January 4, 1992

Dear friend,

I’m sorry for that last letter. To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember much of it, but I know from how I woke up that it probably wasn’t very nice. All I remember from the rest of that night was looking all over the house for an envelope and a stamp. When I finally found them, I wrote your address and walked down the hill past the trees to the post office because I knew that if I didn’t put it in a mailbox that I couldn’t get it back from, I would never mail the letter.

It’s weird how important it seemed at the time.

Once I got to the post office, I dropped the letter into the mailbox. And it felt final. And calm. Then, I started throwing up, and I didn’t stop throwing up until the sun came up. I looked at the road and saw a lot of cars, and I knew they were all going to their grandparents’ house. And I knew a lot of them would watch my brother play football later that day. And my mind played hopscotch.

My brother … football … Brad … Dave and his girlfriend in my room

… the coats … the cold … the winter … “Autumn Leaves” … don’t tell anyone … you pervert… Sam and Craig … Sam… Christmas … typewriter… gift… Aunt Helen … and the trees kept moving … they just wouldn’t stop moving … so I laid down and made a snow angel.

The policemen found me pale blue and asleep.

I didn’t stop shivering from the cold until a long time after my mom and dad drove me home from the emergency room. Nobody got in trouble because these things used to happen to me when I was a kid when I was seeing the doctors. I would just wander off and fall asleep somewhere. Everyone knew I went to a party, but nobody, not even my sister, thought it was because of that. And I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want Sam or Patrick or Bob or anyone to get in trouble. But most of all, I didn’t want to see my mother’s face and especially my father’s if they heard me say the truth.

So, I didn’t say anything.

I just kept quiet and looked around. And I noticed things. The dots on the ceiling. Or how the blanket they gave me was rough. Or how the doctor’s face looked rubbery. Or how everything was a deafening whisper, when he said that maybe I should start seeing a psychiatrist

again. It was the first time a doctor ever told that to my parents with me in the room. And his coat was so white. And I was so tired.

All I could think through the whole day was that we missed my brother’s football game because of me, and I really hoped my sister thought to tape it.

Luckily, she did.

We got home, and my mom made me some tea, and my dad asked me if I wanted to sit and watch the game, and I said yes. We watched my brother make a great play, but this time, nobody really cheered. All corners of all eyes were on me. And my mom said a lot of encouraging things about how I was doing so well this school year and maybe the doctor would help me sort things out. My mom can be quiet and talk at the same time when she’s being positive. My dad kept giving me “love pats.” Love pats are soft punches of encouragement that are administered on the knee, shoulder, and arm. My sister said that she could help me fix up my hair. It was weird to have them pay so much attention to me.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with my hair?”

My sister just kind of looked around, uncomfortable. I reached my hands up to my hair and realized that a lot of it was gone. I honestly don’t remember when I did it, but from the look of my hair, I must have grabbed a pair of scissors and just started cutting without strategy. Big chunks of it were missing all over the place. It was like a butcher’s cut. I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror at the party for a long time because my face was different and frightened me. Or else I would have noticed.

My sister did help me trim it up a bit, and I was lucky because everyone in school including Sam and Patrick thought it looked cool.

“Chic” was Patrick’s word.

Regardless, I decided to never take LSD again.

Love always, Charlie

January 14, 1992 Dear friend,

I feel like a big faker because I’ve been putting my life back together, and nobody knows. It’s hard to sit in my bedroom and read like I always did. It’s even hard to talk to my brother on the phone. His team finished third in the nation. Nobody told him we missed the game live because of me.

I went to the library and checked out a book because I was getting scared. Every now and then things would start moving again, and sounds were bass heavy and hollow. And I couldn’t put a thought together. The book said that sometimes people take LSD, and they don’t really get out of it. They said that it increases this one type of brain transmitter. They said that essentially the drug is twelve hours of schizophrenia, and if you already have a lot of this brain transmitter, you don’t get out of it.

I started breathing fast in the library. It was really bad because I remembered some of the schizophrenic kids in the hospital when I was little. And it didn’t help that this was the day after I noticed that all the kids were wearing their new Christmas clothes, so I decided to wear my new suit from Patrick to school, and was teased mercilessly for nine straight hours. It was such a bad day. I skipped my first class ever and went to see Sam and Patrick outside.

