To all those predominantly Dawsons' fans I'd like to apologise for my lack of knowledge of the final series of the show. My story is set just before the group go off to university, however Tobey and Jack have already split up… I'm trying to get away with calling it poetic license of my own, but I don't think it will work!
Poetic License
JACK
"So Jack, if I could grant you one request right at this moment, what would it be?"
I paused to consider it.
"That the best thing that ever happened to me walks through that door…"
As is obvious following such a comment an expectant silence covered us both as we watched the door for the promised earth-shattering event. Nothing happened.
Such was our evening. And, in keeping with the themes of the night, such was our lives.
Jen and I had spent most of the evening simmering. We were having one of those typical adolescent-female conversations, an "I hate males" and "All men are pigs" kinda' conversation that I had been promoted into not long before. To put it simply, I came out. Not that every reader of this piece won't already know that, news travels fast in a small town.
So, one messy outing and two failed relationships later I'm sat here, with my best friend, a bag of popcorn, two finished films and a stupid wish.
"Well that was disappointing..." Jen finally spoke, interrupting my preoccupied musings. Perhaps I was going quietly insane.
"What did you really expect?"
"Well, I don't know, but it would have been interesting if something had happened, even Grams walking in would have meant a bit of hilarity. I think I might be beginning to lose faith in my good fairy abilities"
I smiled "I think I'm the only good fairy in the room" and she laughed, batting me playfully with the pillow she had clasped in her lap.
"Well okay then, but no hogging the tiara"
The next morning a letter arrived on my bedside table, having been carried over the threshold of my room by a certain (joint) good fairy. I was sleeping on its arrival, but opened it an hour later when roused from slumber due to a television being rudely cranked up to full volume in the room next door -also belonging to the aforementioned fairy.
Dear Sir
It read
We are delighted to announce to you that your poem entitled "Today" has been accepted for the International Young Poet of the Year Award finals to be held on the 14th of June this year.
It would do us great pleasure if you were to attend the award ceremony personally to read aloud your poem to the judges and 4 other finalists. This year the ceremony is to be held in the National Institute of the English Language in London and I am happy to enclose one first class ticket with this letter in order for you to attend.
We look forward to your being there…
WILL
"Yours sincerely. Edward D Brown -Competition chairperson." Numbly I finished speaking and refolded the paper, slipping it back into the cream, London-postmarked envelope that had arrived jammed into the edge of my mirror that morning. Finn had included no note with the package, but it was obvious who it was from.
"Wow! That's great man! Well done!" Scout jumped up form his bed, immediately animated, before slowly allowing his face to drop on catching sight of my own: "That is great isn't it?"
"Finn never asked if he could enter me for this"
"What's that got to do with it?" Best friends can often pick up that something is wrong; it is not often, however, that you can find someone who understands why it is wrong.
"He mentioned something about a competition, but I never thought he'd go ahead and enter me for it without asking first"
"Surely that doesn't matter now! You won- or you're on your way to! You should be thanking him"
"The poem was private Scout, he should never have done something like this without asking me first!" Numbness finally subsiding I allowed my anger to fill the void it left, and without another word, turned and exited the room.
"You had no right to do this" Cut scene, Finns office, me, stood before his desk, waving an opened envelope dramatically at him across the piles of papers he was marking.
"What's the matter Will?" His serenity was infuriating.
"That's the matter" With one smooth motion I slapped the envelope down hard on the Shakespeare essay he'd been reading when I'd first entered.
In true Finn style for five whole seconds he did nothing, calming the situation without a word, before slowly raising his gaze from the envelope back to me, one eyebrow raised in readiness.
"Open it" I prompted, calmer now.
He did as he was told, handling the envelope and its contents as if they were made of fine glass.
