The Brandywine Prophet

7.4 Marionette Strings

Within a month of the library reunion and their Burger King date, Sarah Huggins moved in with William.

The crooked house at the end of Brandywine Drive was still in need of a woman’s touch, though it was nothing like the web of debris she remembered from the “bad times.” A day of work (with Will’s help!) was all it took to transform the house back into their home.

The first few months brought new struggles to Sarah’s placid heart. Thoughts began to surface; thoughts that she normally buried because they were too despicable to admit. There were times she hoped to catch William in a lie. She knew it was wrong, but if she caught him smoking or drinking, then at least she would know she had the truth. At least that wall of uncertainty would crumble and she would know she wasn’t being duped. As long as Will stayed clean, Sarah was on guard to get hurt.

But William sensed her fears and spent that first year regaining her trust. He stopped hanging out with friends and called her every hour (on the hour) when he went out for groceries. He quit using wood cleaner and mint gum to hide questionable smells, and he let Sarah sniff him like a hound every night before “couple time.” He did these things without complaint, and even suggested new ways in which she could help him stay on track.

Sarah had a difficult time coming to terms with their new routine. On one hand, she didn’t trust her boyfriend to act responsibly on his own, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the pain if he “slipped” again. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be controlling. She held a tighter leash on William than she expected to have on her future children, and even though she knew it was necessary, she hated herself for it.

As part of their dating agreement, he promised he would attend Sunday sermons with an open mind. A new church sprung up on Boulevard and peaked Sarah’s interest. She attended a service alone to investigate their belief system, and when she was certain it meshed with her own, she brought her boyfriend.

William was surprisingly accepting of The Church of the Dunes. Sarah knew that his pursuit of logic clashed with the bulk of the sermon, but he kept bitter comments to himself. He even mouthed the words to the hymns and--on the way home--complimented the piano player. The only time he seemed uncomfortable was during refreshments and fellowship when several church-members introduced themselves. He reacted to their outstretched hands as if customary handshakes were a foreign gesture, then he piddled his way through small talk until Sarah said, “It was nice meeting you,” and pulled him away.

The duality of Will’s social existence puzzled her. When William was Bill, he was in his element around people. Back then, there seemed to be layers of friends, employees, women from Chicago to Brandywine, and a network of drug connections only a call away. But then he told her stories of his solitude, trapped in the house while using, safe in the house while getting clean... months and years without human interaction and even now--when Sarah dragged him to a church or a family function--he couldn’t handle it. His body tensed and his palms became clammy. At a head-and-shoulder above the others, Will said he felt out of place in his own skin; hunched over with a distant voice and weak sense of humor.

Sarah finally got it: William’s social behavior was strongest when he was in a dominant role. When a group was placed under his command, his underlings became his buddies. When “Bill” was forced to converse with his equals where manners and small talk were expected, he relied on drugs to loosen him up. Weed calmed his nerves. Speed helped access his sense of humor, often turning the evening’s entertainment into “The Billy Carmel Hour.” When Sarah took away his stimuli, she unknowingly clipped his wings.

Christmas Eve of 1986: William gathered logs from the back half of the stables from a pyramid of wood he cut as a child. As the story went, Billy and his father spent a full month dismantling a thirty-foot maple that had grown too close to the house. Will told Sarah that splitting timber made him buff--that he was never stronger than he was that summer--but he hated every repetitive minute of that mindless job.