A Hour In The Life Of William

20 minutes and 2 bowls later he finally got her upstairs. It was easy. She was so smashed. As he tried to negotiate her Gucci halter-top, she unbuttoned his pants and he instantly (somewhat pathetically, he thought) got hard. The sex was static and resembled something close to robotic. There was nothing. Will noticed, but didn’t care to point out to her that she was lying in a puddle of beer. He pulled out, got up off the floor and lit a cigarette by the window. That was the emptiest sex he’d had this semester. William Ashton Roberts was a 19-year-old sophomore hanging on by a thread of his family’s generous financial contributions to Northfield College. Will really wasn’t all that concerned about academic standing; he’d been kicked out of schools before and someone always fixed things for him. There was lovely Deerfield, where he had sold copious amounts of weed (and some slightly harder drugs) only to get finally busted for it. Then there was the Choate incident with that young French teacher; Will didn’t even think the sex had been that remarkable. People said that he had inherited his classic good looks- tall and dark with careless hair- from his mother and Will didn’t mind this, since she was the second-most most beautiful woman he had ever met and very wealthy, besides. Mother came from an affluent Savannah family, typical Southern belle- she’s was the one with the money. She had met Will’s father when they were both abroad: she studying French impressionism at the Sorbonne, he getting by on 5 francs and a pack a day, his only means of income supplied by his mediocre poetry sporadically published in a local Left bank paper. Will guessed they’d been in love at some point but these days, Mother was screwing the accountant and Dad just had his poetry, which Will always thought was kind of lame anyway. They were still married, his parents, and this was perhaps the most depressing thing of all. His father, a professor Emeritus of Literature at the University of Virginia stays in a run-down little cottage not far from the campus. Will could’ve gone to UVA but the thought of fours years in such close proximity to his father made him ill. Anyway, he probably would’ve O.D.’d on all the sketchy drugs he would take in attempt to deal with his father’s depression, gotten beat up by a frat boy and eventually failed out. Not that he was doing so stellar up here at Northfield but at least the weed was good. Will didn’t think that he “dated” but all the easy freshman girls were attracted to him. William would watch them at parties, if only to ward off boredom, and every now and then he would get drunk enough and screw one of them. He would wake up the next morning feeling vacant hung-over, and lonely. It was how he usually felt in the mornings and it was only at night, when Will was drunk, at parties, that he could almost stop thinking about his dad’s poetry or mother’s drinking.Will took a last drag of his cigarette and wished he hadn’t wasted that last eighth on her. Feeling vaguely horny again, he nudged the girl on the floor with his foot, only to find her passed out. He thought about screwing her again but decided against it. He lit another cigarette, watching the snow that had begun to fall outside the window.