Mr. Goodley

Bill Goodley smiled and nodded his head quickly, let out the same, trademark Goodley laugh he'd probably been laughing for his entire life, and shook his shoulders up and down as he did so, as if to emphasize. It was almost as if someone pulled a string on the back of his neck every time a moment came across that was maybe a bit tense, or one that seemed to call for reassurance. This habit seemed like something meant to emphasize what a good-natured, non-threatening person he was to everyone, and to reassure himself of this fact as well. He didn't fool me though. What I couldn't help but see was a scared animal, trapped in a corner, frantically looking around for any possibility to escape.
People say that the individuals who get caught up in the most vile, sickening crimes are the ones you would least expect, but I have to wonder if that's just a common misconception because no one takes the time to try and recognize the torture that people like Bill Goodley endure. I can imagine his father training him in the ways of the Goodley name,
"Never let yourself be anything less than good-natured",
"Kill them with kindness, son",
"You can just take comfort in the fact that you'll be a much better person than that old bully, you know? Imagine how awful his life will be with that attitude! That's punishment enough for him, wouldn't you say? We Goodleys always do the right thing, and you're a Goodley, Bill. Keep this in your heart and the Lord will bless you with rewards every day, you'll see."
I can imagine poor Bill going through his entire life, never taking anything for himself, never drawing boundaries, never letting anyone on to the fact that he might be feeling less than genial... One can see the frustration in his smile. It's turned up in a happy sort of way, the way smiles usually are, but looking into his eyes tells a much different story- one about a man who gave in and catered to everyone else's needs... A man who'll probably snap one day, maybe soon.
While talking to him, I wanted so badly to shout, "Hey! I'm right here! Where are you? Talk to me, Bill. Tell me something you'd never tell anyone else. I'll never repeat it, I promise. You might not know me, but I'm calling your bluff and giving you an opportunity for some well-needed expression. I can see the secrets almost seeping through your pores, and I can see the demon in your head. You know what I mean, don't you? There is something that needs to come out, no matter how messy it gets, and I doubt if even your good-natured wife over there knows about it. How could you tell her anyways? She looks as if she would spontaneously combust if you started to have a real conversation with her about how you feel. So, c'mon
Bill, let's have it."
I'm sure it's a bit presumptuous to assert that I might know what a man thinks from spending five minutes with him, but I'd bet my childrens' eyeballs that Mr. Goodley is going to lose his grip completely one day soon. Will I start to lose touch more and more with (at least what I percieve now to be) reality when I get older? Will the presence of major responsibilities and rules I've made for myself, compiled with the inability to relate with whatever ideas the youth culture might have then, drive me to insanity one day? Since I've reached adulthood, that's probably the only thing that's ever frightened me to my core.