1. Hickey 1
Danielle B. Hickey
Professor David Busis
Fiction Writing Workshop (ENG-329)
8 November 2015
A Family Name
For my final revisions, I focused on creating a stronger resolution in an effort to make
this piece feel more like the standalone short story it is than the beginning of something larger. I
tried to emphasize the small change in Dick by offering a quick glimpse at his second
interactions with Lauren, which hopefully paints a better picture of both Dick’s mindset and the
tone I had intended for the end of the story, both of which are meant to be rather cautiously
optimistic.
“Weird name for someone our age.”
Dick’s gaze continues to linger on the thick welcome packet he had been determinedly
scanning for several moments before he reluctantly concedes that he is being addressed. Upon
hesitantly lifting his head, he is met with the image of two teens not unlike every other currently
attending McCord University’s freshman orientation. The first girl looms over the opposite side
of the table expectantly while the second hangs back, staring resolutely at the check-in tables
and, as a result, offering her face only in profile. Both girls juggle the same unwieldy bundle of
McCord paraphernalia in their arms that earlier Dick had shoved unceremoniously between his
feet on the floor.
As if it had not been immediately obvious which of the two had initially spoken, the first
girl pipes up again. “Richard,” she clarifies over the hum of the crowd, nudging her head in the

2. Hickey 2
direction of the nametag sticker pressed into Dick’s worn T-shirt. The second girl reveals the
rest of her small features when she finally turns to eye Dick’s nametag, but she still resists eye
contact. Dick instinctively follows her stare as if to verify that his name has not changed since
the last time he checked.
It hasn’t.
“Um,” he says, anyway. He brings one hand up to the nametag and picks at one corner.
“I go by Dick,” he adds, seeming uncertain. He pauses, and then, more sedately, “It’s a family
name.” He distractedly curls the upper quarter of the nametag down so that all can be seen is his
last name, Clemens, before his fingertips hide that, too.
The first girl releases a short bark of a laugh before catching herself. Dick stiffens,
mouth twisting. When he looks up, she flashes a toothy grin for just a moment before schooling
her mouth into a more polite smile. Her lips still curl on every syllable as she manages, “So,
you’re Dick Junior, then?”
The self-deprecating grimace on Dick’s face melts into a frown. Dick is not Dick Junior.
Juniors are reserved for sons of fathers who are proud of their boys, who love them and
encourage them and don’t divorce their sons along with their ex-wives.
“My mom’s side,” Dick is murmuring, inwardly wincing at the fact that those words
alone were unlikely to convey that he received his name from his maternal grandfather, who had
died before he was born, and certainly not from his estranged, elusive father, when he is startled
out of his ramblings by a cold shock to one shoulder. He just barely avoids flinching, but only
just.
After a brief moment of composing himself, he accepts the proffered water bottle without
looking up to greet its deliverer. Beside him, RJ shoves an overstuffed McCord drawstring tote

3. Hickey 3
haphazardly onto the floor next to Dick’s. Dick knows RJ is trying to get his attention, can feel
RJ’s concerned stare, but he doesn’t acknowledge that, either.
RJ gets the message. He relents and addresses the girls with a nod and a smile. “Hi,” he
says simply.
“Thanks,” Dick breathes in relief, grateful for both the distraction of the water bottle and
the conversational rescue.
RJ is good for things like that in a way Dick never has been.
He trains his attention on the wet patch of fabric at his shoulder where the water bottle’s
condensation is slowly turning his light blue t-shirt navy and does not have to see the renewed
enthusiasm on the first girl’s face to hear it in her voice.
“Hi!” she says, clearly pleased to have finally located a proper conversationalist. There’s
a slight pause before she adds, “Ricardo Fiel.” Her barking laugh makes a second appearance
and Dick grimaces once more. “Richard and Ricardo?” She makes a show of shrugging her bag
off one shoulder and plopping it heavily on the table. With her other arm, she grasp’s the second
girl’s bicep and guides her towards sitting down. Neither appears to be accompanied by any
family members, an observation that elicits in Dick first a pang of sympathy and then a sudden
burst of camaraderie.
Dick meets the first girl’s eyes for a second when he feels them on her, but he manages
only to shrug in response. RJ, on the other hand, chuckles along with her.
“RJ, preferably, but yeah,” he explains with a smile, “That’s how we met. Nametags, just
like this, in the first grade.”
As RJ is speaking, Dick assesses the girls’ reactions. To his surprise, the second girl’s
tiny mouth has formed a tiny smile. She glances at him briefly and her cheeks rise to make half-

