January 16, 2010

The most disheartening thing about life is that you never know when it’s your last chance to make the most of it. As Thatcher Williams walked into a hole-in-the-wall California bar, he definitely didn’t expect it to be the last place he ever walked into.

“Uh, barkeep,” He lifted a finger to the man that stood at the other end of the bar as he took a seat at the counter. The bartender nodded his way, acknowledging Thatcher as he finished tending to the people in front of him.

“What can I do for you, hombre?” The bartender asked once he was in front of him. Thatcher noticed that his nametag read “Elliot”.

“Yeah, uh… can I just get a Heineken?”

The bartender tapped the counter, “All right, coming right up, man.”

Thatcher sighed. Today had been a long, terrible day. Just as he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket, someone sat next to him. He ignored them as he checked social media. Suddenly, he heard them clear their throat.

He looked up, slightly annoyed until he noticed who sat beside him. A busty redhead sat on the bar stool beside him with a smirk on her face. “Hey, hot shot. Who’s a girl gotta flash around here to get a beer?”

She spoke in a southern accent too deep for California. Tourist, Thatcher concluded.

He slapped on his most charismatic smile, “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t have a problem finding someone.”

She leaned a little closer to him. “How about you?”

Before he could respond, the bartender placed a green beer bottle in front of him. “Sorry it took so long, man.”

He waved a hand, “No problem.” Glancing at the girl, he added, “How about one for the lady, yeah?”

As the bartender nodded and walked off, the redhead’s next question was: “Don’t you wanna know the lady’s name?”

Thatcher shook his head. “If l know the lady’s name, I’ll want to sleep with the lady because I’m sure her name is just as beautiful as she is.”

“What makes you think that the lady doesn’t have a little something called self-respect?” Her retort was fiery, but he noticed her cheeks redden at his words.

“I don’t doubt that she does, which makes this even harder… Thatcher.” He held out a hand for her to shake.

She shook it, “Well, hello, Thatcher. I’m Kathy.”

Thatcher took a swig of beer as the bartender dropped a cold one in front of her.

#

Thatcher stumbled out of the Los Angeles pub, the combined sound of nightlife and his heartbeat pumping in his ears. I just had one beer, he thought, I shouldn’t be this… fucked up.

He had almost forgotten where he was until the redhead snaked an arm around his waist.

“I got you,” she said.

What was her name again? Valarie? Jessica? No, that wasn’t it.

“You seem pretty out of it there, buddy. Guessing you’re lightweight, am I right?” He tried to tell her, no, but it seemed to come out as gibberish to her. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll take that as a yes.”

No! This isn’t right, something is going on.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “My car is... right over there.”

God, what was her name? Janet? Fuck, no, that’s not it.

She led him to a shiny, black SUV that sat in the corner of the parking lot. Thatcher wanted to stop her-- to tell her that he was fine. He could walk home. He wanted to tell her all of this, but whatever was causing him to lose balance was also causing a speech problem.

Was it Kathy? Kathy, yes! Good, now tell her you’re fine.

“Ka… Kath…” He couldn’t say it. “I… fi…”

He was completely out of it; someone must have drugged him, but how, when?

Kathy ignored his piss-poor attempt to resist her guidance. “Just calm down, I’ll get you where you need to go.”

The driver’s side back door opened before they even reached the car. A teenage girl was forcefully pushed out of the backseat as Thatcher felt himself being pushed forward. It took all of his might to stay upright.

The younger girl ran forward. Her hair matched Kathy’s and, aside from the slightly frightened expression on the girl’s face, they also shared matching features.

He glanced back at Kathy with a confused look as she embraced the girl in a tight hug. “It’s going to be fine, Ellie,” she told the girl. To Thatcher, with teary eyes, she said, “I’m so sorry. They were going to kill my sister.”

The driver’s side window revealed a man in a black suit. The shadows kept his face hidden as another man emerged from the backseat. “Get outta here,” he told Kathy. Both girls ran off without hesitation as he turned back to Thatcher with a smug look. “Mr. Williams, how’s it going? Get in, we’ll take a ride.”

