            The Inauguration of a Responsible Man


     It was truly an odd affair. Even now, years after the incident, I
still vividly remember the details. It isn't due to my having a good
memory or anything like that, but mainly because over the years I have
read the letter over and over, never quite allowing it to be released from
my consciousness.
     During that summer we had been engaged to be married. Our first
encounter had been at university out east; it had begun innocently enough
when I was tardy for a history lecture and Will had been generous to lend
me his excellent notes.
     Aside from our mutual Canadian history course, we had only two other
classes together, one in Shakespearean literature and the other in
mathematics. Will preferred structured courses; he was good at analyzing
and thinking out problems, but shied away from creative work. Meanwhile, I
preferred the excitement of creating poetry and song. To tell the truth, I
had always maintained that Will had superb imaginative talent, but he
would laugh and decree, "Sorry, none of that for me".
     Our relationship progressed relatively quickly during those months. I
often joked about how other women were courted with roses and carnations,
while Will courted me with a set of trigonometry formulae. 
     After exams, we went off to our respective families. At the end of
the month I was to have travelled out west by train to meet his family and
hopefully find work there in the city for the rest of the summer break.
     Since Will's 'down-to earth' behaviour impressed me so much, I was
overly curious to meet his younger brother, Micky. By Will's own
admission, Micky was far more dynamic and I imagined that they must have
contrasted greatly, being brought up together in the same family.
     I never did meet Micky, but he has been in sporadic contact with me
for several years.
     I prefer to reveal the letter; not surprisingly, it is exceedingly
clear and well written even though its contents are extremely difficult to
stomach. My own feelings about Will's misconception of responsibility
don't really matter at this point. The letter is provided here in its
complete form:

