I lay in my bed and stared at the ceiling. Sure, the clock said 8:00, but I couldn’t get up. I didn’t want to. What’s the point, anyway? It’s useless. Utterly useless. I’m not going to learn anything, I’ve figured it out already; I’m broken. My brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s. I can’t learn, can’t think, can’t act properly… I just don’t understand the universal understandings that everyone else seems to know so well, like the back of their hands. Like I said, useless. I’ll never be more, I’ll never be less. I’ll just always be useless. I heard a knock at the door. I didn’t say anything. It was most likely my parents trying to tell me to get ready for school. They think school can fix me. They’re out of their minds. Everyone is out of their minds. They don’t even care about me, anyway. They just want me to have a good job in the future, but they couldn’t care less about the present. Me in the present, me in the past, or me in the future. They don’t want to let me be what I want, they want me to be what they want me to be.
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- Arthur! exclaimed my mother.
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I didn’t answer. I hate my name. I’ve told them a million times to change it, but they just won't. Arthur is my grandfather’s name, and my father’s name. I don’t want to be Arthur T. Johnson. I want to be someone else. I want to be anyone else. They don’t love Arthur T. Johnson. They love my father, they love his father, but they don’t love me, because they all know that I’ll never live up to the name that so many of my ancestors wore. I will always be Arthur T. Johnson, but I’ll never be Arthur Johnson. No matter how hard I try, I can never be Arthur Johnson. I can never be an Arthur Johnson.
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- If you don’t open this door immediately, I’ll have to call your father.
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I knew what that meant. I didn’t care if my father came. I didn’t care if he beat me up. I just wanted to exchange bodies with someone. To be a completely different person. My father is an awful person. He’s Arthur Johnson. I’m Arthur T. Johnson. Everyone loves my father, Arthur Johnson. I’m Arthur T. Johnson. I’ll never be anything more than Arthur T. Johnson. Even though everyone is expecting me to be Arthur Johnson… But, I can’t. I’m Arthur T. Johnson. I can never be anything more. My mother opened the door. Her angry expression was plastered on her face as she observed me.
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- Get up, she said.
- What’s the point? I muttered.
- Get up, she repeated, Goddamn it, Arthur, do you have to be such an idiot all the time?!
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There was a lump in my throat. An idiot. That’s just what I am. A stupid idiot. I can’t learn, I can’t act like a normal person, I can’t even seem to be liked. Arthur T. Johnson. That’s who I am. The world-renowned screw up. I knew everyone thought that of me. Even my parents. I’m beyond repair. Broken. With no remedy for this sickness I call Arthur Johnson. Arthur T. Johnson. My mother lifted the covers and grabbed my foot, dragging me onto the floor. I fell with a loud ‘thud’ and a yelp.
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- Get up, she said again.
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I got up and sighed, grabbing my school clothes and ushering my mother out of the room. I can’t wait until I’m twenty. Then, I can live on my own, no parents, no expectations, no school. I’m not Arthur Johnson, in my head. I’m someone else. I’m Warren William, or someone famous. An actor. A nice, pretty actor with lots of money and a name that isn’t attached to an ancestry of cowards and nuisances. I went downstairs, grabbed my jacket and headed out for school. Luckily, my parents didn’t say goodbye to me. My father is always a pain to talk to. He says the worst things that just make you feel like you’re not good enough… My mother, she’s monotone and emotionless. Ever since I was born, I knew I’d always come in second in their hearts, of course, always after themselves. That was their problem; they were selfish. That wasn’t their only problem, for they had a complete and utter disregard for my feelings, but it was their main problem. Selfishness. I got to school at last and sat down at my desk. My teacher took attendance. I stared at my feet as usual, as she did so.
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- Arthur Johnson?
- Here.
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Arthur T. Johnson, I corrected her in my head. I leaned back, shut my eyes discretely and tried to bring myself to my happy place; a lovely little world, where I matter. I, Arthur T. Johnson, a 13-year-old screw up, who just happens to be the son of Arthur Johnson, one of the most famous entrepreneurs of all time. But that’s just it. In my world, Arthur Johnson is not an entrepreneur and he’s far from famous in a good way. He’s the world-renowned screw up. He’s the idiot. He’s the stupid one who can’t learn a thing. I’m the only Arthur Johnson, and he has to live up to my name. My name being Arthur Johnson. And his being Arthur W. Johnson. In that world, I’m happy. I’m famous and loved by everyone, I’m older, I don’t need to go to school or listen to my parents, and there’s no pressure in my chest when I speak my own name. In my world, Arthur T. Johnson owns everything. A voice interrupted my thoughts. I hadn’t heard what he said, but when I went back to reality, a pair of radiant brown eyes were staring at me from above. I swallowed hard and observed him for a bit, waiting.
