Will

 

“College graduate, that’s me.”

It’s so hard to believe that I have to utter those words again, out loud, one more time. And then I need more, just to make it really real.

Leaning my head back to stare up at an azure-blue sky, I rise up in the seat of the nice, new BMW convertible I’m driving and scream as loudly as I can, “I’m a goddamn college graduate, motherfuckers.”

Take that, all you pricks who didn’t believe in me.

I jerk the wheel back just in time to keep from veering off the road, and thus into vast desert nothingness. But yeah, once I’m back on track I think about how no one thought I’d succeed. Not my ex-girlfriend, Cassie, not my mom, and certainly not my stepdad, Greg. I should mention that Greg’s not technically my stepdad. Dude never bothered to “officially” adopt me. Not that it matters, not anymore. I’m about to turn twenty-two.

I’m all grown up…and a fucking college grad, as established.

As I hit the gas, the Mojave Desert becomes a hazy blur, my great trek to Las Vegas almost near its end. Yeah, good ole Sin City is where I’m headed. So many Californians take this trip for pleasure. But me, I’m going home.

I estimate I should hit the state line in about another hour—maybe less, at the rate I’m flying—then I’ll be back in my home state of Nevada. Of course, I won’t be there for long. I’m all set to fly to New York City at the end of the week.

Shit, I have to laugh. I’m a goddamn coming-home success story, if ever there was one. That’s right—I, Will Gartner, former fuck-up extraordinaire, have not only graduated from a prestigious college—with honors, no less—but I’ve also lined up a sweet-ass job in the largest city in the country.

As of next Monday, a week from today, I’ll be putting my fancy new graphic design skills—some taught to me at college and others I just have an innate talent for—to work.

And for fat stacks, no less.

When I arrive in New York I’ll have a couple of days ahead of me in which to settle in, which is good. Gotta get myself set up in the cool apartment I think I want. If I back out, though, it doesn’t matter. Mom and Greg have me booked in some fancy Manhattan hotel for however long I need.

Still, what I really want is to do this shit on my own from day one. It’s time to cut the ties to my past and quit relying on other people to do shit for me, especially when I can manage things for myself. This is the new me, you see: A Will Gartner who is finally free.

Funny how I don’t feel so very free.

I guess I’ve always seen myself as more of a freelance kind of artist. My dream was once to publish a comic book line, one I created a long time ago. I used to hope maybe I could turn my early work into a graphic novel, and possibly create a whole series from there. I dreamed of bringing to life in vivid color the characters on my sketch pad, praying one day they’d be seen by others, even if it only ever turned out to be a few.

Oh, well. Guess I’ll learn to adjust and be content with the knowledge that my ad work will be viewed by thousands—probably tens of thousands.

Should make me feel good, right?

Yeah, it should. So why is it I feel like nothing but a sellout to corporate greed?

“Quit thinking that stupid idealistic shit,” I chastise myself. “Get real.”

Refocusing on my itinerary for when I arrive in Vegas, I ponder the one last blowout I plan to have at my parents’ house. Not that I’ve done much planning on it, but the groundwork is set. Mom and Greg are gone, so they aren’t a factor. My folks took off for an extended three-month vacation, following my graduation ceremony. That means they won’t be back for several weeks. Those two are always traveling, jetting from one place to the next. They were so anxious for this trip to begin that they flew out of LA on Saturday, the day of my graduation. In fact, they even had me drive them to the airport that very night.

I blow out a breath, recalling our final moments at the curb of the passenger drop-off area.

As I helped Mom unload her baggage from the trunk of the graduation present she’d given me—the ice-blue convertible Bimmer I’m driving this very moment—she gave me free rein over her not-so-humble Vegas abode. She has no problem with me staying at her and Greg’s oversized McMansion, seeing as I’m about to become what she always dreamed I’d be—a clean-cut business professional.

Nonetheless, my mom, knowing my background and no doubt recalling my reckless younger days, was sure to add, “Have fun, but don’t trash the place, Will.”

I feigned indignation, placing my hand over my heart and acting hurt. “Would I do such a thing, Mother Dear?”

She gave me a withering look, and Greg chimed in with, “Seriously, Will. No parties.”

He returned to his task of loading their bags onto a cart and didn’t see me roll my eyes at him. I swear that man will forever view me as fifteen.

Mom, always quick to defend me, dressed Greg down immediately. “Oh, Greg,” she said, “a tiny party is fine. My son”—she reached up and ruffled my hair—“can have a few friends over if he likes. I’m sure they’ll all behave like perfect ladies and gentlemen.”

Ha!

Another eye roll was in order, but I played along, knowing it was to my advantage.

