The Demotivation of Charlie Fitts- Part I

(This short story that will be published in 5 parts.)

Part I: A Typical Day at College (Until It Wasn’t)

“Hi, what are you reading?” John asked Charlie as he entered the room. Charlie ignored him, absorbed in his book. His roommate stood looking at Charlie for 10 seconds expecting an answer. When none was received, he stepped closer and grabbed the book from his hands.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Charlie demanded.

“Just trying to get an answer,” John replied. Turning the book right-side up, he read the title: “Apathy and Indifference: How to Waste Your Life Without Even Trying” by Stanley Bickerhoff.

“No wonder you didn’t answer me,” John said derisively while trying not to laugh. Charlie just looked the other way, not bothering to reply.

“It seems like you just read a book by this guy. What was it called? Oh, yeah. The Art Of Being Naive: How To Get Ahead By Taking Everything For Granted. Why do you read this stuff, dude? Are these supposed to be some kind of self-help books? Because if so, I can tell you they don’t seem to be helping you get anywhere but confused.”

“Why don’t you shut up and mind your own business?!” Charlie remonstrated as he got up, grabbed the book out of John’s hands, and pushed him away. “You act like all of life’s questions can be answered only by people like Tolstoy.”

“Well, at least Tolstoy writes with substance and meaning. From what you’ve told me, it seems this Bickerhoff guy just goes in circles he can’t get out of…or anyone else can make sense of.” As he said this, he started to remark, “just like you, Charlie” but thought better of it.

“Whatever, John. I don’t care what you think,” Charlie said without looking up.

“Now where have I heard that before?” John said, scratching his chin and rolling his eyes. Realizing he was going to be late for class, he grabbed his book bag and left the room without saying goodbye.

Having already skipped his morning class, Charlie jumped back on his bed, took a sip of his by now cold green tea, and settled in with his book. Before he knew it, ninety minutes had passed, and he had not moved an inch. Feeling the need to stretch, he stood up and extended his arms above his head with the book still in one hand. “Wow, only two chapters to go and I just started reading this last night before bed! Why do I find this writer so easy to read?” he said, not realizing he was talking aloud to himself. “I don’t know but I’m glad Dad introduced me to his work.”

Charlie’s father was not what one might call a role model of success but at least he was an avid reader. He always made sure Charlie had access to books growing up and had no hesitation recommending his favorites to his son. At forty-four years old, he had longed to have gotten further in life than as an assistant at an insurance agency- a job he had held for fifteen years. Charlie didn’t hold it against him for his father had a seemingly comfortable and steady, though mundane, career. He often heard him speak about wanting a more prosperous life but something always seemed to hold him back from realizing his ambitions. The only discipline Dad seems to have is in reading and more reading, he thought. Charlie, without even knowing it, had developed the same habits and approach to life. For father and son, a day could never truly be wasted if it were a day they finished another book. Yet, more than once, Charlie noticed that even on days his father finished a book, there was little joy and much emptiness in his facial expressions and words. He never could quite figure out why and was afraid to ask him about it.

Hearing the alarm on his clock go off, Charlie glanced at the time: 12:30 p.m. He had a Shakespeare class in fifteen minutes he couldn’t afford to miss and had not eaten anything yet. He quickly got dressed by throwing on an unbuttoned flannel shirt over his t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his hiking boots. He didn’t bother to comb his hair but fit his Orioles cap on backwards, grabbed two packs of pretzels and his book bag, filled up his water bottle, and went to class. The day was Wednesday, and this was the first class he had attended all week. As was his habit, he had already skipped as many as he could for the semester before failing. I’m glad fall vacation begins tomorrow as I’m tired of pretending I am getting anything out of college, he thought to himself en route.

Upon entering the classroom, Charlie practically ran to the isolation of a corner desk in the back row. He felt safer there, out of the direct line of sight of the professor. Though he couldn’t fully articulate why, in his mind, he was like a sinner in the back pew of a church and his professor was a preacher eagerly looking for someone to make feel guilty. It didn’t matter which class it was, this was always the premise of how he approached his academic career- it was me versus the world. Charlie never took time to think that maybe it was actually me versus myself- maybe because he was not one for much self-reflection and even during the rare occasions he indulged, he was not inclined to do anything about what he learned. He had a few minutes before class started, so he opened his book, seeking to finish a few pages. As soon as he concluded the paragraph he was on, he was startled by someone calling his name from a seemingly far off distance.