I hate that feeling of standstill that washes over you when waiting for someone to finish reading something, something important to you. Lost in the world of the letter, or the poem, you have handed them they are no longer aware of your existence, stood, only a pace or so away from them, behind the flimsy sheet of paper. During those long minutes you have no idea what to do with yourself, stand and wait? Sit and act cool? Leave? When I'd handed him the sheet of paper that held my soon-to-be competition finalist entry of the International Young Poet of the Year Award I had done the latter, leaving him alone in his office to read it through. It had been a homework assignment, one I had avoided reading out in class like the others in the room by neatly "forgetting it" that morning, instead I handed it to him late, passing it across this very desk, into the hands of the only person I wished to read it. And he'd disobeyed my trust.
"This is wonderful, Will" With the final words read he broke me free from my literary deadlock, a smile on his face "I'd almost forgotten about it,"
"You never asked my permission"
"Well, I didn't think I had to, that was an amazing piece Will, you didn't think I'd be able to keep it to myself did you?"
"I trusted you,"
"And I could never, as a teacher, have let that assignment leave my office without letting it be sent out into the world." A pause in which I contemplated what the hell I could say in response "Literature is a beautiful thing Will, why do you think I devoted my life to teaching it? It's not to spend it with you kids I can tell you" The laughter in his voice was becoming infectious "It was an English poet, Philip Larkin, who said: 'What I want the readers to carry away from the poem in their minds is not the poem, but the experience' I experienced your poem Will, and the emotion was strong, I couldn't let that slip away with merely an A and a pat on the back, it had to go further, I had to allow others to experience the emotions I had. You have talent, Will, don't ignore it"
JACKSilently the train glided into the station. Faces forming, blurred beside the windows as it slowed, before gaining feature and detail as it came to a standstill. The same monotonous beep that had signaled the last station and the last warned passengers that the heavy metal doors that punctuated the sides of the train were opening, allowing a fresh wave of faces to enter the carriage and wrestle with each other for the privilege of the final seats, before the train set off and the cycle began again.
"The nest station is Marble Arch. Please mind the gap. Change for the Jubilee Line. We are sorry to announce..."
The underground. There is no other place on earth that condenses so much human nature into such a small space. The need for monotony, routine, constant reminders on safety, position, times, and the bizarre habit of shying away from conversation or contact within a crowded train, so packed with commuters they cannot help but brush each others arms and legs on occasion.
Mentally we are all encased in our own train, pressed against those we would rather not be touching, racing through the darkness to destination unknown until announced in a polite and emotionless voice over the tannoy. Our train is often delayed or broken down, and occasionally a break in the organisation will cause a derailment or crash, but it rarely strays from the inevitable path, Kings Cross to Warren Street to Oxford Circus... You get my drift.
So, I hear you ask, what is the reason for all this silent philosophical reflection? Surely there must be some plan behind all this random babble and why, I hear the less observant of you cry, the sudden appearance of a train within a tail that seems to be merely about the depth of human angst and teenage melodrama? Well, for those of you who haven't been able to keep up today is the 12th of June. Two days before my appearance in front of a group of strangers to endure the same torture I had been put through over a year earlier when I stood up in class in front of those who I knew, and who knew me, to unwillingly step out of my proverbial closet.
"You look anxious dear," A voice opposite pulled me from my mental ramblings, a smile gently wiping itself across my face as I realised I had been wrong- not all of us shy away from human contact. The voice who had addressed me was owned by a small, frail old lady, fitting every stereotype I think I've ever known, hands clasped through a grey, aging purse on a flowered-frocked lap, bright lip-sticked mouth smiling expectantly from beneath an elaborately decorated hat."Yeah, pretty anxious" She smiled, waiting for me to go on, my American accent didn't seem to faze her in the slightest "I've just been accepted as a finalist for this competition I didn't even know I'd entered, I'm going to my interview now" The interviews were new, something sprung on us once I'd got used to the idea that I might actually attend this thing after all.
I don't think I need tell you how I managed to be here it's so startlingly obvious: Jen. Everything can be explained in three harmless little letters.
"That's quite a tale," The old woman continued from opposite me, preventing me from continuing with my mental story "Congratulations" She smiled a kind of smile that meant it was impossible for me not to reply with one.
