Twist and Shout: An Experimental Essay by Sam Fowler

Twist and Shout, by Gabriel and StandByMe:

“Cas held his drink high as he navigated the crowd.”
And with that one sentence, she signed away any chance at full happiness. Twist and Shout, or,
T&S as it was shortened, seemed to have a strange hold over the people she talked with on the
internet. One reference to it, and the whole world started to cry. You played the wrong song, and
people started screaming and swearing, crying at the pain. It was remarkable the impact one
book had on so many people. She dared to think it was more influential than Harry Potter. But
what was it about Twist and Shout that killed everyone? She thought about reading it, an idea
that everyone shot down. They were trying to spare her the pain, they said. She shouldn’t be like
them and cry, they said. She didn’t listen. It was only thirteen chapters. How could a book so
small impact so much? She didn’t understand, not yet. The story was set in 1965, a foreign time
to her. Cas, she assumed, was the protagonist. The comment section was filled with crying
people, sobbing and screaming, not understanding why they were torturing themselves and
rereading this miserable masterpiece. She decided to ignore the comments, for fear of spoilers,
and she read on.
And she discovered why Twist and Shout were words that should never be spoken.
Twist and Shout was a love story. The story of Cas and Dean, two
men in love during a time when that wasn’t allowed. A secret
love story, filled with Elvis music and stolen kisses after
motorcycle races. Of milkshakes and trips to the beach in
February. Of two men throwing caution to the wind and loving
even though they weren’t supposed to. A beautifully written tale
that sucked you in even when you promised yourself you wouldn’t
get attached. It entranced. It inspired. It was perfection,
until…
Until the draft.
December, 1969. A round of drafting for the Vietnam War. Her heart dropped when it hit her.
One of them would be drafted, she predicted. They would die in the war, and that was why it was
sad. That had to be it, wasn’t it? She could handle a soldier’s death in battle. She could handle
that pain. But it seemed too quick. Too simple to cause so much pain.
Whoever coined the phrase “Don’t cry over spilled milk” has
obviously never read T&S. A draft. An argument, no, a pained,
forced fight. An utter denial of the truth, that Dean was to
leave and Cas was to stay. They tried to move on—what’s done is
done—but it’s hard. The idea of Dean leaving made them fragile,
a glass on the edge of a table, ready to fall and shatter. A
bottle of milk decided to jump to the floor1, sending them over

1
Personification
the edge, letting them shatter. Cas weeping on the floor, both
of them trying to deal in their own way, trying to help, daring
to hope that everything was going to be okay. Everything was
going to be just fine, and Dean would come home from Vietnam the
same way he left. They promised not to write one another,
because writing would only be admitting that he was gone. No
letters would be sent, because Dean was not leaving. They didn’t
say goodbye. They just looked at each other and said,“See you
then.”2
See You Then. The sad words lingered with the milk on the
floor.
See  
​See You  
​See you then  
​See you  
​See  
See 
See you 
See you Then 
See you 
See 
See  
​See you   
​See you then  
​See you  
See  
Dean took a picture of Cas with him. Of course he did. Everybody
brought pictures of their loved ones. But Dean couldn’t go
around bragging to the other guys about his boyfriend. Not when
society could never approve of their relationship. Not when they
had to hide in the shadows and be wary of nosy neighbors. Not
when holding hands under the table in a diner was a huge ri​sk.
Dean befriended a man named Adam. A worried kid, really, with a
gold necklace. They looked out for each other, and Dean told him
about Cas. Adam didn’t judge. He saw the picture. It was hard
not to, with all the times Dean would look at it, folding and

2
Euphemism
unfolding, staring, all the times he ran his fingers over it
slowly wearing away at Cas’s smile.
Adam’s only mistake in Vietnam was saying Cas’s name out loud.
Vietnam was not a kind place for a soldier
during the war. Dean knew that. They did
and saw things that haunted people for
life. Cas wasn’t like that; Cas was the
good in his life. The light at the end of
the tunnel. He didn’t want any mention of
Cas in Vietnam. Nothing that could hurt the
image he had of Cas in his mind. But then
Vietnam got much worse. Adam was shot
accidentally by one of their own soldiers,
and he died. Dean took his necklace to
honor him. It was all he could do. The
death of his only friend in hell took a
toll.
By this time, she’s already cried twice. She won’t admit it though. She thought being drafted was
bad and she thought Dean dying in war would be awful. But somehow this was worse, much
much worse. PTSD was not considered a thing in this time, but it still existed in soldiers. And
right now, she was sure it existed in people who had read this story. PTSD had triggers, and so
did Twist and Shout. It was enough to drive people crazy, to smash their computers and drop,
curl up in a ball, and sob. It was traumatizing. Anyone who reread it was some form of
masochist, and yet, she couldn’t stop. It was a deadly drug, but it was addictive.3 She craved
more, needed it. It was not a story you could spread out over time, just read a few paragraphs a
day and walk away. This was a book you sat and binged, cover to cover, with a box of tissues
and an emotional support animal. You did not simply read Twist and Shout. You lived it. And
you felt the pain leaking through the pages as it crept through you and slowly ripped out your
heart.
Then Dean came back from Vietnam, and nothing was the way he and
Cas had promised it would be. How could it be? Their days were
fine, but it was the nights that worried Cas. A gold necklace
around Dean’s neck, a pain he didn’t understand, long night
hours spent sitting in the bathroom, trying to go back to normal
even though normal no longer existed. They fell apart quicker
than you wanted them too, and both men went their separate ways.
Maybe it was for the best.

3
Metaphor
Or maybe it WASN’T. She wanted to scream, scream at the top of her lungs. On second thought;
she glanced around.