     To all those who may be affected by this letter, first and foremost,
my fiancee Julie:
     I would like to apologize for any anguish that I may have caused to
anyone either in the past (prior to this letter) or any inconveniences now
caused by the release of this letter.
    It's now two in the morning and I am sitting alone in my room at my
parents' home contemplating how this horrid inexcusable business began. I
guess that ever since we were young children, my brother and I had always
enjoyed practical jokes. The thrill of a good prank would always set my
heart on fire; I could feel the blood pumping through my veins to the tune
of quick, short, gasping breaths that spelled my anticipation of the
potential outcome.
     Although I was three years older than Micky, he was always the leader
when it came to carrying out these pranks. That's not really true, since I
myself had thought up most of the ideas, but would never have had the
balls (pardon me) to go through with the operation without my brother.
Actually, if I hadn't had a slightly restraining attitude, I think he may
have gone way overboard in many instances. It may have been cute and
harmless to call people up on the telephone and have a laugh, but letting
the air out of car  tires in forty below zero weather is in effect quite
cruel.
     Being several years older, I guess it had always seemed natural that
I ensure that Micky didn't do any real damage. On the other hand, I had
always been the one to put him up to all these gags. I was always the one
to first suggest a prank. We would choke ourselves laughing about the
possible outcome of the prank, and then Micky would get impatient, "Come
on, what are you waiting for? Let's do it!"
     At this point, I'd usually argue half-heartedly, "We can't do that,
what if they find out?" In the end he would always pacify me by saying,
"Allright, if you're chicken then I'll do it myself. Just stay on the
lookout.."
     By his answer, the reply of a fourteen year old boy, I know now that
he had already learned what I am really discovering only tonight. Perhaps
I have hidden from the truth myself, but only now am I fully aware of it.
     I'm not sure that I ever showed any responsibility at all. I simply
may have used Micky to pull off all those gags that I myself never had the
nerve to attempt. All my weak and inevitably ineffective endeavours to
dissuade him from doing a certain stunt may well have been an act; I
desperately wanted him to do my dirty work. If I had felt any real
responsibility or guilt about the gags, I would never have even suggested
them.
     It is certainly true that Micky may have subconsciously used me in
the same manner; after all, he could hide under the protective wings of
youth. If and when caught, he could always claim that his big brother put
him up to the gag. He knew that the older conspirator, (namely me) was far
more likely to take the rap for having pulled the prank.
     It's easy now to see that it was my fault; in retrospect it's always
easier to put the blame on someone. However, I really could have prevented
the whole stupid episode if I had really been the solid, responsible
citizen that people have been mistaking me for ever since I was eight
years old.
     A little while ago my brother discovered that when he tuned in to a
certain shortwave station on the radio, he could eavesdrop on mobile
telephone operators and hear the calls that go through the switchboards.
We would laugh ourselves to stitches listening to the innocent, unaware
callers in the midst of private conversations. There was the guy who
boasted to his friend that he had been cheating on his wife for years, and
the caller who surprised his wife by calling from his car parked on the
street in front of their house to tell her that he was home. There were
romantic stories, people who embezzled money and cheated on their income
tax returns, boring people with absolutely nothing to say, and even those
who spoke foreign languages so that we never understood a word. I guess
that by far the arguments were the most exciting; occasionally there would
be cursing and swearing until either the caller or the person at the other
end of the line would become angry enough to slam down the phone. After a
few seconds the mobile operator would perk up the line by asking, "Mobile,
are you through?" This would be met either by continued silence or a
rather vehement, "Yes, dammit!"
     Well, very quickly we became bored with our new discovery. When
you've heard one romantic conversation or one argument, all the others
sound remarkably similar. I noticed that during the mobile caller's
request to be connected with a given number, we were able to jot down the
number. "Wouldn't it be hilarious if we were able to call ahead of the
mobile operator and tie up the line for the caller?"
     There it was again; my idea, that I was anxious to witness, but would
never have carried out. As usual, this was followed by my stern warning
that we were becoming actively involved; until now, noone could really
blame us for simply listening to something that was broadcast over the
radio. However, from this point on (I continued to hypocritically
reprimand) we could get into serious trouble. I told him that I was
leaving the room and that I didn't want any part of the practical joke
that he was about to pull.
     I suppose that the silly sermon I delivered was designed to cover me
in the event of being caught. However, the whole speech was wasted because
when he began to call people and 'warn' them that any second now they
would receive a phone call, I became hooked. I reentered the room without
a second thought.
     As usual, everything progressed. I would jot down the phone number
for my brother, and we'd listen to the conversation. Later, he'd call up
the person at home and try to disguise his voice as the mobile phone
caller who had just hung up. Imagine the surprise when the husband arrives
home and his wife greets him with a 'quarter pounder' even though he had
specifically asked for a 'Big Mac'. "But you called back and changed your
mind, honey, don't you remember?"
     "Look, Elaine", her bewildered husband was likely to have reacted, "I
don't care if you forgot what I asked for or made a mistake; it really
doesn't matter. Just don't try blaming it on me. There are only the two of
us here, so let's try and be honest with each other."
     Often I'd skip out of the room claiming that 'enough is enough'; it's
unfair and really revolting to mess up other people's lives and
businesses. This was my insurance policy renewal; I had done my 'best' to
stop him, but he just hadn't listened. Inevitably I would be back, and
Micky was well aware of this.
     My brother got bolder with his practical jokes, until the last one
that he played. I felt very badly about his having called a young man to
change an appointed meeting with a friend to another location. This was
really interfering with innocent people's lives and I wish I had stopped
Micky or at least called the man myself (I knew his telephone number,
after all) to clear up the mess. However, I had always done the opposite;
I 'egged-on' my brother, pushing him to become more and more daring by my
weak, self-righteous lectures.
     Perhaps my timid, ineffective efforts to dissuade Micky from
continuing a certain prank were not really a conscious attempt to urge him
on to even more provocative action. Nevertheless, I discovered that in
effect, I wasn't driven by any responsibility at all. In fact, I couldn't
have cared less for the fate of the guy that Micky had sent to the wrong
side of the city to meet his pal. I was only worried about the possibility
of being caught. I am not really sure that I even cared very much what
would have happened to Micky if that tough, young guy were to have caught
him. I must have been far more preoccupied with how something like that
would have affected me personally; my parents would blame me for
everything, knowing that I should have prevented Micky from exaggerating.
     This discovery led me to postulate that the much admired trait that
my peers and elders so often confused with responsibility was really only
driven by fear. Perhaps it's not easy  (for those of you who have born
with me for so long) to comprehend the depth of this personal
enlightenment. It is reminiscent of the way Samuel Butler's hero felt in
"Erewhon or over the range". One realizes that one's best quality or
feature, in the eyes of both others and oneself, is that one is afraid.
     I knew that Micky shouldn't have gone out that night. I was sure that
I had heard subtle clicks on the telephone line all day; having read
detective stories, I was convinced that somehow that enraged young man had
managed to trace the calls that Micky had made. We both had heard him
swear on his next mobile phone call that he would catch Micky and make him
pay. It was rather foolish of Micky to call him again and make him even
more livid.
     I don't think that I managed to sleep at all that evening. When I
flipped on the radio just an hour ago and heard that a teenager was shot
coming out of a parking lot downtown, I knew that he had been caught.
     I am beginning to feel drowsy now; it's the combined effect of the
late hour, my earlier fitful attempts to sleep, the spent emotions from
telling this story, and mostly from the bottle of chemicals wandering
through my bloodstream and into my tissues urging me on into indefinite
slumber...


     Well, thinking back over the years, William could be credited with a
tremendous imagination; the same imagination that had allowed him to think
up all those unusual practical jokes. Although the news had broadcast a
shooting incident in the city on that fateful night, the wounded youth
(who was later released from hospital with only light wounds), with his
long red hair and scraggly beard, did not fit Mickey's description. In
actual fact, Micky had already driven home to their parents' place and was 
safe and sound, long before Will had even swallowed the pills. It was Will's
obsession with guilt and  responsibility that triggered his imagination
and cost him his life.
     That was a difficult summer for me. The immediate shock and emptiness
left by his death were slowly replaced by a raging anger that has yet to
be quelled with the advance of time. He was obsessed with proving that he
was a valid, responsible entity. Well, William certainly proved that he
could take ultimate responsibility (for what he had thought was his
brother's death); it certainly wasn't fear that drove him to his suicide.
Unfortunately, he is not around today to appreciate the responsible status
that he acquired, because in proving himself he had performed the most
irresponsible act imaginable.
                         