"Thanks"
"Well, this is my stop dear, I wish you all the luck" I watched as she laboriously hauled herself off the tread-bare seat, frail hand gripping the railing by her side with such force her knuckles turned white.
"Thank you, I think I'll need it"
"You'll do fine dear, absolutely fine" And I was left wondering whether fine would be enough.
WILLI still wasn't used to the feeling that spread across your stomach as the train pulls into a station. Emerging from its gloomy tunnel into the bright sterile-tiled stations, faces next to the window gently fading into focus like the end of a movie in reverse. Each time those same movements were repeated I couldn't help noticing how many people lined the platforms, how many faces hung beside the window that I had never known or seen before, and how familiarly alien they all looked, in a place so far from home. Perhaps it wasn't just the motion of the train that was giving me butterflies, perhaps I was having to come to terms with the frightened 16 year old I really was.
New places often have this effect on me. Especially when these new places happen to be twice as big and frightening as the old ones and thousands of miles apart. Here I did not have the comfort of my friends to help me across the busy road junctions, or through the confusing, hamster style halls of the underground. This world was one apart from the world of New Rawley. Moving down the road to attend the private school I thought I'd never enter was a picnic compared to this, at least then I'd always had the comfort of home just around the corner –it may not have been welcoming, but it was somewhere to run to.
Where did I run to now?
"Southbound Station: Leicester Square, Charring Cross, Embankment" Quickly I ran my eyes down the list of unfamiliar names, wondering what the hell I'd got myself into.
"You look as lost as I feel" A voice beside me, I glanced up nervously, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of my confusion. I'd never felt more like a tourist.
JACK
I'd recognised him from the flight, he'd been sat three places ahead of me, across the isle, walkman plugged into a personal CD player hidden from view as he read the paperback spread out on the folding table, head bobbing to the beat.
I don't know what possessed me to go and talk to him, perhaps it had been the old woman on the train, and the way she seemed to have filled we with confidence about the up and coming interviews. Perhaps I wanted to pass on that confidence to this other person, someone who was, I assumed, doing the same thing I was. Lost in a strange country, confused, nervous and lonely.
The face that met my friendly comment was that of confusion, icy blue eyes glancing over to meet mine in the shock that came from being addressed familiarly in such unfamiliar surroundings. It took him a few seconds to regain his manners, shaking his head slightly and cracking a smile when it was obvious I wasn't going to go away any time soon.
"Yeah, sorry…how did you know?" His familiar American lilt did not surprise me.
"Know what?" I'd honestly forgotten the question.
"That I'm lost"
I smiled "You were looking at that map as if it were written in a foreign language"
"For all you know it could have been" He was smiling now, glad to have found a kindred spirit amongst the bustle of unfamiliar voices.
"Good point" A moment of comradely silence, "It's the wrong map by the way"
"It is?" Genuinely confused he moved his gaze from my face, turning back to the map in question.
"That's where we've just been" I motioned to the top of the map before turning and waving a hand at the menagerie of red signs pointing in the same direction, "My guess is you'll need to follow the signs to the central line"
I watched as a bolt of realisation crossed his face "How did you know I needed the central line?" He asked after a moment.
"It's the only place you can go from this station, except out of course"
As if on cue we both caught each other's eye, a smile, before we both turned and walked side-by-side down the tunnel indicated.
WILL"So you do this often?" I asked, neither of us seemed to be in a hurry to get the other go, it felt good to find someone who seemed almost as out of place as I did.
"Do what?" I tried to tell myself that the reason I kept asking such open-ended questions wasn't because I wanted to hear that voice again.
"Pick up lost and lonely guys at the side of subways"
He laughed, a laugh that lit up his face, and shook his head slowly,
"We're in England, its "underground" not "subway""
"I stand corrected" I lifted my hands in mock surrender.
"But no, I don't make a habit of it"
"I should be honoured then"
"Perhaps you should"
I was aware that I was flirting, and for some reason it didn't seem to bother me. What did knock me back slightly, I realised as my eyes met his once again, what that he was flirting back.