“Mr. Fitts, if it is not too much of an interruption of your personal studies, would you mind joining us today?”

Charlie looked up to see who was speaking to him, not aware that he had been so engrossed in his reading he had not heard the professor calling him more than once.

“Oh, uh hi Mr. Stevenson. Did you need something?” Charlie fumbled his reply, much to the laughter of his fellow students.

“I don’t need anything, Mr. Fitts, but your grades are in desperate want of your attention. I am sure my lectures can’t compare to whatever book you are enjoying, but would you kindly answer the question I asked you?” Mr. Stevenson retorted.

“Uh, sure. What was the question, sir?” Charlie asked with much uncertainty.

“For the third time, the question is: in this passage from Hamlet we have been discussing, what did Shakespeare mean with the statement, “to thy own self be true?”

Trembling and stroking his brown goatee, Charlie sought a way to buy time to think of a decent answer. But every eye was impatiently on him so he decided to say something in hopes the professor would not further engage him and just move on to someone else.

“Well, Shakespeare could certainly turn a phrase, but in my opinion, he is a bit overrated. My initial thought is that ‘to thy own self be true’ means “don’t think, just do,” Charlie concluded, not exactly sure what he even meant.

Pausing a moment, the forty-five year old clean-shaven, bespectacled, and long-haired professor just peered at Charlie. “Would you like to elaborate on your answer?” he asked, trying to draw him out-to not only make Charlie think but to seek the meaning behind his reply.

“Not really,” Charlie said to the amusement of his classmates.

“Too bad. Well, Mr. Fitts has given us an answer that may or may not bring clarity to Shakespeare’s admonition. Would anyone else like to attempt and see if Mr. Fitts and Mr. Shakespeare’s comments are congruous at all?” the professor asked to encourage discussion.

A few moments passed by without a volunteer; not because the class was uninterested in the material- to the contrary, they had enjoyed lively discussions most of the semester. Their hesitation was due to the fact this was the first time Charlie had spoken in class, and no one was sure he made any sense.

Suddenly, the young lady sitting in front of Charlie raised her hand and attempted to compare the wisdom of Shakespeare and Charlie Fitts. She didn’t know Charlie or pretend to understand him but she was not one afraid to share her thoughts.

“I think when you compare ‘to thy own self be true’ and ‘don’t think, just do,’ you see that Mr. Fitts is basically saying, ‘If you overthink your proposed choice of action, you could wind up being hypocritical to what you believe. In other words, your first instinct or choice is most reflective of your beliefs and who you are so just do whatever your first thought is.”

“Interesting summation, Ms. Fitzpatrick,” the professor replied. “Mr. Fitts, would you care to confirm if this is what you meant?”

“I guess this is what I meant,” Charlie stated trying to convince himself and the professor.

“Well, it sounds like our man of few words has possibly said a lot. But I am not so sure Shakespeare is rolling over in his grave fearful he will take over his mantle as the greatest English writer,” Mr. Stevenson said to the guffaws of the class.

After class ended, Charlie started making his way to the next one. He walked swiftly down the hall impervious to the attention of others. Unexpectedly, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a girl standing behind him. As she paused a moment to catch her breath, Charlie wondered what she wanted.

“Hey, you’re Charlie, right?” asked the auburn-haired beauty, Cara Fitzpatrick.

“As far as I know,” said Charlie in a half-joking manner. He found her reaction to be anything but cheerful as her almond-colored eyes squinted with frustration. His body language offered no further invitation to a conversation, so Cara proceeded to ask him the question she had stopped him for.

“Do you want to grab some coffee? I was wondering if we could talk about what you said in class. I’d really like to know if I was right about my interpretation to what you said regarding the meaning of “to thy own self be true.”

Charlie stared at her with a puzzled look, both of his eyebrows raised. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to her. He assumed she just wanted to justify herself by showing off her intelligence. He responded with a simple, “I don’t really know what I meant. Why don’t you just go by whatever your first instinct is?” as he laughed, promptly proceeded to turn around and left her standing by herself. 

Underwhelmed by his answer, Cara Fitzpatrick remained still, her palms raised in bewilderment and dissatisfaction, and her mind wondering what, if anything, made Charlie Fitts tick.

After his last class, Charlie went back to the dorm, planning to finish his Bickerhoff book. Little did he know that would be the last thing he would have time for very shortly.