4. Hickey 4
moons of her little eyes. Dick’s own, widened considerably, look even larger in comparison.
“We’ve been best friends ever since. Kind of makes up for the fact that they always print
our full names on these things,” RJ says, tugging at his own hastily-applied nametag. Dick’s
eyes linger on RJ’s nametag even after his hand has fallen away. It is smooth and legible. In
response, Dick works his thumbnail over the blunt edges of his own nametag, its folds casting
small shadows over the abused letters.
“That’s sweet,” the first girl muses. The second nods quickly, her eyes downturned but
ultimately smiling. “I’m Nicole, and this is Lauren.” She juts a thumb over toward the second
girl like an afterthought, then grins. “No matching names. And no cute backstory. We were
paired up on the first day of yearbook sophomore year.”
“Oh, cool,” RJ responds. He says it lightly, but Dick believes that RJ honestly does think
it’s cool. “What did you guys do?” RJ asks then, and Dick envies the ease with which RJ
interacts with others. RJ could speak to perfect strangers better than Dick could speak to blood
relatives.
“I worked layouts,” Nicole answers, sitting up straighter. “I’m going to study graphic
design.” Every conversation Dick had overheard today has included this odd exchange of first
names and majors, and he tries to recall a time in which ever heard his mother say, “Hello, I’m
Maggie, and I’m a hotel receptionist.” He imagines this to be the first of a great many more
college discoveries that await him outside of Freshman Seminar.
Lauren perks up only after the conversation has lulled and it becomes apparent Nicole
would no longer be doing the speaking for her. With three expectant gazes trained on her,
Lauren meekly states, “I was a copy editor. I wrote captions.”
“A writer!” RJ pronounces, bumping a shoulder against Dick’s. “Him, too.”

5. Hickey 5
“Awesome,” Nicole replies, echoing the boys’ shoulder bump with Lauren. RJ chuckles,
and across the table, Dick and Lauren share a shy smile.
The dorm rooms have spent all of June and half of July empty and the scant furniture
they were provided for summer orientation does little to make them feel homey. The bed is
comfortable but small and higher than Dick is used to, but it’s pressed up against the window and
he doesn’t mind that at all. As far as Dick is concerned, the rising Allegheny Mountains in the
distance make for a better view than his neighbor’s living room through their curtains.
Only about three quarters of the incoming freshmen have made it to campus for
orientation, but the sidewalk below, like check-in, is rife with people. All around students piled
high with pamphlets and pennants and school supplies mill about, parents trailing pleasantly
alongside them. One girl has paused to pass her overnight bags off to her mom, and Dick smiles
as the woman graciously accepts the burden. In the grass a few feet away, a boy and his dad take
turns pointing to the content of the open folder held aloft between them. Dick drops his gaze to
his lap, staring instead at the black screen of his cell phone, and considers making a phone call.
He has no new voicemails, no missed calls. He has two old text conversations—one
from RJ, from early this morning before they had set out for the university, and one from his
mom, from shortly after they had arrived—both of which he deletes. He opens and closes apps
to clear notifications, then pauses when he reaches his contacts. Anthony Clemens reveals itself
to be the first name on the list when Dick launches the app despite his better judgment.
He is deciding whether to tap the name, the pad of his thumb hovering hesitantly over the
screen, when the door handle begins rattling ominously. He powers off his phone instinctively,
then chuckles when he hears the tell-tale plop of one’s belongings hitting the carpet on the other