All he could manage was a head shake as he tried to walk away. One step back and Thatcher felt himself stumble, but the man that had emerged from the backseat grabbed him before he could hit the ground.

“Pl-- please, man,” he said as he was escorted into the SUV.

He was ignored and as soon as the car door was closed after them, he felt the car moving. He didn’t know where he was anymore, or where he was going. The only thing he knew was that the drugs were taking over, and he wasn’t strong enough to fight as they pulled him into unconsciousness.

#

Thatcher woke up to the pungent odor of rotten eggs. He was suddenly more aware when he noticed that he sat in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. He sat on the tiled floor, arms tied behind his back.

What the hell? He struggled against the cold iron chain that he found wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

“You’re awake!” Someone exclaimed as they walked into the room. “Oh, don’t try struggling, you’ll just get yourself tired for nothing.”

Thatcher’s eyes widened as he felt his heart begin to race. “You? You’re behind this?”

They nodded, “Do you like the whole plan I put together? I slipped you a little something, hired you a ride-- ”

“No! No, I do not like this!” He felt the pain in his wrists as he struggled against his restraints. “Listen, w- whatever your problem is we can talk it out!”

His captor smiled cruelly. “Oh, we can talk it out? Just talk it out like you wanted to do last year?!” They called over their shoulder, “Get in here!”

Two men dressed in all black walked into the room. “Yeah?” One man answered.

“Please help Mr. Williams find a seat.”

The two larger men stalked over to Thatcher, each grabbing one of his arms and dragging him over to a metal chair that sat near a tray with an array of tools. Thatcher noted how cold everything was as one of the men strapped him to him down in the old dentist-style chair.

The man had just fastened the leather strap that was tightly drawn to his chest as his kidnapper grabbed a silver tool off of the tray.

Oh, shit. Why? “N-- please, please let me go! You know me, you know my little sister. How could you do this? What's your problem?” 

Thatcher felt the need to beg for his own life as they pressed a, surprisingly warm, knife to his throat.

They ignored his pleas. “You wanna know what my problem is?” Thatcher nodded weakly. “My problem is that you underestimate me today, the same way that you underestimated me all that time ago. The fact is… you just don’t know who you’re messing with Thatcher Williams.”

We cannot save everyone.

I have been seeing many outlets (shows, TED talks, guest speakers at schools) geared at teens making it seem as if all suicide can be prevented. That’s just not how it works.

Yes, kindness does help, but we cannot save everyone.

You cannot blame Harry because Sally killed herself. Sure, Harry might be a ‘jock’ and he might not know Sally’s last name off the top of his friends, but that is not his fault - hell, I can barely remember my own name sometimes.

He is just like anyone else.

Maybe Sally didn’t put herself out there. Maybe Harry is too preoccupied trying to get that football scholarship and get away from his abusive father. Maybe they just didn’t run in the same circles. None of the aforementioned things are either of their faults, but after Sally’s death, so many people want to play the blame game.

Maybe if you were nicer to her.

Maybe if she felt included.

Maybe if she would’ve had friends, she wouldn’t have killed herself.

Maybe Sally was just fucking depressed. Maybe she was bullied. Maybe Sally couldn’t stand to think about the fact that she has to live in a world where there is poverty, racism, sexism, etcetera, and not matter how hard we try we may never be able to fix it.

I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s not because Harry didn’t know her last name.

You cannot make people feel wrong for not knowing someone.

The average high school size is approximately 752 students.

I can’t remember everyone’s names.

There is no way that someone knows everyone.

I know that everyone had personal problems. I know that just because Rachel is prom queen doesn’t mean that she’s an asshole because she doesn’t know Sally. Doesn’t mean she’s nice but doesn’t mean she’s an asshole.