“Looking sharp, Charlie,” Patrick said grinning.

“Can I have a cigarette?” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to say “bum a smoke.” Not for my first one. I just couldn’t.

“Sure,” said Patrick. Sam stopped him.

“What’s wrong, Charlie?”

I told them what was wrong, which prompted Patrick to keep asking me if I had a “bad trip.”

“No. No. It’s not that.” I was really getting upset.

Sam put her arm around my shoulder, and she said she knew what I was going through. She told me I shouldn’t worry about it. Once you do it, you remember how things looked on it. That’s all. Like how the road turned into waves. And how your face was plastic and your eyes were two different sizes. It’s all in your mind.

That’s when she gave me the cigarette.

When I lit it, I didn’t cough. It actually felt soothing. I know that’s bad in a health class way, but it was true.

“Now, focus on the smoke,” Sam said. And I focused on the smoke.

“Now, that looks normal doesn’t it?” “Uh-huh,” I think I said.

“Now, look at the cement on the playground. Is it moving?” “Uh-huh.”

“Okay … now focus on the piece of paper that’s just sitting there on the ground.”

And I focused on the piece of paper that was sitting on the ground.

“Is the cement moving now?” “No. It’s not.”

From there you go, to you’re going to be okay, to you probably should never do acid again, Sam went on to explain what she called “the trance.” The trance happens when you don’t focus on anything, and the whole big picture swallows and moves around you. She said it was usually metaphoric, but for people who should never do acid again, it was literal.

That’s when I started laughing. I was so relieved. And Sam and Patrick smiled. I was glad they started smiling, too, because I couldn’t stand their looking so worried.

Things have stopped moving for the most part ever since. I haven’t skipped another class. And I guess now I don’t feel like a big faker for trying to put my life back together. Bill thought my paper on The Catcher in the Rye (which I wrote on my new old typewriter!) was my best one yet. He said I was “developing” at a rapid pace and gave me a different kind of book as “a reward.” It’s On the Road by Jack Kerouac.

I’m now up to about ten cigarettes a day.

Love always, Charlie

January 25, 1992 Dear friend,

I feel great! I really mean it. I have to remember this for the next time I’m having a terrible week. Have you ever done that? You feel really bad, and then it goes away, and you don’t know why. I try to remind myself when I feel great like this that there will be another terrible week coming someday, so I should store up as many great details as I can, so during the next terrible week, I can remember those details and believe that I’ll feel great again. It doesn’t work a lot, but I think it’s very important to try.

My psychiatrist is a very nice man. He’s much better than my last psychiatrist. We talk about things that I feel and think and remember. Like when I was little, and there was this one time that I walked down the street in my neighborhood. I was completely naked, holding a bright blue umbrella, even though it wasn’t raining. And I was so happy because it made my mom smile. And she rarely smiled. So, she took a picture. And the neighbors complained.

This other time, I saw a commercial for this movie about a man who was accused of murder, but he didn’t commit the murder. A guy from M*A*S*H was the star of the movie. That’s probably why I remember it. The commercial said that the whole movie was about him trying to prove that he was innocent and how he could go to jail anyway. That scared me a lot. It scared me how much it scared me. Being punished for something you did not do. Or being an innocent victim. It’s just something that I never want to experience.

I don’t know if it is important to tell you all this, but at the time, it felt like a “breakthrough.”

The best thing about my psychiatrist is that he has music magazines in his waiting room. I read an article about Nirvana on one visit, and it didn’t have any references to honey mustard dressing or lettuce. They kept talking about the singer’s stomach problems all the time, though. It was weird.

Like I told you, Sam and Patrick love their big song, so I thought I’d read it to have something to discuss with them. In the end, the magazine compared him with John Lennon from the Beatles. I told that to Sam later, and she got really mad. She said he was like Jim Morrison if he was like anybody, but really, he isn’t like anybody but himself. We were all at the Big Boy after Rocky Horror, and it started this big discussion.

