Typical Billy

I don't particularly like this story, and I probably should keep such indiscretions to myself; but I guess sharing such untalented creation is one step in coming to terms with my inexorable mediocrity.

Typical Billy

Billy did things that most people never did, or even thought of doing. I could give numerous examples, but just following him on an ordinary bike ride on an ordinary day will vividly illustrate his sincere, kind, but very unordinary personality.

As I mentioned, Billy was on his bicycle. It was an older model, and thus had a more ornamented (though some would say bulky) design, complete with a springed seat and handle-bars that curved back towards the rider. As was his wont, Billy was enjoying his ride through the sun and under the trees, and nodded at everyone he passed, even if they were sullenly looking down, or across the street and out of the range of his ebullience.

Presently, he slowed for a turn, made it, then cast his eyes down the long, straight ribbon of sidewalk that stretched, unwaveringly, for as far as his vision allowed. Down the line, Billy saw a man and, presumably, his toddler daughter, aptly toddling beside her father. Billy smiled and pleasurably anticipated nodding at them both.

As he glided up behind them, the little girl stopped and turned, noticing him. The father walked on in ignorance of Billy’s approach, leaving his daughter a few steps behind. He then sensed her absence and slowly spun around. He saw Billy coming quickly towards his girl, and took a step forward to try to pull her out of the way, but stopped as he saw Billy swerve safely to the right onto the grass. Billy smiled and nodded, then, after he had passed both of them, steered back onto the smooth strip of sidewalk.

Half a block later Billy stiffened in realization and squeezed his brakes. Straddling the bike, he flipped it around, thinking: “How discourteous of me!” He pedaled back the way he had come. Almost instantly, he was face-to-face with the man and his daughter again. Billy, completely without embarrassment, nodded once more. The young father returned it for the second time, then turned back for another look as Billy rode on.

Billy pulled into the driveway of the house he had passed just previously, leaned his bike against a hip-height fence, then calmly strode to the front door. He knocked, then waited with his hands joined behind his back.

The doorknob rattled as it was unlocked, then, slowly, the door opened; but just a quarter of the way. An old and half-bald man fit his face in the aperture and looked out, not petulant really, just puzzled.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

Billy smiled, then started confidently, “Yes, sir—my name’s Billy—I hope I’m not interrupting you, but I just felt compelled to tell you that I was forced to ride my bike on your lawn, just for a stretch…” Billy then explained, intricately, what had happened, excluding almost no details. The old man followed Billy’s words, nodding after sentences and blinking frequently, a look of very mild, but genuine, interest in his eyes. Billy finished, concluding with another apology and returned his hands behind his back.

The man continued gazing at Billy, then, realizing, it was his turn to speak, abruptly nodded and said, “That’s fine…uh, yeah, I’m sure you didn’t hurt it.”

Billy nodded, “I hope so, sir; I would never forgive myself if I did. Well, if you see any further signs of damage just come give me a holler, I just live two blocks down in the squat, blue house with the disproportionately large lawn.” Billy pointed and leaned back slightly. The man said Okay and Billy said goodbye; he waved as the man pulled his face back inside and closed the door.

Billy stepped off the porch, softly grinning, and walked to his bike leaning against the fence. He pushed off with one leg and swung the other over the seat.

He then stopped at the library, where he held open the entry doors for a group of milling children—nodding and grinning down at each one—and read for a bit (a couple of detective stories).

As he passed the old man’s house on the way home, Billy smilingly thought over the exchange that had happened there, and felt satisfied with it. However, again, half a block later, a sudden thought sprang up inside his mind and pulled him to an abrupt stop; “What a dolt you are, Billy!” He turned back around and walked up to the old man’s door and knocked, holding the bike against his thigh.

I won’t explicate all the details of the second exchange, for Billy’s behalf. It suffices to say that the man opened the door all the way when he way Billy had returned—revealing his tightly-shirted paunch—and glowered at him, in partially disgusted annoyance (he thought Billy was merely “messing” with him) while Billy apologized for leaving his bike against his fence the first time, and explained that, next time, he would ask his permission to do so.

The man said nothing as Billy grinned at him, waiting for a pleasant reply; he simply nodded jerkily, then hastily sealed himself from Billy with the door. Despite the man’s gruff behavior, Billy thought it went extremely well, and rode off with an unfazed smile, solicitously staying only on the narrow strait of sidewalk.

So that’s Billy; as I said, he is an exceedingly unordinary person, but, whether you take him or leave him, it must be granted, however begrudgingly, that, in some, perhaps maddening way, he is, with every strange act, expanding the limits and shores of human experience.

I liked it.
I'm gonna be straight and say that it didn't go much of anywhere, but I really liked the style that you wrote it in. It was pleasant and had that air of pretentiousness that didn't seem... snobby? Don't get me wrong! It was really well written. I think I'd say it was a bit more aristocratic if anything else.

I enjoyed it a lot. The last sentence kinda bugged me though. It had a lot of breaks in it where a period would've worked wonders.

I'm curious why you decided to write it in the first person. That point of view didn't really add anything to the story, nor the observations that were made from the narrator's point of view. Why not make it a formal 3rd person?