Don’t think I can’t recognize how fucked up our family dynamic is, with Greg trying to set boundaries and Mom continually shutting him down. That’s just her, though. My mom, Abby Gartner Vintner, simply sucks at discipline. I guess that’s part of the reason why my brother, Chase, and I had so many problems growing up. Losing our real father and living on the streets for a while didn’t help matters, nor did Abby’s onetime-pervasive gambling problem, but her overall permissiveness led me and my brother to make a slew of bad choices.

That’s all in the past now. Chase is a success story these days.

The one-time felon, who spent four years in prison, runs a thriving business and has a great family. He and his wife, Kay, plus their young children, Jack and Sarah, all came to my graduation this past weekend. They had to fly back directly afterward, however. Chase told me he had work to do on Sunday, something about checking in on a job site that’s running behind schedule. He builds homes—like our father once did—in Ohio.

And then there’s me. “College graduate,” I murmur, savoring the sound of those words one more time.

Still, though. Despite how many times that phrase passes my lips, it just doesn’t feel real. But it is real. I did it. I survived the fancy school in Malibu that Mom and Greg paid far too much for. And now it’s on to the big city to live out my dream.

Or live out someone’s dream, a little voice whispers.

“Think about the party,” I mutter in response.

Yeah, the party…

I’m thinking one low-key bash at the house won’t hurt anyone. No one will probably show up anyway, seeing as I’ve lost touch with most of my old friends. Probably a good thing, considering how my early high school years were filled with drugs and partying with those exact same people.

Oh, and with my one-time girlfriend, Cassie Sutter.

That chick and I were bad news once we got together. Shit, we were high more often than not. She was my enabler, and I was hers. She also holds claim to the title of “my first love.” Walking away from her was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But if ever there was a toxic love, it was ours.

Think I’m over-exaggerating? I’m not. Hell, I almost killed a man in cold blood for Cassie, if not for Chase intervening.

Chase. Reaching up from the steering wheel, I run my hand through my hair. It’s the same light brown color as his. My hair used to be lighter, much lighter. I was once a towheaded blond, back when I was a little kid. My hair also used to be wilder. Not all that long ago, either. Sadly, I had to get a haircut last week, to appear more “professional” for my new job.

What is it that people say? Need to look the part to play the part, right?

Chuckling, I rake my fingers through my hair once more. Thankfully, there’s still enough there to grab and pull. Chase does the same thing, all the time. Family trait, I suppose. Wonder if our dad had the same hair-raking quirk?

I can’t ask him, seeing as he’s dead and gone. Suicide, back when I was eight. My dad drove off a cliff, located in the same exact mountain pass I’ll be driving through in roughly thirty minutes.

How fucked up is that? Thanks, Dad.

My father, Jack Gartner, is part of the reason why Cassie and I fell in together. She lost her dad when she was young, just like me. And let me tell you, that shared sympathy bonded us hard and tight.

But our woven-together grief, sadly, led to disaster.

On those days when finding solace in each other’s arms just wasn’t enough, we searched for outside sources to ease the pain. And, oh, did we find shit to do—weed, Oxy, X, cocaine, and other drugs Chase would kill me for if he ever knew I even tried them.

Bad enough he knows what he knows. But there is more, so much more.

Chase also thinks Cass and I never spoke to one another after I broke up with her, back when I was fifteen. For a while, it was true, we didn’t talk. I was clean, and Cassie…well, she wasn’t. She had done a stint in rehab back when we were in high school, but it didn’t stick. Her mom ended up transferring her to a private school on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I guess she was hoping the move would get Cassie in with a different crowd, a straight-laced crew of kids.

It didn’t work. Cass was still using, only with a whole new set of people, kids that were far from straight-laced. She still texted me too, all the time, even when I told her I didn’t want to see her anymore.

I knew it was time to move on. Like, for real.

But, I had just turned sixteen and was horny as hell. So when Cass started asking me to meet her just to hook up, I’d go.

Every … single … time.

As a result, we ended up having sex all over town—in the backseat of the car my mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday, in alleys where we once scored drugs, and in cheap motels, located in the parts of Vegas tourists never see.

I wasn’t doing any drugs that summer. Except for one—Cassie.

I’d given up all the bad things, but I couldn’t quite give up on her. Not until her mom found out we were seeing one another did it end. Mrs. Sutter made sure it was over for us when she moved away. Taking Cassie with her, of course.

Off to a different state, they flew. At least I think they settled in a different state. I don’t really know for sure. All I do know is I haven’t seen Cassie since the last day we were together, almost six years ago.

That doesn’t mean I still don’t think about her from time to time. Not a lot, granted, but sometimes, like now.

I wonder if she ever got her life together, the girl I once loved. I wonder if she got clean. Did she go to college? Maybe she got married? Hell, she could even have a kid by now, for all I know.

But mostly, beyond all those things, I hope my first love found the inner peace she so desperately sought.

 

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