William (Will) Holloman Character Analysis

BEEF

gets passed down like name-brand
T-shirts around here. Always too big.
Never ironed out.

gets inherited like a trunk of fool’s
gold or a treasure map leading
to nowhere.

ANOTHER THING ABOUT THE RULES

They weren’t meant to be broken.
They were meant for the broken

to follow.

NO. 1.1: SURVIVAL TACTICS (made plain)

Get
down
with
some
body

or

get
beat
down
by
some
body.

I WRAPPED MY FINGERS

around the grip, placing
them over Shawn’s
prints like little
brother holding big
brother’s hand again,

walking me to the store,
teaching me how to
do a Penny Drop.

[...] I thought about this when the man with
the gold chains got on and checked to see if the
L button was already glowing. I wondered if he knew
that in me and Shawn’s world, I’d already chosen to be

a loser.

Then
the bus-stop
lean back
to get a glimpse

of the world.

But the metal barrel
dug into my back,
making me wince,
making me obvious

and wack.

SHE BRUSHED HER HAND AGAINST MINE

to get my attention,
which on any other
occasion would’ve
been the perfect
open for me to flirt
or at least try to do
my best impression of Shawn,

which was
his best impression of Buck.

WHEN THEY SAID

you were gone,
I cried all night,

I confessed.

And the next morning,
over hard-boiled eggs
and sugar cereal,
Shawn taught me
Rule Number One—

no crying.

I stood in the shower
the next morning
after Shawn taught me
the first rule,
no crying,
feeling like
I wanted to scratch
my skin off scratch
my eyes out punch
through something,
a wall,
a face,
anything,
so something else
could have
a hole.

So I explained them to
her so she wouldn’t think
less of me for following
them

[...]

So that she knew I had
purpose

and that this was about
family

and had I known
The Rules when we
were kids I would’ve
done the same thing

for her.

Fly.
Like Shawn.
Foreshadowing the flash.

BUT TO EXPLAIN MYSELF

I said,

The Rules are
the rules.

He knew them
like I knew them.

Passed to him.
Passed them to his little brother.
Passed to my older brother.
Passed to me.

The Rules
have always ruled.

past present future forever.

it was like the word
came out and at the same time
time went in.

Went down
into me and
chewed on everything
inside as if
I had somehow
swallowed
my own teeth
and they were
sharper than
I’d ever known.

The end?

he murmured,
looking at Buck,
motioning for a light.

It’s never the end,

Uncle Mark said,
all chuckle, chuckle.
He leaned toward Buck.

Never.

I was only three.
And I don’t remember that.
I’ve always wanted to,

but I don’t.

I so don’t.

A BROKEN HEART

killed my dad.
That’s what my mother
always said.

And as a kid
I always figured
his heart
was forreal broken
like an arm
or a toy

or the middle drawer.

WHAT YOU THINK YOU SHOULD DO?

he asked.

Follow the Rules,

I said
just like I told
everybody else.

Just like you did.

BUT YOU DID WHAT YOU HAD TO DO,

I said,
after listening to
my father admit
what I had already
known,

The Rules
are the rules.

I didn’t know
he wasn’t the right guy,

Pop said,
a tremble in
his throat.

I was sure that was Mark’s killer.

Had
to
be.

A DUMB THING TO SAY

would’ve been to
tell Buck how important
that soap was

that it stopped Mom from
scraping loose a river
of wounds.

But instead
I just said,

Riggs.

I TOLD HIM

about the
drawer,
the gun,

that I did
like he told me,
like Buck told him,
like our grandfather told
our uncle, like our uncle
told our dad.

I followed The Rules.
At least the first two.

AND EVEN THOUGH

his face was wet
with tears he wasn’t
supposed to cry
when he was alive,

I couldn’t see him
as anything less
than my brother,

my favorite,
my only.

BEEF

gets passed down like name-brand
T-shirts around here. Always too big.
Never ironed out.

gets inherited like a trunk of fool’s
gold or a treasure map leading
to nowhere.

ANOTHER THING ABOUT THE RULES

They weren’t meant to be broken.
They were meant for the broken

to follow.

NO. 1.1: SURVIVAL TACTICS (made plain)

Get
down
with
some
body

or

get
beat
down
by
some
body.

I WRAPPED MY FINGERS

around the grip, placing
them over Shawn’s
prints like little
brother holding big
brother’s hand again,

walking me to the store,
teaching me how to
do a Penny Drop.

[...] I thought about this when the man with
the gold chains got on and checked to see if the
L button was already glowing. I wondered if he knew
that in me and Shawn’s world, I’d already chosen to be

a loser.

Then
the bus-stop
lean back
to get a glimpse

of the world.

But the metal barrel
dug into my back,
making me wince,
making me obvious

and wack.

SHE BRUSHED HER HAND AGAINST MINE

to get my attention,
which on any other
occasion would’ve
been the perfect
open for me to flirt
or at least try to do
my best impression of Shawn,

which was
his best impression of Buck.

WHEN THEY SAID

you were gone,
I cried all night,

I confessed.

And the next morning,
over hard-boiled eggs
and sugar cereal,
Shawn taught me
Rule Number One—

no crying.

I stood in the shower
the next morning
after Shawn taught me
the first rule,
no crying,
feeling like
I wanted to scratch
my skin off scratch
my eyes out punch
through something,
a wall,
a face,
anything,
so something else
could have
a hole.

So I explained them to
her so she wouldn’t think
less of me for following
them

[...]

So that she knew I had
purpose

and that this was about
family

and had I known
The Rules when we
were kids I would’ve
done the same thing

for her.

Fly.
Like Shawn.
Foreshadowing the flash.

BUT TO EXPLAIN MYSELF

I said,

The Rules are
the rules.

He knew them
like I knew them.

Passed to him.
Passed them to his little brother.
Passed to my older brother.
Passed to me.

The Rules
have always ruled.

past present future forever.

it was like the word
came out and at the same time
time went in.

Went down
into me and
chewed on everything
inside as if
I had somehow
swallowed
my own teeth
and they were
sharper than
I’d ever known.

The end?

he murmured,
looking at Buck,
motioning for a light.

It’s never the end,

Uncle Mark said,
all chuckle, chuckle.
He leaned toward Buck.

Never.

I was only three.
And I don’t remember that.
I’ve always wanted to,

but I don’t.

I so don’t.

A BROKEN HEART

killed my dad.
That’s what my mother
always said.

And as a kid
I always figured
his heart
was forreal broken
like an arm
or a toy

or the middle drawer.

WHAT YOU THINK YOU SHOULD DO?

he asked.

Follow the Rules,

I said
just like I told
everybody else.

Just like you did.

BUT YOU DID WHAT YOU HAD TO DO,

I said,
after listening to
my father admit
what I had already
known,

The Rules
are the rules.

I didn’t know
he wasn’t the right guy,

Pop said,
a tremble in
his throat.

I was sure that was Mark’s killer.

Had
to
be.

A DUMB THING TO SAY

would’ve been to
tell Buck how important
that soap was

that it stopped Mom from
scraping loose a river
of wounds.

But instead
I just said,

Riggs.

I TOLD HIM

about the
drawer,
the gun,

that I did
like he told me,
like Buck told him,
like our grandfather told
our uncle, like our uncle
told our dad.

I followed The Rules.
At least the first two.

AND EVEN THOUGH

his face was wet
with tears he wasn’t
supposed to cry
when he was alive,

I couldn’t see him
as anything less
than my brother,

my favorite,
my only.