Billy

Billy

unfinished work
2 March 1988

17 years old

Billy sat in his room staring listlessly out the window. He was looking at the railroad tracks that nearly crossed through his backyard, positive they hadn’t been so close when his family had moved into their house almost a year ago. They hadn’t even been that close yesterday.

Billy rubbed at his eyes, still wet from crying after his father cracked him one. Billy had told his dad about the train tracks, and his old man grabbed Billy by the collar and dragged through the woods to throw him onto the train tracks, still warm from the train that had just passed.

“There!” his father yelled at him. “Does it look like these tracks could move? Just pick themselves up and relocate any damned time they pleased?”

“No,” Billy said quietly.

“Then get the hell up before another one passes through.”

Bill could already feel the rails humming through his hands, and into the very marrow of his bones.

As he stood, Billy’s father cuffed his ear, hard. As they approached the house, Tom told his son to go to his room and think about the consequences of making up stories. Billy’s eyes began to tear as he trudged up to his room. It wasn’t so much that his ear hurt, as it was that the tracks were, in fact, in their original location when his father hauled him down there.

When Billy looked out the window, he could see the tracks just peeking out of the edge of the forest. The sun was shining off of them and the gentle breeze that caused the trees to sway made it look as though those tracks were winking at Billy in an evil, malevolent gesture.

*****

Billy woke up that night screaming. He had been dreaming that he was walking along the train tracks, looking for smooth, round rocks suitable for throwing. There were none of the usual forest noises. No bird song, no sudden furtive movements of small frightened animals, nothing. As Billy looked up, he saw an enormous cow catcher growing larger as is sped toward him. Billy tried to jump out of the way into the safety of a nearby ditch, but his feet got stuck between the ties. He started to panic as he found he couldn’t dislodge them. He bent over in desperation to pull his feet free with his hands, and when that didn’t work, he looked up blindly, hoping that the train would magically disappear. But it didn’t. Just before it hit him, Billy let out and ear-piercing scream as he bolted up in bed, waking his parents.

His mother was the first to burst into his room. Billy was hysterical as she wrapped her arms around him, murmuring soothing, motherly words of comfort to hear horror-stricken eight-year-old.

Tom straggled in behind her, half-naked, his erection already fading, and pissed off at his son’s timing. “What the hell is it now, Maria?”

For chrissakes, Tom. Can’t you ever show some sensitivity? He’s had another nightmare.”

Tom grunted in admonishment and left the room to finish for himself what he knew his wife wouldn’t finish when she got back into bed.

Maria turned back to her son. “What is it, honey? Did you have another bad dream? Was it about the train, again?”

Billed sobbed in confirmation.

“It’s all over, now. It’ll be all right. Everything’s okay, now. I’m here to protect you. You won’t have any more bad dreams.” Maria wiped her son’s brow and put him gently back into bed. She rubbed his back until he fell asleep. When she was sure he was unconscious, she crept back into her own bed and lay awake all night listening for Billy’s tell-tale signs of distress, worrying about what was happening to her son.

But his mother was wrong. Billy had the same dream over and over again, that night. But, from fear of his father, Billy had managed to unconsciously retrain himself from screaming out into the night. He would wake up, his eyes popping open, mouth stretching itself into a large O in a soundless scream, cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Billy prayed for daylight to come. He knew that if he couldn’t wake himself in time, he would die when the train hit him. Not just the Billy in the dream, but the real Billy, the Billy having the dream. He was fighting for his life, and he knew it.

*****

Bill and his friends are playing a sport, baseball or touch football. High school reunion is about two weeks away. He’s looking forward to it, but is a little apprehensive about it. He’s kind of nervous. He’s been having bad dreams he and he can’t remember them when he wakes up. On several occasions, he woke up screaming but still can’t remember what the dream is about when full consciousness resumes.

As he’s receiving a pass or fly ball, Bill blacks out. The sun hits his eyes and the glare momentarily blinds him. When he comes to, he is screaming as if the sun’s glare terrifies him. His friends are somewhat alarmed and run to his rescue, as it were, and he pretends as if nothing’s wrong, although he walks off the field and goes home. It’s a company game. Accounting against Logistics. His wife is worried about him. These blackouts continue to haunt him through the days, at work, at home, in the shopping mall. He experiences states of fugue; he’s running away from something he can’t quite name. He finds himself huddled in corners, frightened, terrified. For some reason, he feels like a little boy again, immediately following his awakening, and is somewhat ashamed of himself for whatever he might have done during his blackouts.

As the days wear on, relentlessly pulling him toward the date of the reunion, his blackouts become more and more serious. By the time he finally decides to seek psychiatric help, it’s time to fly back to Chicago for the reunion. He resolves to contact a psychiatrist when he returns home. This is when he starts to remember bits and pieces of his childhood, memories which have eluded him all his adult life. And not the good parts, either. The flashbacks started during the first few hours in his hotel room.