I bet, if anyone is reading this, you may think that I am making excuses, that I must be popular and feel guilty. If you think this or anything like this, you are wrong. I am the new girl. I am the girl that no one notices or remembers because she’s always there for a years or less. I am the girl that has anxiety and won’t raise her hand in class because she’s afraid people will laugh, the girl that won’t get up to throw something in the trash because she’s afraid someone will look at her. I am the incredibly sensitive girl that cries randomly on the bus because the ending of Between Shades of Grey was amazing.

I am the girl that longs for friends, yet doesn’t have the capability to make them. I am the girl that is afraid of going into the real world because school force people to be around her and at least one person is going to take pity and speak to her.

This is not to discourage compassion and kindness. We need that, especially after age fourteen. I know that on a bad day a simple ‘hey’, even from a stranger, can make your whole day.

The boy that (by chance) came out of the office as I entered school on some random day said ‘hey’ to me. I was having a terrible morning; I was late, I was in trouble with my mother, I was upset. He didn’t know me, he had just happened to say something and he turned my whole day around.

I don’t know him. He doesn’t remember me. We will never see each other again. I barely remember his face, but I will forever remember that day.

We cannot save everybody.

This is not to defend bullies or make it seem like I think bullying is right. Bullying is different. Bullying is defined as the use of superior strength or influence to intimidate someone or to torment someone. If Harry and his friends went out of their way to upset Sally then, yes, they are probably to blame, more or less. But, in this scenario, Harry is just a guy. He cannot save someone he does not know.

We can love everyone, but we cannot save everybody.

There are no superheroes in the real world.

Sometimes, just sometimes, people have to try to save themselves.

I zipped my my overalls, looked in the mirror, and cringed. I don't know why I always did that to myself; these overalls made everyone who wore them horrible.

Instead of thinking it anymore, I started to work. Mr. Altone wasn't too strict a boss when it came to time, but I still couldn't shake the habit of getting there a few minutes early.

"It's almost noon and there's my girl," Mr. Altone called out once I arrived. "One of my star pupils."

"Oh come on Mr. A... stop making the guys feel bad about themselves." I said with a smile.

The Italian man chuckled and patted my back then led me towards the back of the shop. I'm pretty sure I glowed once I laid eyes on Ruby. She was a glistening, bright red colored classic 1967 Chevy Impala.

"Now, you didn't happen to see Dean on your way in, did you?" Mr. Altone broke my moment of happiness and I rolled my eyes.

"No, Mr. A; I never see Dean and I tell you that everyday."

"And one day that might change."

"You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result."

"Oh, I know. I lost my marbles as soon as I lost my and my hair turned gray." I looked at his dark hair and bushy moustache littered with gray strands of hair.

"It's not that bad, I'm sure Mrs. Altone thinks you're the same fox you were when she met you."

"Oh I know she does," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I closed my eyes, "Okay, no need to go into detail."

Suddenly, I felt something dark fall over everything in the room. Mr. A and I turned to the door and there stood Dean.

"Right on time, of course. My other star pupil." Mr. A cracked a smile and Dean came closer.

"Well, I know you two have everything you need so I'll let you get to it. I need to go supervise those idiots."

He left and we started on the car. Dean and I had been working on this car for months now and of all the time we'd worked together he'd never spoken one word to me. At first I thought it was personal, that was before I realized he hadn't talked to anyone since he set foot in this place a year ago. Everyone else believed he thought he was better than us or something, but I worked with him everyday and I could see in his concentration and love for the job.

It was always the same thing since we got this project out the junkyard. I came in early, Dean came in on time and we worked on Ruby; him on the exterior; me inside the hood. Never talking, never getting in each others way, until six.

Today though, I broke the silence for the first time, "Hey, Dean?" I called. He looked up at me and I noticed something I never had before. He had different colors in his eyes.* They were mesmerizing.

"Could I – uh – get a little bit of help? The radiator is stuck; I'm pretty sure it might be broken again."

