Desire to Will

As I lingered in my grasp the familiarity of the front door's carved wood handle lent it's sturdiness to my uneased emotions.

Three more rhythmic rasps shook the frame, reverberating through my hand, sending jolts to the rest of my body. Stirred from personal musings I turned the knob to completion, opening the door. At the same time, a mask of enthusiasm layered over my hesitancy.

On the other side was Grant, and with him a sense of guilt that burrowed into me. He walked in and waited, presumably on me to make the next move.

Why was he here so soon?

Maybe he was in a hurry, leaving his home with a purpose in mind that distracted from usual manners. It would explain the sweat-streaked ridges of hair, and the combination of clothing falling well below the threshold of formal. In comparison to my pressed suit, his fit was unkempt and worn, seemingly for days.

My guest remained placid, still only waiting. Grants usual way about him, always seeming to be watching, not necessarily watching me, but just always observing more often than actually putting himself into situations.

All the same, he made me tense, even more so than usual over the last month. Ever since losing his notebook, an unsuspecting black Moleskine, as worn as its owner, he'd become more irritable with every visit, up to the point when last week Grant had rejected his usual apathetic attitude and opted for a more direct approach, forgetting himself, snapping at both me and our friend Alan.

"You're fashionably early." Looking past him, I searched for other guests, coming up short.

"Are the others with you?"

"Just me Jackson." said Grant, with as much abruptness as possible.

My inner turbulence rolled out across the mood. The thought crept through that Grant could sense it immediately.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to come." I said with a smile, hoping it would outshine my deficiencies.

Grant made a sharp sigh, although I'd say none of the moments pressure was released.

Could he know now would be when I was most vulnerable? Coming before anyone else arrived to make an attempt at finishing what he started during his last visit.

I shouldn't let my curiosity wander. If need be a simple reminder of his place will do. For now, I'll commit to my underhanded warmth.

Motioning for him to sit on the foyer bench he untied his shoes, and pulled off his coat. I closed the door behind us before leading my way down the hall to the main room. Grant trailed along.

I sat myself down on one of two chairs facing one another across the length of the coffee table. Releasing my stiffened breaths in choppy tufts I sank into the olive green leather of my new support.

Walking past me Grant took his place in the other chair, carrying a hint of something aching to be let out, eyeing me for seconds stretched longer between every stale blink.

Seeing my chance to set the tone I started, "Do you want a drink?"

Leering at me Grant said, "That's not why I'm here."

It was obvious his forgiveness hadn't fully manifested itself."

"No worries, I thought I'd offer..."

Letting loose his habitual pessimism Grant continued, " Thanks, but it's just another night for me, same as yesterday. No need to celebrate."

I should stop my disquietude, assuming too early. For all I know he relaxed back into passivity over these few days.

"Don't sound so bland. Think of tonight as being for all of us." I regretted my words immediately, realizing their poor execution of being sound advice. "What I mean is, I earned this promotion. We should enjoy it."

A deep glare entrenched itself in the angles of Grant's face, like that something within him had found a leak, paving over his usual pattern of reservation.

"I must not have enough personality for it." He was letting me know he hadn't forgotten my words from our last dispute. Finishing he said."Earned. That's a funny way to put it."

Was he challenging me? I was right, he came to continue on his fit of paranoia and accusations. Before he delves too far I have to act.

"Look, I forgive you for what you did. So it's okay to do the same. No grudges." Leaning forward I propped myself by resting my arms on my knees, staring Grant down I waited for him to carry on his opposition. He didn't.

We both took a moment to reground ourselves. Grant clenched his jaw and stared into the rug beneath us without showing any clue to inner workings beyond the still shell before me. My regrounding, much like his, was also a mental one. I felt myself growing taller with every passing moment that I still held the last word. The silent approval of my guest nourishment for this growth.

Defiantly, Grant's stare found its way to my own, and for a moment I felt utterly exposed. I'd been haughty in my reminder of the past. "What is it you think you see?" I said.

Instead of answering, he ripped the reins away from my grip saying, "So how much was your bonus exactly? Because you're sitting here saying that this night's for all of us, but it's you getting promoted, and on top of that you're getting a bonus too. Feels like this is about us coming here to inflate you even more if anything."

"Does it matter how much? If it means anything, I wasn't expecting it."

It's definitely appreciated though.

"Just thought I'd test your honesty. Friend." Grant let the air sit for a moment before adding, " Twenty grand sure is a big surprise though."

