The William Issue

“It’s a tragedy, isn’t it?” Black hair; brown eyes; a blue shirt that simply said “Cat Person”

William Warren.

The head of the writing group. A young-looking boy with an eccentric surname, an eccentric hair color, and a crap-ton of eccentric T-shirts with the sole purpose of pissing me off. I've been wondering if he was the one who put the note there. He always puts papers in my bag or the places I regularly visit, as his way of inviting me to his cult. William was the first person I thought of when I saw the note anyway; but I can't be sure unless I see a little hint. The only way to figure this out is to test my theory.

“Fancy seeing you here; although I was actually expecting this meeting since I didn’t receive one of your “love letters” this week.”

A lie.

If he was the one who put the note there, he should at least react to it, thinking someone else might have taken it before it reached me. It’s not good enough to work, since there always is a chance that he stayed hidden somewhere that day, to see if I picked it up or not. It's a bad approach, but it’s good enough to start something.

“Well, I decided to give you a break for this week only.”

No reaction, huh? “Highly appreciated, Will.”

“What should I do to make you stop calling me Will? It sounds like a generic name for a villain.”

I wonder...

Would someone who's name is a generic villain name actually be a villain?

“Doff thy name, Will. I don’t like it.” And with that, I receive the VIP seat for one of William’s childish tantrums.

“I would never. I have the same name as my master, William Shakespeare. What makes you think I would doff it away just because some random dude doesn’t like it? Do you even know how grateful I am to my late parents?”

"Shut up. Your breath smells like cigs." Doff it away? Is that even how the verb “doff” works? Did this guy even graduate high school? Who the hell let him study English? “Oh, Shakespeare. You mean that fat British dude who wrote Helmet?”

“It’s Hamlet. How can you say that wrong when you’ve literally studied it a couple months ago? Did you even graduate high school? Who the hell let you study English?”

How ironic. “Studying something doesn’t mean I like it, alright? Even I can write something better than Helmet.”

“I know you’re trying to work your wicked magic on me in order to make me want to beg you to enter my small club, but insulting the one person I admire the most will not help. Your writing skills are literal crap compared to him.”

"Then it's okay if I don't join, right? My skills are crap anyway."

"It was a double-sided trap!"

William's defeated face made me roll my eyes.

The William-obsessed William.

As annoying as he can be, he still doesn’t abandon what he likes. William Warren easily gets emotionally attached; quite commendable, and pathetic at the same time.

“I would never work my magic on you to manipulate you into begging me.” I feign an innocent tone. “That would be so Prospero of me.”

“You are the incarnation of Prospero, you bastard.”

“Indeed. And I have a naked Ariel at home, awaiting the return of her master.” I shoot back. Will rolls his eyes this time.

“We both know how pathetically lonely you are.”

“Thank you for that kind comment, sir.”

Several minutes pass with nothing else exchanged, until finally, Will gets to the point and asks the one question he has been wanting to ask of me all this time. I wish he’d just get to the point without the disgusting small-talk.

“Did you know Oscar?”

I hesitate. I need to be careful in case he was the bearer of the note. “What makes you think I would know a person other than the three people I’m associated with here?”

The campus is not that far away. If I keep stalling him, I’ll be able to avoid unwanted questions and conversations. We walk, and he inhales, and looks at me as if he wants to say something, then looks away at a random tree, and the awkward silence elongates. My mind is absolutely blank. I can’t think of something to change the subject. I hate myself for being so terrible at stalling.

“Me neither. He was a part of our group, apparently; but he barely showed up. I knew who a person named Oscar Peto was, but I didn’t know Oscar Peto. I did talk to his family. They told me it was the result of loneliness. He was socially inept and couldn’t communicate his problems. His only way of doing so was writing. His stuff was not that good, but they felt alive as if he was writing his everything in the texts he sent to our group chat. I’ve also heard that there were attempts earlier in his high school days. They said that he decided to off himself once he lost a relative and broke up with his romantic partner.” William's breathing gradually goes back to normal, as he tells me everything he knew.

We reach the campus; the separation point I was desperately waiting for. I try to escape William’s grips by saying a quick goodbye and running away as fast as I can.

“Hey!” Will shouts. I turn my head to see his face. This is the last dialogue before separation. These are usually important stuff; especially if they start with Hey!

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that if you don’t want to join, it’s still okay if you come and visit us sometime. We both know how pathetically lonely you are.”

“Thank you for that kind comment, sir.”

“Don’t act dumb. We both know where I’m going with this.”

I sigh. I do.

“Fine. Sorry; you don’t need to worry about me. I won’t end up like Oscar. I’m not an idiot. Loneliness cannot be a reason for death. I stopped being a loser two years ago.”

“Then promise me you’ll find a friend no matter what.”

“I’m not really planning on doing that at the moment.”

“Stop being a moron. Even the little prince domesticated the fox so he can have one single friend. And look at you. What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re the one who’s an idiot, and the little prince literally talked to a flower. So, he’s not any better either. If having a friend at all costs means taming a wild animal that can attack me at any moment, then I refuse to have any friends. I prefer being alone to getting constantly hurt by the ones I know.”

“Well, I don’t know.” He takes a step away, leaving more distance between us. This time, William is the one running away. “But being hurt by others is at least less painful than being hurt by yourself. Keep that in mind.”

And with that, without a goodbye, he leaves. I thought he would snap at me once more for insulting his ninth favorite novel, but I guess just seeing him wince at me like that was enough.

Being hurt by others is better than being hurt by myself, huh?