6. Hickey 6
side of the door.
“Shit—which way?”
RJ’s grumbling permeates the thick wooden door for just a moment before he finally
manages to stumble into the room shoulder-first. He takes deep breath and directs an icy glare at
Dick before straightening his spine. “Not a word,” he warns, pointing a stern finger in Dick’s
direction.
Dick grins properly for the first time all day. “Are you sure you should be an engineer?”
he questions playfully, cocking his head to one side and squinting.
“I said don’t say anything,” RJ mumbles at the floor, crouching to retrieve his bag and
sweatshirt. When he turns to look over his shoulder at Dick, he’s smirking. “Dick.”
Dick doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. After more than a decade, the insult no
longer carries the same level of rancor or humor. He considers pointing this out for the
umpteenth time, but instead settles on asking, “How was the engineering department?”
RJ sets to releasing his borrowed key from its lock. “S’nice,” he says, his brow creasing
in concentration. “Met a couple of different professors. They were pretty funny, which was cool.
What about you?”
Dick huffs a laugh. “I was the only one in my group,” he says with little humor.
RJ’s key comes free after much finagling and he brandishes it in the air like a trophy.
Dick makes a show of slow clapping, snorting when the key, tossed by RJ in the general
direction of his borrowed bed, misses and dings the room’s white wall.
“What?” RJ laughs, hopping backwards onto Dick’s bed and shucking his shoes in the
process. “What do you mean? Wasn’t that girl there? Lauren? Wasn’t she an English major?”
“At first, yeah,” Dick clarifies, hugging his knees to his chest when RJ shoves him to the

7. Hickey 7
side to make room at the window. “When it was the whole department. When we broke up into
majors, she left.”
RJ raises an eyebrow.
“Journalism,” Dick provides without clarification.
“Ah. How was it with your advisor, then?”
Dick’s lips pull into a wide smile. “Good. It was cool, being the only one. I guess my
real advisor’s out of town so they gave me a stand-in.” Dick pauses, anticipating RJ’s
excitement. “She’s the Spanish professor.”
As expected, RJ’s face lights up. “¿De verdad?” he asks, rocking forward. “Did you
mention me?”
“Claro,” he says, nodding seriously, “I told her all about what un culo you are.”
Snorting, RJ smacks the back of one hand against Dick’s shins. “Sure you did.”
Dick chuckles until only a smile remains, then directs his gaze out the window once
more, taking care not to look in the direction of the father-son duo with their map.
They sit in comfortable silence for a long while, commenting occasionally on the view,
the remainder of their orientation schedule, and finally on a student sitting outside who bears
some resemblance to RJ’s younger sister, María Elena.
“It’s going to be weird not seeing her every day when we come back in the fall,” RJ
muses, eyes tracking the movements of his sister’s doppelganger below.
As an only child, Dick envies RJ and Lena their close sibling relationship, if not their
situation. Siblings grow especially close, Dick has come to believe, when parents are so distant.
Both of RJ and Lena’s parents are first generation Argentinian Americans, but neither Javier nor
María Pilar Fiel bear signs of a difficult transition to the United States. As far as they are

8. Hickey 8
concerned, the senior Fiels’ failing family life is far outweighed by Javier’s thriving political
career.
Just a few months ago, in May, the Fiels hosted for Lena a lavish fiesta de quince. Dick,
in attendance as a longtime friend of RJ’s, was disappointed but not surprised by the vast number
of local politicians at what was meant to be a fifteen-year-old’s birthday party. On the sidewalk
below, Lena’s doppelganger wears a shade of pink not unlike that of Lena’s extravagant gown
from that night, that gown which quickly took up residence in the deepest, darkest corners of her
closet.
“Yeah,” Dick murmurs belatedly in return, lost in his thoughts and a sudden feeling of
melancholy. He feels torn between sympathy for Lena, alone at home now in her brother’s
absence, and his own selfish relief to have RJ here with him instead. He tells himself Lena needs
RJ more than he does and wonders if it is the truth.
Dick feels RJ’s stare more than he can see it out of the corner of his eye. Its intensity
leaves Dick bracing, though he knows the question before it comes. RJ had been treading
carefully on the subject since their graduation in June.
“Were you able to get ahold of your dad?” RJ asks, calmly. He says it just above a
whisper, probably for Dick’s sake, but Dick wells with embarrassment, anyway.
Dick adjusts his posture, tense as he is, and breathes out of his nose hard and long in a
not-quite-sigh. He tries and fails to loosen his grip on the cell phone still pressed into one palm.
“No, I didn’t,” he says as firmly as he is able, still looking resolutely outside. He picks out one
bush in a line of several and focuses on it until they begin to resemble a father and son
squabbling over a map. He blinks hard, brows bunching together just above his glasses, until
plants are plants again and he no longer feels like crying.