Craig said the problem with things is that everyone is always comparing everyone with everyone and because of that, it discredits people, like in his photography classes.

Bob said that it was all about our parents not wanting to let go of their youth and how it kills them when they can’t relate to something.

Patrick said that the problem was that since everything has happened already, it makes it hard to break new ground. Nobody can be as big as the Beatles because the Beatles already gave it a “context.” The reason they were so big is that they had no one to compare themselves with, so the sky was the limit.

Sam added that nowadays a band or someone would compare themselves to the Beatles after the second album, and their own personal voice would be less from that moment on.

“What do you think, Charlie?”

I couldn’t remember where I heard it or read it. I said maybe it was in This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald. There’s a place near the end of the book where the main kid is picked up by some older gentleman. They are both going to an Ivy League homecoming football game, and

they have this debate. The older gentleman is established. The kid is “jaded.”

Anyway, they have this discussion, and the kid is an idealist in a temporary way. He talks about his “restless generation” and things like that. And he says something like, “This is not a time for heroes because nobody will let that happen.” The book takes place in the 1920s, which I thought was great because I supposed the same kind of conversation could happen in the Big Boy. It probably already did with our parents and grandparents. It was probably happening with us right now.

So, I said I thought the magazine was trying to make him a hero, but then later somebody might dig up something to make him seem like less than a person. And I didn’t know why because to me he is just a guy who writes songs that a lot of people like, and I thought that was enough for everyone involved. Maybe I’m wrong, but everyone at the table starting talking about it.

Sam blamed television. Patrick blamed government. Craig blamed the “corporate media.” Bob was in the bathroom.

I don’t know what it was, and I know we didn’t really accomplish anything, but it felt great to sit there and talk about our place in things. It was like when Bill told me to “participate.” I went to the homecoming dance like I told you before, but this was much more fun. It was especially fun to think that people all over the world were having similar conversations in their equivalent of the Big Boy.

I would have told the table that, but they were really having fun being cynical, and I didn’t want to ruin it. So, I just sat back a little bit and watched Sam sitting next to Craig and tried not to be too sad about it. I have to say that I couldn’t do it very successfully. But at one point, Craig was talking about something, and Sam turned to me and smiled. It was a movie smile in slow motion, and then everything was okay.

I told this to my psychiatrist, but he said it was too soon to draw any conclusions.

I don’t know. I just had a great day. I hope you did, too.

Love always, Charlie

February 2, 1992 Dear friend,

On the Road was a very good book. Bill didn’t ask me to write a paper about it because, like I said, it was “a reward.” He did ask me to visit him in his office after school to discuss it, which I did. He made tea, and I felt like a grown-up. He even let me smoke a cigarette in his office, but he urged me to quit smoking because of the health risks. He even had a pamphlet in his desk that he gave me. I now use it as a bookmark.

I thought Bill and I were going to talk about the book, but we ended up talking about “things.” It was great to have so many discussions back- to-back. Bill asked me about Sam and Patrick and my parents, and I told him about getting my license and talking in the Big Boy. I also told him about my psychiatrist. I didn’t tell him about the party or my sister and her boyfriend, though. They’re still seeing each other in secret, which my sister says only “adds to their passion.”

After I got through telling Bill about my life, I asked him about his. It was nice, too, because he didn’t try to be cool and relate to me or anything. He was just himself about it. He said that he studied undergraduate work at some college in the West that doesn’t give grades, which I thought was peculiar, but Bill said it was the best education he ever got. He said he’d give me a brochure when the time was right.

After he went to Brown University for graduate school, Bill traveled around Europe for a while, and when he came home, he joined Teach for America. When this year is over, he thinks he is going to move to New York and write plays. I guess he’s still pretty young, although I thought it would be rude to ask him. I did ask him if he had a girlfriend, though, and he said he didn’t. He seemed sad when he said it, too, but I decided not to pry because I thought that would be too personal. Then, he gave me my next book to read. It’s called Naked Lunch.

I started reading it when I got home, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know what the guy is talking about. I would never tell Bill this. Sam told me that William S. Burroughs wrote the book when he was on heroin and that I should “go with the flow.” So, I did. I still had no idea what he was talking about, so I went downstairs to watch television with my sister.