He nodded, seemingly still a little shocked I was talking to him, and came over next to me. He stood so close that his body heat radiated onto me and forced me to stupidly take a sudden step back. I felt myself turn red as he took a sideways look at me before he brought his attention back to the car.

He pointed to the radiator and glanced at me as if seeking assurance. I nodded my head.

"Think you can pull it out?" It was his turn to nod. He was leaning down to pull it out then looked at me with one eyebrow, when I didn't respond he took hold of my shoulders and gently guided me off to the side.

With that he faced the car, rolled up his sleeves, and gripped the radiator. Then, in one swift movement, he yanked the car part out with a slight groan. He set the part on the ground and gave me a closed mouth grin then got back to work as if nothing had happened.

•

•

•

I wiped off my hands after having tried to save the radiator for the last hour.

"Did you save it?" Mr. Altone asked. I smiled solemnly.

"Afraid not," I set the towel down, "we're going to have to call it."

"I really don't wanna do that," he groaned, "...alright I'll can call the company tonight."

"Alright Mr. A, I'm about to clock out; I'll see you tomorrow."

"No, I'll see you next week. We're closed for Christmas remember?"

"Oh... yeah, I'll see you next week I guess."

I finally clocked out and went home. I'd stayed late, so I heard my footsteps against the concrete as I trudged through the empty garage. Once home, I took a shower before checking the fridge. Okay, no food.

Instead of going to the store, I decided to head to Martha's Diner. I loved it there. I walked in and sat at the counter, not too long after the waitress – Lexi – walked up to me.

"What'll it be Lyn?" She asked cheerily.

"Well, my oddly chipper friend, I'd like my usual, some pie, and a Coke ASAP."

"You just love bossing me around don't you?" She asked as she wrote down my order and stuck the pen behind her ear. Then, stuck my order up for the chef to see.

"You never listen to me any other time, at least here you have to do what I say because I'm the costumer, and the costumer is always right." I replied with a smirk.

Suddenly she sighed, "Are you going home for Christmas, Lyn? I'm sure your momma misses you."

"I'd bet money that the drunk bitch's doesn't even realize it's Christmas, or that she has a daughter that could come home for it."

"You haven't talked to the woman in almost two years, how do you know she hasn't changed?"

"She was incapable of change then when I was there, what evidence is there to make me think she'd change if she was free from anyone tying her down?"

"I don't know, but at least call her."

I ignored her advice and she rolled her eyes. When the chef rung the bell she set my food in front of me and walked away. I ate and started home without saying goodbye.

I dragged on through the night thinking of what Lexi had said. Maybe I should go see my mom, wait-what? No, no, no I couldn't let my friends talk me into something that stupid.

I was so caught up in my head that I didn't notice the curb until I was on the ground. I groaned and wiped off my clothes as I stood. I shook my head to get rid of my thoughts before deciding to take a shortcut down an alley. Two blocks down I heard a scream resonate through the air.

My curiosity took over and I peeked around the corner that the noise had come from. Upon looking I noticed a man sitting up against a wall; he was tall with dark hair and blue eyes that shone in the darkness.

I allowed the blonde in my to wander and stepped closer to the man. He became more recognizable the closer I stepped until I realized that I knew exactly who he was.

"Dean?" His head shot up and I rushed towards him. His face was bruised and he flinched as I reached for him.

"Holy shit, Dean, do you need help?" He shook his head vigorously, "I don't like it when people lie to me, come on I'll take you to my house."

I helped him stand up and noticed a slight limp in his right foot, "Sprained ankle?" He nodded, "I think you'll be fine. I'll fix you up, my house is less than a block away."

************************************************************************

Author's Note:

This is my very first book posted on Prose and I am glad to have a chance to share this story with this amazing community.

*Important–The coloration of Dean's (Henry Cavill's) eyes is known as heterochromia iridum. Dean (Henry) has partial heterochromia or sectoral heterochromia, when part of one iris is a different color from its remainder. His eyes are blue and you can't see in most pictures but his left eye is fully brown in the top left corner.