WHIT
Raised by a single mother of questionable virtue but fiercely independent intellect. As Whit was growing up, she constantly pushed him to look below the surface and peer behind the facade; her mantra was, “things are rarely what they seem”. This tutelage in distrust and doubt instilled in Whit a countervailing desire for knowledge and learning. This was not a desire his mother discouraged, for it was in fact she who gave Whit the initial push out of the box. Along the way, Whit received additional guidance from a few select teachers who, inspired to do so by Whit's obvious desire, took the extra time to provide him with directions, explanations and interpretations that would help him find where he wanted to go, tell him how to read the signs he would see along the way, and show him what to do once he got there. Whit hit the books running, and by the time he finished high school he had the most well worn library card in town.Along the way, Whit developed the tendency to place more faith, trust and energy in books than people. And people being what people are they reciprocated, not placing much store by him either. This state of affairs created a downward spiral leading to the point where, outside of his relationship with his mother and a teacher or two, Whit was very much alone. Having, however, developed a keen narrative sensibility as a result of all his reading, Whit realized that the situation in which he found himself indicated that he was at the point in the story where the protagonist is forced to leave home to seek his fortune.
Concurrent with this realization was another: that he had had enough of books for now; that it was time for him to see if he could apply his learning and knowledge to life itself. A life spent so far buried in books, however, lent a quixotic tint to Whit's point of view, leading him to regard any sort of quotidian existence as being painfully banal. A life of adventure was the life for him. And so, after a tearful farewell that left his mother feeling a queer mixture of pride and regret, Whit took his packed bags and his life savings down to the bus depot and headed off for parts unknown.
After some time spent stopping off here and checking out there, it began to dawn on Whit that a life of adventure was more easily read than done. First frustration, and then, slowly, despair began to seep in at the edges of his thought. He felt disheartened and thought of returning home to his life of books, a life free of disappointment. It was then that he felt the fear of failure. He stiffened his resolve and vowed to keep on, even though he knew not where. Finally, it occurred to him that if he organized his thought he might better be able to direct his course. Once begun, it did not take him long to come face to face with the fact that he had no goal nor even any idea, but only, simply, a longing. A longing to live the life which, previously, he had only read. It was a longing which Whit gradually and painfully came to realize was destined to go unrequited. Despair once again waited in the wings for its chance to play the leading role in the theatre of Whit's emotions. He was furiously penciling down these thoughts in the spiral-bound notebook he had recently purchased for expressly that purpose when it hit him with the force of a blow. He sat straight up in his seat and stared out at the midnight scenery that lay beyond the window of the bus in which he traveled. But all that lay beyond the window was obscured by his own reflection as it stared back. He could not live the life he read in books, no, but he could write a life, a life of his own, that could not be found in any books but his own; and that it was by so doing, in fact was only by so doing, that he could truly enter the world of books. And so, finally, an idea and a goal took the place of his longing.
It was the next morning that the bus pulled into Fairvale for a five-minute layover. Heading towards the depot, the bus happened to pass the town library. Catching sight of it and linking it immediately and automatically with his memory of the library of his youth provided Whit with the startling realization that his youth, like the library within which he spent so much of it, was now a memory, a part of his past. The present and future lay open to him, waiting like the blank pages of a book that only he could write. Realizing that he now knew what he wanted to do, he read this as a sign that it was here that he wanted to go. Stepping off the bus he walked into a new day.
The first place he set foot in was the Downtown Diner. He started out with a cup of coffee and ended up taking the job of running the counter on the late shift. He's been running it ever since. Working there he's come into contact with a fair share of the townspeople, but he's formed a special bond with Jeff and Kathie, who, like himself, recently found themselves in Fairvale without being exactly sure why.