- Arthur Johnson, right? The teacher told us to pair up, and you and I are the only ones not paired up… Wanna work together? The subject’s kinda above my pay grade, but you’ll help me won’t ya? You seem like a nice guy, but you’re alone, so you’ll have to be with me cause I’m alone too, so we have no choice, you know?
I squinted. He talks too much.
- It’s actually Arthur T. Johnson, I specified.
- What’s the difference?
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I breathed in and out heavily. Something went off; I was angry. I wouldn’t ask any questions if someone asked me to call them by their preferred name. What’s with the interrogation? I just observed him for a while as he smiled at me, completely unaware of the anger I was feeling toward him. He didn’t know. It’s not his fault. But he knows now, and he refuses to do anything about it. I continued to observe him, but his smile was disappearing, the longer I stared at him, semi-angrily.
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- The difference is that I like to be called Arthur T. Johnson, and I don’t like to be called Arthur Johnson. That’s the difference. 166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQhnMqOE3gX
- Yeah, but why? I once knew this guy who really hated his uncle Ronald, but his name was Ronnie because of said uncle, so he told everyone to call him Richie or Ricky, but everyone started calling him Ro, because nobody cared. And anyway, the uncle died of pneumonia.
- Um… Okay.
- What I’m getting at is; do you hate your father? Because Ro/Ronnie hated Ronald and I know your father’s name is Arthur Johnson, because everyone knows him because he’s rich.
- No, I don’t hate my father.
- Why?
- Because I don’t hate my father.
- You could. No one can stop you.
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The boy nodded. We paused.
- My name’s-
- Don’t tell me, I said, I’ll just work alone.
. . .
I waited patiently with my fingers on my knees, on Lydia Wayne’s couch. I didn’t know where she was, I didn’t know where her father was. Today, I was going to ask for her hand in marriage. I didn’t want to marry Lydia, but my father told me that if I don’t find a wife soon, he’d disown me. So I did. I’m only twenty, but he still wants me to find a wife. ‘Find one and hold onto her’, he told me, ‘because no one else will ever want to marry you, Arthur Johnson’. The harsh words remained in my head, and so did the task at hand. I had to marry a woman. For the longest time - probably as long as time itself - women and men have been joined in either holy matrimony or just plain old relationships. I didn’t desire that. I didn’t want it, I didn’t need it. I wanted something else. I wanted someone else. I not only disliked Lydia romantically, but I also disliked women. I was sure. I had been in three relationships with girls, and every time was worse than the last. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested… Actually, yes. It was exactly that. But there I was, waiting to ask a girl to marry me. Out came her father from wherever he was hiding. I exhaled nervously and approached him. He eyed me up and down, his chin lifted and his eyes squinted.
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- Arthur Johnson? he said.
- A…Arthur T. Johnson.
- Pardon me.
There was a silence.
- Where’s-
- Upstairs, he said .
I nodded. There was another silence.
- Why do you prefer to be called Arthur T. Johnson rather than Arthur Johnson?
- Because Arthur Johnson was my father, and-
- And your father was a very successful man.
- Yes, I suppose. But I’m not him.
- But you could be. I’m sure you will be.
He patted my shoulder with a smile. He thought I had talent, brains, intelligence… I was as dimwitted as an African Swallow. He and I waited in silence until Lydia came down. She noticed me and smiled.
- Hi, Arthur! she said with a smile.
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I looked down at my shoes, hating that people felt obliged to speak that name. Not my name, that name. I then heard a long silence. I wasn’t sure of the cause, since I was still looking down at my shoes, but there was definitely a silence. I looked up and saw them both staring at me. It made me sick. The father was happy that I was marrying her because my father was rich. Lydia Wayne was happy that I was marrying her because she liked me for some bizarre reason. I wasn’t very fond of Lydia Wayne or her father. I didn’t want to please either of them. I sighed and looked back down at my shoes.
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- I came here to ask for Lydia’s hand in marriage, but I’m afraid that I cannot carry out the task, I said.
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They both looked hurt. I didn’t know what to do. I decided to leave before they had time to give an audible response. The only word I was able to utter out of my shaking, sad, depressed body, was ‘Sorry’.
. . .
