Wilford
chpt. 3
the morning after; a phone call from mom
By the time Wilford got home, the sun was well above the horizon, and even above the tree line of the forest. As was his custom following the monthly Full Moon Night, he went to bed at once, slept like a rock, and woke up in a couple hours invigorated and refreshed.
As was also customary following a lycanthropic episode, he was ravenous. His usual sensible healthy breakfast consisted of a bowl of hot porridge, grapefruit half, glass of lowfat milk, and glass of fruit juice; he rotated the selection of juice; cranberry, tomato, or orange; and he topped it off with his vitamin pills. On mornings like this, the usual sensible breakfast was supplemented with a stack of a dozen pancakes drowning in maple syrup, two dozen eggs…scrambled, over easy, over well, a dozen bacon strips, a dozen sausage links, a dozen sausage patties, two cantaloupe, a half-dozen bananas, a box of granola cereal, a box of sugary cereal, and heaping glasses of all three juices. And no vitamin pills. And both the inner carnivore and inner herbivore would feel fully sated. He belched loudly, an uncharacteristic act for him. He looked around embarrassedly, with the thought that Minerva, high-class lady that she was, would find it crass.
The expected phone call came a the expected moment.
"Hello. This is Wilford B. Wolf speaking," he said, in his usual polite tone.
"Good morning, Wilford."
"Oh…hello, Mom; it's you."
"Yes, dear, it's me.. I'm just making my usual weekly inquiry into the life of my eldest son, the more timely because that time of the month."
"Yes, ma'am. I understand."
"Dear? You don't sound your usual self. Is everything okay?"
Wilford sighed. Mom could discern everything. "Yeah, Mom. Everything's fine."
He was bursting at the seams with the desire to share with someone that he had managed score a date with the elusive and sought-after siren, Minerva Mink. Or, rather, the girl of his dreams, the lady of his heart, had deigned to favor him with a night of her companionship…
Wilford grimaced. He tried to make it sound…noble…in his head. It ended up sounding…cheap and crude…like a desperate guy engaging the services of a professional escort. This was…Mom. And things like girls and…Mom…had a way of becoming…complex.
She continued with her insistent motherly interrogation. "Have you been getting enough to eat? Are you remembering to take your vitamins and do your laundry?"
"Yeah, Mom. I've been keeping up on my chores and responsibilities. I'm not letting dishes pile up in the sink and I'm remembering to pick up my clothes and pay my bills."
"And how is your job working out?"
"`Sometimes I have to go into the office, but most of the work I can do online at home. I'm due for a promotion."
"That's wonderful news, Wilford. You know, your father and I have the greatest confidence in you."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Can I ask how you spent…last night?"
"Well…" The words caught in his throat. He didn't know how to tell her how he managed to actually obtain a date with the girl of his dreams…and he wanted to.
"Wilford? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden. Now, come on. I don't wish to pry into your life, but I can tell when something's bothering you."
"Well…there's this girl, Mom…"
It was evident by the tone of her voice. Her parental antennae instantly perked up. "Ohhhh. I see. Tell me more."
"Well…gosh, Mom…this is so…hard…I mean…you're my mom…and I don't usually talk about things like…this…"
"Would you like to talk with your father, dear? He's in the library, as usual, with his books, but I can get him for you."
If there was anyone worse with girls than Wilford himself, it was Dad. Wilford was a chip off Dad's old block. "No. That's okay, Mom…"
"Would you like a moment to compose yourself, dear?"
"Nah. I'll be okay."
"I'm always here for you, dear. Just take your time."
*Sigh* "Well…here goes. I really like her. She's really pretty. And nice. And I've been trying really hard to get her to go out with me…"
"Did you try sending her flowers?"
"Yeah."
"And serenading her?"
"Uh huh. I sang to her outside her window. That didn't go over very well."
"Did she see you…last night? While you were…outside?"
"Yeah. She did."