He's toying with me, asking questions he already has the answers to. Thinking he can use his jealousy to back me into a corner. The only way out is to get ahead of it, to call out what it is he thinks he knows before using it against me.

"I made the mistake before of giving you a pass, letting your demeaning of me slip as you dragged on about your nonsense. The truth is, I just have the nerve to take an idea and see it through. I'm sorry you can't act on what it is you want, but I won't be responsible for your despondency. Your own indifference to your position in life is what got you to this place."

I have no misgivings.

"Finally giving in and saying it huh. I've been waiting for your real self to shine, it always makes showing you how dim you are worth it."

Grant readied himself in preparation as if I had just now caught up.

"You asked what it is I see Jackson. Well, I see a scared arrogant man who's lost sight of his own limits. You've expanded yourself out so much that you forgot your own boundaries, and that leaves you utterly vulnerable. You prop upon those around you passing off your personal insights like it's your job to enlighten us. Somehow you've convinced yourself that others are just objects, only this time there's no one else here to prove to you the value of your selfish ways, leavaing you with exactly what you're afraid of. Being alone with your doubts.

With that my mask crumbled, only instead of the ongoing battle with uneasiness prevailing a secret enmity revealed itself to me, a lathing that I had been denying since the time Grant first confronted me. Half-hearted attempts of ignoring swirling anxieties are all I've been offering since his arrival, growing weaker alongside building suspicions.

He thinks he knows so much.

Cutting off my thoughts Grant started again,

"You stole my idea for what could have been a beautiful product and twisted it with your brashness into something despicable. What you call my indifference, I call humbleness." Standing from his chair as if standing against me he continued, "I deserve this night! I only wish I'd believed that sooner. Now it's too late."

Stopping his final thought short, Grant recoiled back into himself.

"Self-appointed humbleness is no different than vanity. You're expressing your hatred for the thing that you whine so much about being what you deserve, thinking it allows you in some way to possess it. It doesn't, and it won't. You can't believe something to be beautiful, yet when it's presented to you, act in disgust just because of the fact that it's not yours. It's pathetic."

Standing before I risked losing my conviction, I walked to the liquor cabinet on the far side of the room. Grabbing a bottle at random I poured myself a glass, just as quickly drinking down the tepid liquid. As I swallowed, I imagined embers. The snaking stream seeped through me, hiding the lingering pressure in the back of my head, and forcing me into the moment.

From behind, Grant's animosity erupted, erratic breaths choked the room, and the closing of a drawer silenced all thought. All that could be sensed was malice. All I felt or knew, was guilt.

Circling back towards him, I saw the exact image I'd been repressing, causing me so much unease.

Standing in the entrance of the hall, next to the stand which until now hid my truths, Grant held his notebook.

On the open page were blueprints sketched by the hand that now repossessed them. They were an early design of the product I'd sold to the company we work for.

I have no grounds left to neglect my reality.

He turned to face me, freezing me with an omniscient gaze, and stepped towards me.

Crystalizing all around us, his intent seemed to upset the room entirely, as though it were just a singular object to be pushed aside by the sweeping arc of pulsating yells that now surged forth, words mixed into one another forming one incoherent wave.

The perfected utterances of his suffering. This building swell, willed to release, pierced through me, illuminating with absolute clarity my embodying of a mortifying mediocrity.

"I didn't steal your idea."

I said, knowing there was no space for it, yet all the same, this is what I have to believe. For my sake.

"I thought of the same idea, or at least something similar. I just hadn't finished the concept. Eventually, I would have wound up at the same place yours took you."

It makes sense. I did do all the work of creating it, so that makes me just as much the owner as him.

My words had no effect, neither would my thoughts. Grant's usual watchfulness came back over him, and this time there was no confusion. He was watching me, and only me.

I'm blind to anything left to say.

The sudden contrast between his all-encompassing agony, and the premature return of conventional detachment, hollowed me.

For the first time since I can remember, I feel myself subject to my peer, waiting on him to make the first move.

"You never did ask me why I came early Jackson."

"Why?..."

Taking a deep breath, Grant released that something aching to be let out.

"I only came for what's mine. I'm done. Like I said, I deserve this."

Turning down the hall Grant began to leave, the last thing I heard was,

"I still have my will, you left me with that."

The closing of the door was the last blow to my defenses.

No longer shielded by my puffed up truths, I'm left with the inescapable truth of my inferiority, and a lonely abandoning warmth that seeps through the crevices of my identity.

Thirty prolonged minutes later, three crooked taps rang against the front door. Clasping the lifeless wood of the handle I opened the door. On the other side stood my guests, here to celebrate.