I sat on my own couch, this time as my father walked back and forth angrily in front of me. He’d been doing that for the past nine minutes. He was at loss for words, and I could see it in his face. I had refused to marry Lydia Wayne, who was the second richest in our city, right after my own father. But I wasn’t interested in her… Or any girl, really. I hadn’t really explored that part of me at all, but I knew something was different in my brain. The same way it caused me to learn at a slower pace, the same way it caused me to not understand the things that normal people understood… The same way it caused me to have feelings for boys in the way I should have them for girls. But I refused to tell my father, for I knew he’d disown me. My father finally stopped pacing and stood in front of me, glaring.
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- Why didn’t you want to marry Lydia Wayne? he said quietly.
- I wasn’t interested.
- Do you think I give a damn whether you’re interested or not?! he yelled.
- But, father, don’t you think a man should marry for love and not for-
- What’s the real reason?
- Pardon?
- The real reason.
- I-..I have no idea what you’re talking about.
He slammed his fist against the wall, making me flinch.
- Goddamn it, Arthur, tell me the real reason!
- I’m not interested in women! I yelled back on impulse.
He paused. His eyes grew wide as he looked me up and down. I swallowed hard, not able to believe that I had just said that. My heart rose to my throat out of nervousness. He looked away and put his hands in the pockets of his pants.
- What do you mean, you’re not interested in women? he said quietly.
- I…I think I like men the way I should like women.
He paused, not making eye contact with me.
- No. You don’t, he said simply.
- What? Y-Yes I do.
- No, you don’t. You’re a normal man who loves women and who is desperate to marry one.
I opened my mouth to argue, but I just shut it in shame.
- Okay.
- Good.
. . .
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It had been two years since I had told my father how I truly felt about women and men… He hasn’t spoken to me since. He also hasn’t spoken about it. To anyone. For that, I’m grateful, but the most he’s ever said to me in two years is ‘pass the salad, please’. I wasn’t exactly devastated, since, when my father did talk to me, he never had anything nice to say, so it wasn’t the end of the world. But still, it was different. I sat on my bed and stared at the wall. A knock was heard at the door. I didn’t say anything, but the person came in anyway. It was Mr. Wayne, Lydia’s father. I looked down at my shoes.
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- Arthur Johnson, he greeted.
- Yes?
I had given up on correcting people when they didn’t say ‘T’.
- Your father tells me that you’re in search of a wife.
There was no point arguing. I didn’t look at him.
- Yes, that’s right.
- Lydia has found a husband, but my youngest, Betty, just turned eighteen…She’s looking for someone, and I feel that you’d be a great option.
- Sure.
I couldn’t speak with emotion. I continued staring at the wall, eyes drained and empty of life.
- Alright, then, I’ll have you meet her soon. She’s going to be thrilled, Arthur.
- Good.
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He left. That’s when it all sank in. I’m twenty-two, I hate my life already, but I’m going to make it worse by getting married to a woman who I’ve never even met. Without even being interested in women. As much as I tried pretending and protesting, there was no denying that I was a bit funny. I suppressed the tears in my eyes as I began packing my bags. This was not the life that I wanted to lead.
. . .
There was a war. I know that. Did it matter, though? Does it matter, though? Yes. It does. That means I can finally get away from my father, from my fiance, Betty, from my mother, Mr. Wayne… All that shit could finally disappear. I always shut my mouth when it comes to politics… But this war could finally change that. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m ready to welcome death with open arms. I’m looking forward to this war, and I’m looking forward to not come back. I walked into White Horse, my favourite bar. I liked it there because it was full of people that were like me… who understood how it worked. December 1st, 1941. I’m pretty sure that was the date. I sat down on a barstool, next to some brunet kid that I’d never seen before. I ordered an Arnold Palmer, as usual and just waited. My day was pretty much like every other, until I felt the stinging stare of two eyeballs glued onto me, as if I was there to be looked at. I furrowed my eyebrows, but smiled, turning around to face the boy.
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- Hi there, I said.
- Um…H-Hi.
- Do I have something on my face? I teased.
- Uh…I’m- uh… I don’t- I…I…
I laughed a little. His eyes grew wider.
- Don’t worry about it.
I paused. I wanted to tell him my name. But I didn’t want him to know me as Arthur Johnson, or Arthur T. Johnson. I looked down for a moment and then looked back up at him.
- Art. Art Johnson, I said, putting my hand out.
- James Baxter.
He smiled. I did too, for the first time in a very long eternity.
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