9. Hickey 9
“Did you try to?” RJ asks just as quietly, and that is a better question.
Dick wishes desperately that he could once again say, “No, I didn’t,” and be done with it.
He wishes he could say, “No, I didn’t, and I didn’t want to,” but he can’t because the truth is yes,
he did, he had to, it’s been three years this month since they’d last seen one another and dads
should be proud of their sons whether or not they’re juniors.
He can’t say, “No, I didn’t and I didn’t want to,” but he can’t force himself to say, “Yes, I
did, and he didn’t return my call,” either, so instead he says, “We should start heading towards
the dining hall,” and tears his eyes away from the window.
Dick slides across the bedsheets, plants his feet solidly on the floor, and retrieves his key
to the dorm room from the back pocket of his jeans. “Or we’ll have to deal with the crowd,” he
murmurs, a non sequitur now.
RJ’s gaze follows Dick movements as he rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet, but
it does not waver. Dick stares determinedly at the door, nervous in front of RJ the way he is only
when they’re talking about his dad. Eventually—finally—he sighs and turns back around.
Jaw set and eyes pleading, Dick speaks slowly, “I really don’t want to deal with that right
now.”
RJ frowns, drops his gaze as if he’s reading lines of text across the floor. Dick knows
immediately what RJ is thinking, knows he wants more than anything to press the issue.
Once, when Dick was eight years old, his dad tried to teach him how to drive the riding
lawnmower in the overgrown field at the end of their property. He blossoms at the thought of
spending quality time with his dad for once but wilts the moment they approach the machine,
louder, Dick thinks, than anything he has heard in his entire life.
The lesson doesn’t go well. After a mere handful of moments sitting astride the

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lawnmower, Dick is left shaking from more than the rev of the engine. He doesn’t understand
the controls, and his dad doesn’t understand why Dick doesn’t understand the controls. Dick
goes even quieter than usual but his dad raises his voice, only somewhat to be heard over the
noise. Altogether, Dick spends less time sprinting from the field back home than he spends on
the riding lawnmower.
Dick’s dad finds him ten minutes later, holed up in the back of his bedroom closet,
probably looking as small as he feels. Dick does his best to turn his face away, to bury his nose
in his shoulder, but his dad’s eyes trained on him anyway. His face crumples in resignation, and
Dick’s heats in embarrassment.
“Am I a bad daddy?” his dad asks, crouched in Dick’s closet, cornering him in more
ways than one.
“No,” Dick says automatically. Years later he wonders if this is an honest answer. Years
after that he wonders if the question was directed at him in the first place.
When RJ lifts his head again, his eyes are trained just over Dick’s shoulder. He nods
once before seeking out Dick’s eyes and Dick feels himself begin to relax; RJ gets the message.
“No, you’re right,” RJ says seriously, “It’s better to beat the rush.”
He’s good for things like that.
“Well, if it isn’t the boys with the homo-names!”
The cafeteria is just as noisy as it had been that morning, but Nicole’s affected tone still
catches Dick’s attention just as easily. When Dick looks up from his dinner plate, Nicole has
already situated herself and Lauren across the table, an exact replication of their seating from
check-in. Dick is thankful for the absence of their welcome totes; he feels a lot less

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claustrophobic without drawstrings coiling themselves about his ankles.
RJ snorts a laugh. “That’s some pun,” he says, tilting his head considering. “Can’t say
I’ve heard that one. Have you?”
RJ looks to Dick gently, inviting a shrug or a shake of the head, an excuse to check out of
the conversation, to return to checking his empty voicemail between mouthfuls of plain white
rice.
All throughout the dining hall, Dick is surrounded by students and their families. Dick
tries not think about RJ’s parents, who did not want to come, and his own mother, who could not
afford to. Sometimes he slips up and dwells on the energetic little sisters who are not Lena and
the father he is not named after, but when he does, he thinks about his mom teaching him how to
drive at sixteen and about crying because his dad wasn’t there to do it and about RJ, who listened
and waited and pretended not to see the tears when Dick tried to hide them.
Dick’s gaze drifts from RJ’s face to his nametag, crisp and white as it had been at check-
in that morning, and then to the blackened screen of his phone on the table.
“No, I haven’t,” he says quietly. He meets Lauren’s eyes across the table when he looks
up, and she is smiling her tiny smile. “We have heard some good ones, though,” he says,
returning it.
Unwrinkling his nametag, Dick starts talking.