sleeping with her boyfriend. What I do remember is the look on Sam’s face, how he’d turned to Emily and said, “You better hope that never happens with us. I don’t care who you’re with but I’ll kick their ass.” Emily, of course, argued with him over this for the next hour; eventually the serious tone turned to one of joking, but I’d never stopped feeling sick about it. And as I looked at all these people, they morphed until all of them had my father’s face.

“Guess who.” A pair of hands descended over my eyes, the small warm palms resting on my face.

A different kind of thrill went through me and I smiled. “Are you the Goblin King?”

“Yes, and I’ve come to steal you away.”

“Good to know.” I laughed. I pushed her hands away and turned around. She stood confidently, her smile wide and brilliant. In her hands was a felt bag that looked heavy.

She raised it. “I have a surprise,” she said, and then turned on her heel. “Come on.” She didn’t look back and I hurriedly got up and jogged after her. She led us away from the house, away from the party.

Music still pulsed, the beat thrumming and vibrating, but it dulled as we walked. Emily’s house was located a bit out of town, surrounded by fields on one side and a small stand of trees on the other. She wove through the sparse trunks and finally emerged in one of the more secluded fields. She sank to the ground and I followed suit as she revealed a six pack of wine coolers, the surprise I assumed.

“Won’t your parents notice?”

“Nah, they won’t miss it,” she said. “And anyway, they’re in the house watching some old movie and probably going to sleep, so don’t worry.” She held one out to me. Before today I might have argued, but feeling again the shiver up my spine, I reached out and took it. Tonight anything was possible, why not this. I took my first sip, felt the tangy burn on the back of my tongue and looked into the night.

 The stars were beautiful, arrayed and winking above in the endless black like so much glitter and dust thrown across the sky. After running about all day, it was nice to just lie in the cool darkness.

We hadn’t been there long but between us the six-pack was already finished. I wasn’t drunk, but I still felt pleasantly warm. I also felt brave.

“Are you ever afraid of being different?” I asked.

Next to me Emily shifted closer, but I kept my eyes on the stars. “No, never,” she said. “I like it.”

“But aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Isn’t it better to do what everyone wants?”

Emily sat up. I looked over to her. Her hair floated over her shoulder as she looked down, a pale glow in the moonlight.  “No, it isn’t better.”

“Different isn’t always better,” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Different can hurt.”

“It’s worth it.”

Barely breathing, I pushed myself up on my elbows, bringing my face a few breaths from hers. I paused for a moment and then kissed the edge of her lips and then pulled away, dizzy and frightened.

Her eyes were huge and dark and I waited for her to get up and run from me. But she stayed where she was and I watched as she came nearer and nearer, until our noses were nearly touching. I felt her lips, soft and moist, against mine for a second time. This time, I lifted a hand and ran it through her hair. She smelled of apples and tasted like watermelon. She was unbearably sweet. It made me ache. I wished it could go on for a lifetime. Maybe it did.

We wound about each other, my fingers tangled in her hair, her legs rubbing against mine. When I shifted my weight onto her she made no protest. I searched her face, asking and praying with my eyes that this was okay. The blood rushed through my ears, a steady and deafening pulse as I brought my lips to hers again and then began to work my hand under her shirt, lifting it up as I went. That’s when the flashlights fell on us.

We hadn’t heard them coming, Sam and his friends come to play midnight baseball only to find us in the middle of the field that was to be their make-shift diamond. There was laughing, a shout, words and curses, everyone frozen in the light. And then I was ripped away from Emily, thrown back against the ground hard. A blinding light was shoved in my face and I blinked desperately.

“What the fuck were you doing to my sister?”

Sam’s words were slightly slurred and he swayed slightly as he stood over me. It seemed that Emily wasn’t the only one who’d lifted from her parents that night.

“Dude, I didn’t know your sister was a lesbo,” said one of the guys off to the side.

There was some laughter, but it was hard, dangerous. As my eyes adjusted I could just make out some of their faces in the dark, half in, half out of shadow. But they didn’t look like themselves. They looked like their parents, sitting rigidly in the pews at church, their eyes dead ice.

Emily had gotten to her feet and run forward, but Sam shoved her back. There was more laughter but, Sam wheeled about. “Shut the fuck up.”

He turned to the person who had spoken a moment ago. “Hold her,” he said, pointing to Emily. There was more shouting and cursing and I scrambled to my feet, trying to see what was happening, but Sam blocked my path.  He was a big guy, naturally athletic. He’d only just turned seventeen, but he was often confused for Emily’s twin, rather than her younger brother. He stood tall in front of me, a swinging metal bat with a black tape grip in one hand.

A strangled howl came from the darkness behind Sam and suddenly Emily burst into the light, and was at my side before anyone could react. Her hand filled mine and I squeezed it tight. Sam suddenly seemed unsure.

“What the fuck did you think you were going to do?” she asked. “Beat it out of us? Mom and Dad would be really proud.”

Ever so slowly he’d been swinging the bat in a bigger and bigger arc, but at her words he stopped it at the highest arc, balanced in the air. “Get out of here, I warned you.”

“The fuck I will. I’d like to see you make me.”

There were more jeers, but I knew what Sam was really saying, knew there were two battles being fought here.

He stayed silent, the bat wavered. “Fine.”

I kept my eyes on the bat as I stepped in front of Emily. It was as natural as breathing. I couldn’t be sure if the arc downward would be completed, and probably somewhere in the world someone was arguing about destiny versus free will, but I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

by Alissa Tsaparikos

Copyright © 2013 Alissa Tsaparikos