Here I sit on a rough hewn windowsill, amidst gnarled branches strumming wretched anthems on shards of glass. Ah, this is a fine day, the first day of spring. At the start of spring, the landscape here bears little difference from that of winter, existing as a theoretical axis- a turning point promising better days to come. We've had an odd winter this year; the snow has all but melted.
It's warm today like summer, and except for a lack of green on the ground, it reminds of springtime back in the old country. I've been here so damn long, counting the days making the years, that I know this day well. On this day, the first rays of the morning sun align perfectly with loose nail of the wall's center cove molding. What can I say? It's how I mark time.
My name is William, otherwise dubbed Poor Will. I've been calling this old two story framework house my home for more years than I'd care to remember. But wait, someone's coming up the drive.
A young couple disembark their dilapidated Model A coupe. They laugh as its engine coughs, some moments after being off, as if hinting indignantly for a thank you. I've never got to ride in such a modern conveyance; my four wheels were powered by horses. You could say, in my day, it was hay burners all the way. But I digress. Let's watch.
The young man takes some steps away from his best girl to fish his phallus from his trousers. She covers her mouth and giggles as he sends forth a steaming amber stream to slash through the crystalline remains of a snowdrift. Very impressive, but his ample inches don't hold a candle to mine; I was really hung, as they say.
I know these two quite well, her especially. Her name is Becky; his...I forget. Oh wait, it's George, I remember now, her army boy. They met here twice last fall, entertaining me with their lover's trysts. Be good to her, George, as I feel protective of her; I did, after all, watch her grow up. She was born in this house, back in 1920, or so said the calendar.
When she was eleven, her folks scraped their funds together, in the form of so many fifty cent pieces, resolving to leave this place for better lodgings. I should mention that their savings came from their sale of home brew, a profitable side line to farming back then.
They never knew of the huge stash of many, much older coins in the wall. I made efforts to have them found, as I hated to see them suffer in poverty. They couldn't understand my hints, so I made myself useful by warning them of the feds finding their whiskey still. Fortunately, Becky never knew of any uncouth happenings here to taint her childhood memories.
I missed them when they left. Becky did return, on rare occasion, to play with her abandoned toys in secret. How often I sat as the guest of honor at her tea parties. Some of the time, I thought she could see me.
More about me, Poor Will: Back when I first came to these parts, this was a house of ill repute. I had yet to know physical love, and it was my curiosity, more than anything, that brought about my downfall. I came to see a girl on the recommendation of a man on my survey crew. I knocked on the door to meet an unassuming woman who relieved me of my money before directing me to Rachel's room.
She winked as she poured me a tin mug of strong liquor. I followed her, with my knees weak and my heart in my throat, up the dimly lit staircase. I ventured upward, ruefully awash in the air of cheap perfume and even cheaper booze. On meeting Rachel however, I was duly impressed.
She was all she was said to be, voluptuous and beautiful beyond description. She wore a ruffled bodice with laced up black stockings. Her brown eyes sparkled as she cranked the wick of her bedside lamp and patted the mattress beside her. I stumbled, having lost my balance while untying my boots; I toppled head first into the welcoming flesh of her lilac scented bosom. She laughed at my apparent eagerness to make her acquaintance.
"Well hello, I'm Rachel," she murmured, "And who might you be?" I was right on top of her. My lips trembled, nuzzling the dry warmth of her elegant neck. I closed my eyes to the bliss of this sinful encounter.
"Call me Will, I'm Will," I managed. I kissed her clumsily behind her ear while kneading at her teats like a hungry kitten. Lusty surges threatened my early release.
"Will, I must ask with respect that you climb off me. You must relax," she said. "This is your first time, isn't it?" I hated how this beauty was called a whore.
"Yes ma'am," I muttered, blushed and flustered. I struggled to recall the gory how-to's and where-of's, slurred out to me by my cohort back at camp.
We sat side by side on the bed, holding hands as she gazed into my eyes. My erection subsided as I learned of her expected wage. I offered her up a hefty tip of fifty cents which she took and slipped into a crack in the wall. "Why Rachel?"
"Well Will, a girl has to look out for herself. They expect a percentage of tips downstairs. I'll get it back someday. Then I'll be free."
I wondered if she'd marry me. Marry me, Rachel. I swallowed tears.
We heard a commotion downstairs. A big drunken brute, by the sounds of things, was demanding Rachel's services. Rachel hurriedly dressed as I fumbled to jam a chair against the door knob. If only I'd noticed it opened outwards.
I fought the good fight but was woefully outmatched. He must have weighed in at three hundred pounds, with fists like sledgehammers. I blinded him with the contents of my mug, thinking quickly under duress to even the odds. I'd turned to check on Rachel when he lunged. I turned on my heels to receive a precision uppercut, sending me hurtling across the room. I went limp at the cracking of my nape on the window sill. All went a sickly black.