​ AAAAAAA​AAAAAAA​
​ AAAAAA
AAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA​AAAA​ AAAAAAAA!
There. That was not better at all. Couldn’t people see what was wrong with Dean? Couldn’t they
see the PTSD lurking in his eyes, in his words? She hated it, hated the turn the tale had taken,
hated the author for writing the most beautiful piece of pain she had ever heard of, and hated Cas
for leaving even though he was right to. She hated it all!
But she didn’t stop reading, not even as the story jumped ahead three whole years. She didn’t
even pause. It was impossible to stop. She was in this far, might as well just sign the rest of her
life away and keep reading.
Dean was better. Time didn’t heal all wounds, but it made them
easier to deal with. You got used to the pain after awhile. But
Dean got a call one day, from a man he didn’t know about a man
he never forgot.
Cas was in the hospital.
Cas…
Cas was dying. Dying of a disease the doctors didn’t know, and
nothing would help. All they could do was observe and try things
that didn’t work.
She hadn’t felt pain like this before. It was like her closest friend was dying before her eyes, and
in a way, he was. Nothing compared to this pain, the heart wrenching despair. How the hell were
the authors doing this? How were they making her feel this way, get this attached, HOW. HOW
were they ripping out her heart without even standing in the same room as her? And more
importantly, WHY.
That’s what she wanted to know. WHY. Why would you write this? Why did curiosity get the
best of her and force her to read this? And why couldn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she stop?4
Dean went to the hospital to see him, of course. The sight of
Cas hooked up to machines haunted him, but he moved past it. The
nurses raved at him, smiling. He was all Cas talked about. Dean.
The man he loved. The most perfect person in the world. Dean
stayed with him the whole time, never leaving Cas’s side, not
even when Cas slowly forgot himself.
“We should go to the beach sometime,” Cas said one day. Dean
only stared, shot back into an old scene. A freezing beach in
February, a windbreaker and seashells thrown in the ocean.
Polaroid pictures and a video camera. “We should go,” Cas

4
Anaphora
insisted. Dean dug out the old video camera, and he set it up in
Cas’s room. And he took him back to the beach, back to the days
when they had been happy. Before the war, before they had
destroyed the best thing either of them had ever had.
Every word was a knife to the heart. Tears blurred her eyes, until it was difficult to read,
impossible to type. But she had to wipe her eyes and continue. She had to. Two chapters. Just
two chapters. Then it would be over, and everything would be okay. A miracle. That’s all she
wanted. A miracle to save Cas, to put them back on track, to make everything good again. But
deep down, she knew that would never happen. Cas was too far gone, dying in that hospital.

He played Elvis for him. Cas had always loved Elvis. It was his
favorite music. Can’t Help Falling In Love With You was their
song. Dean’s old words “I can dig Elvis” never hurt so bad.

But then she turned the chapter, and her heart went from being fragile and cracked to shattering
in its entirety. The first sentence read like a flatline, loud and painful.
Dead. Dead and gone. The line between fiction and reality had shattered completely, and she
could no longer find where the story ended and she began. Cas was dead. Her dearest friend, the
love of Dean’s life, just gone in a matter of five words. Five fucking words. It wasn’t fair. It
Wasn’t Fair. IT WASN’T FAIR.
Dean went to Cas’s apartment after the funeral, just to clean it
out. And in the back of Cas’s closet, there was an old shoebox
stuffed full of papers. Not just any papers, of course, but
letters. Letters to Dean. They had promised not to send any
letters while the war separated them, but that didn’t mean Cas
hadn’t written them. Dean sat and read them all, reading word by
word every last thing Cas would ever speak to him, his tears
eventually staining the pages and pages of Dear Dean, Dear Dean,
Dear Dean.
And when he ran out of letters to read, Dean grabbed paper of
his own.
“Dear Cas,”
She’s crying again. An ugly, miserable cry that you never did in front of another person. The
type of cry when your heart is breaking, tears are smudged across your face, your breaths come
in hiccuped gasps and you can’t even think of anything else. The story was over, and she
understood now. Understood the pain, and the tears. But then she moved on. Ignored it. Buried it,
said it was sad and moved on with her life. Or so she thought.
But then, one random day as she walked down the mall, Can’t Help Falling In Love With You5
came on the mall’s loudspeaker. Her friends kept walking, oblivious, but she stopped. Stopped
dead in her tracks, frozen as it all came rushing back. She imagined this is what a trigger felt like,
as her thoughts filled with Elvis lyrics, a cold day at the beach, a dying love, and spilled milk.
Wise men say, only fools rush in…
Her friends have stopped now, glancing back and calling to her, wondering why she has stopped
walking. She doesn’t answer, simply sinking to the floor and clutching her head in her hands as
the song plays and she starts to bawl. It wasn’t fair, It Wasn’t Fair, IT WASN’T FAIR.
See you then.

AAAAAA​AAAAAA​AAAAAAAA​ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
​ AA!
Why did the world have to be so cruel? Why couldn’t they have just been happy together? It hits
her that the story started and ended with the same word, with Cas, and she breaks again, unable
to stop.

5
Allusion
She’s never the same. No one ever is. Everytime an Elvis song plays, everytime someone
mentions the beach, Vietnam, milkshakes, or polaroid cameras, it hits, and she tries not to die on
the outside as much as she is on the inside.
But she understands now. The other victims of T&S welcome her, and they cry on each other
shoulders, all understanding the same pain. She goes to the beach one day, a Thursday in
February, and she throws a shell in the ocean, watching it sink. She wishes she could dive after
it, sink with it, drown with it. But she doesn’t. She has to live with the pain, for Cas and Dean if
no one else. But she knows now that there is no getting over Twist and Shout. It will haunt you
every day.