"I see. How did that go?"
"Well…she got all excited…then she got dressed up really pretty…and we ended up going for a walk in the moonlight."
"That sounds nice."
"We kissed…until sunrise."
"Hmmm. Did she see you…all the time?"
"Uh huh."
"And how did she take it?"
"Well…at first, she didn't believe it was really me. She kept asking what I did with the 'hunk'. She also kept fainting. She finally asked when the next full moon was. And I sort of explained to her how the lunar calendar worked. She said 'good things are worth waiting for.' "
"I see. Are you going to keep seeing her?"
"I guess."
By dint of gentle effort, persistent questions, and uncanny insight at piecing together stories from fragmentary replies, she had managed to draw out of her son the essential narrative.. And being a dutiful son, he now felt impelled to ask the wisest of the wise what his next course of action should be. "What should I do, Mom?"
And she answered in her firm matronly way. "Be how your father and I raised you, son. Always be a gentleman. Try not to let yourself be taken advantage of, but, on the other hand, always treat a lady courteously and keep your word to her. You've a good head on your shoulders and a good heart. I know life hasn't always been easy for you, but I'm confident you'll make out fine in the world."
There was a moment's lull.
"Wilford…can you come by the house this Friday for dinner? Or can your father and I drop by and take you out?"
"I can drop by, Mom."
"Good. There are some things we need to tell you. I think it'll help with you and your young lady."
"Thanks Mom. And thanks for the call."
"Until Friday, then. I love you, Wilford. Your father sends his love. Goodbye."
"Love you, too, Mom. Bye."
Wilford sighed with relief. A call from Mom was like a trip to the doctor; something at first to be dreaded, but ultimately for one's own good, and reassuring to know that all was well and on the receiving end of sage wisdom; and, one got a lollypop out of the deal.
And on her side of the telephone line, the mother of Wilford B. Wolf pondered deeply. This morning's conversation following a Full Moon Night departed radically from the usual script. So…it had begun; she had nursed her dear son through many bouts of dashed hopes and broken expectations. And someone had arisen from the female gender who had beheld with her own eyes the conflicted phenomenon that was Wilford Bellerophon Wolf.
Many girls had made his acquaintance. Few would give the bespectacled scholarly awkward boy even a second glance. Those who did were frightened by the monthly metamorphosis into a strapping toothsome young demigod. And those who were drawn by the young demigod were repelled by the morning reversion back into the bespectacled awkward kid. But someone had seen both sides of the coin…and was not repelled.
Wilford's mother studied carefully the account of the evening's events the way a thoroughness of a forensic investigator; the girl initially rejected his clumsy efforts at a romantic overture with definite hostility; and she changed her tune when his alter ego appeared.
"Good things are worth waiting for," the mystery girl had said. This might bespeak volumes; or it might indicate nothing. The girl might be fortune-hunting gold-digger; she might be after only a tawdry one night stand; or she might be the one wise enough to look through not one, but two contradictory appearances, to discover the pearl of great price. This girl might be the consort of a wolf both blessed and cursed by destiny. Only time would tell.
to be continued
This was square one of my tale. This was where I began composing. If there's anything that drives fan-writers, it's the relationshipping. We correct the defects and the oversights of the stories we're drawn to. We fix what's wrong and supplement what's right; which is a totally arrogant attitude regarding the source material, assuming we can improve on the original. If a written story is good enough to be published and widely enjoyed, then the writer must have some talent and insight. But within the parameters of fan-fiction, it is permitted to play fast and loose. And there is nothing more appealing, in my opinion, than two people drawn together in spite of themselves.
The question occurred to me during the initial writing; who is the more superficial? Is it Minerva, who wants a handsome husband with rich parents, or Wilford, who is attracted by purely sensual appeal? And am I being wearily moralizing for posing the question? All will be made plain. The purpose of any story at last one with some kind of redemptive framework, is for the characters to grow