"So who are you anyway?" I suddenly asked, wanting to end the moment, not quite sure whether I was prepared enough to deal with it. He laughed,
"I was wondering when that question would come up. I'm Jack" He stuck out a hand, and I took it,
"Will"
"Let me guess, finalist of the International Young Poet of the Year Competition?"
I smiled, "You too huh?"
"Guilty" Now it was his turn to hold up his hands, as we stepped forward onto the escalator, faces upturned towards the new platform.
"So do you have some kind of poet-dar then?"
From a step below him I watched as he laughed, eyes lighting up, perfect mouth upturned over perfect teeth "Poet-dar? You mean like gay-dar but more literary?"
"Yeah, exactly what I mean" I was laughing too now, conscious of how close we had to stand amid the bustle of commuters and tourists,
"Not to my knowledge" He smiled "But for all I know it could be genetic"
"So what your saying is it was written in your genes that you were going to pick me up on the side of the underground…"
"And I guess that is what I'm trying to say" His self-assuredness was catching and unnervingly attractive
"So other than your genetic poet-dar, how did you know what I was?"
He raised his eyebrow, a smile on his face, and mentally I backtracked over the line, quickly realising how it may have sounded.
"A poet I mean"
"Ahh," He laughed, "obviously your literary pose"
Now it way my turn to laugh,
"Okay, okay, maybe it was just the fact that I saw you on the flight over, and then again at the station, and then again when I got on the train, and finally stood looking lost at that map"
"Ahh, clever, and by your superior powers of deduction you realised…"
"…I'd got myself a stalker"
He smirked and I laughed, I seemed to be doing a lot of that since I'd met him.
"Nah, it was pretty easy to put two and two together and get a poet" We stepped off the top of the escalator and both cast around for the direction of the platform "Straight ahead" He said after a while, noticing the sign before I did, and I shook my head as I followed him, wondering if he knew the irony in his words
JACK
"So tell me a bit about yourself Will" I asked after we'd staked our claim to two seats on an almost deserted central line train and settled ourselves for the 4 stop journey. I still wasn't certain what I was doing talking to, and flirting with -I duly noted- this guy. It had been a long time since I'd done this –met a person and completely put myself out there for them. Perhaps he wasn't conscious that he was flirting with me, or that I was flirting back, perhaps this was simply the way he spoke to people, perhaps this was all in my mind.
"What's there to say?" He smiled "Interesting things that have happened to me lately," He paused for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking, ticking the two things off on his fingers as he said them "1) being shipped off to a foreign country to recite a poem to a bunch of strangers and 2) being picked up on a train platform by a tall, dark handsome guy with genetic poet-dar" Okay, perhaps the flirting wasn't imagined.
"I meant at home," I couldn't help smiling.
"Well, I go to Rawley School…"
"Hey, I've heard of that place, pretty pricey"
"Yeah, but don't get the wrong impression, I'm on a scholarship, I grew up in New Rawley, so really I'm a townie in disguise"
"So what does everyone think of that?"
"What?"
"A townie kid at a public school?"
"Hmm, well to cut a long story short its been a lot to get used to, but I think I'm settling in okay" For a moment there was silence, a silence in which I paused to contemplate exactly why I was so interested "Why am I telling you this? You're not interested, I only just met you!"
I laughed, his ability to read my mind was becoming unsettling.
"No, I'm interested" I caught his eye, before losing what was left of my nerve "So how'd you get caught up in this competition?"
"My English teacher," A look crossed his face that I didn't want to have to interpret "He entered me without asking my permission"
"Sounds familiar,"
"You too?" He raised an eyebrow,
"Yeah, my best friend, she, she entered my poem without asking me, which wasn't the nicest thing she could have done, it had some pretty private thoughts in it…" Yeah, pretty private thoughts I'd managed to share with just about the entire school -but that last bit I didn't say.
"I know what you mean, its gonna be really hard standing up and saying it in front of all these strangers"
"At least they're strangers…" The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them, but thankfully this Will obviously knew enough about human emotion to realise it was a touchy subject and met the comment with only another raise of his left eyebrow.