The show was Gomer Pyle, and my sister was very quiet and moody. I tried to talk to her, but she just told me to shut up and leave her alone. So, I watched the show for a few minutes, but it made even less sense to me than the book, so I decided to do my math homework, which was a mistake because math has never made any sense to me.

I was just confused all day.

So, I tried to help my mother in the kitchen, but I dropped the casserole, so she told me to read in my room until my father came home, but reading is what started this whole mess in the first place. Luckily, my father came home before I could pick up the book again, but he told me to stop “hanging on his shoulders like a monkey” because he wanted to watch the hockey game. I watched the hockey game with him for a while, but I couldn’t stop asking him questions about which countries the players are from, and he was “resting his eyes,” which means he was sleeping but didn’t want me to change the channel. So, he told me to go watch television with my sister, which I did, but she told me to go help my mother in the kitchen, which I did, but then she told me to go read in my room. Which I did.

I’ve read about a third of the book now, and it’s pretty good so far.

Love always, Charlie

February 8, 1992 Dear friend,

I have a date for the Sadie Hawkins’ dance. In case you didn’t have one of those, it’s the dance where the girl asks the boy. In my case, the girl is Mary Elizabeth, and the boy is me. Can you believe it?!

I think it started when I was helping Mary Elizabeth staple the latest issue of Punk Rocky on Friday before we went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Mary Elizabeth was so nice that day. She said that it was the best issue we’d ever had for two reasons, and both of those reasons were mine.

First of all, it was in color, and second, it had the poem that I gave Patrick in it.

It really was a great issue. I think I’ll even think so when I’m older. Craig included some of his color photographs. Sam included some “underground” news on some bands. Mary Elizabeth wrote an article about the Democratic candidates. Bob included a reprint of a pro-hemp pamphlet. And Patrick made this fake coupon advertising a free “blow job” for anyone who buys a Smiley Cookie at the Big Boy. Some restrictions apply!

There was even a nude photograph (from the back) of Patrick if you can believe it. Sam had Craig take the picture. Mary Elizabeth told

everyone to keep it a secret that the photograph was Patrick, which everybody did, except Patrick.

All night, he kept yelling, “Flaunt it, baby! Flaunt it!” which is his favorite line from his favorite movie, The Producers.

Mary Elizabeth told me she thought that Patrick asked her to put the photograph in the issue so Brad could have a photograph of him without it being suspicious, but he wouldn’t say for sure. Brad bought a copy without even looking at it, so maybe she was right.

When I went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show that night, Mary Elizabeth was really mad because Craig didn’t show up. Nobody knew why. Not even Sam. The problem was nobody was there to play Rocky, the muscular robot (I’m not quite sure what he is). After looking around at everybody, Mary Elizabeth turned to me.

“Charlie, how many times have you seen the show?” “Ten.”

“Do you think you can play Rocky?” “I’m not cut and hunky.”

“It doesn’t matter. Can you play him?” “I guess.”

“Do you guess or do you know?” “I guess.”

“Good enough.”

The next thing I know, I was wearing nothing but slippers and a bathing suit, which somebody painted gold. I don’t know how these things happen to me sometimes. I was very nervous, especially because in the show, Rocky has to touch Janet all over her body, and Sam was playing Janet. Patrick kept making jokes that I would get an “erection.” I really hoped this wouldn’t happen. Once, I got an erection in class and had to go to the blackboard. It was a terrible time. And when my mind took that experience and added a spotlight and the fact that I was only wearing a bathing suit, I panicked. I almost didn’t do the show, but then Sam told me she really wanted me to play Rocky, and I guess that’s all I really needed to hear.

I won’t go into detail about the whole show, but I had the best time I ever had in my whole life. I’m not kidding. I got to pretend that I was singing, and I got to dance around, and I got to wear a “feather boa” in the grande finale, which I wouldn’t have thought anything of because it’s part of the show, but Patrick couldn’t stop talking about it.

“Charlie in a feather boa! Charlie in a feather boa!” He just couldn’t stop laughing.

But the best part was the scene with Janet where we had to touch each other. It wasn’t the best part because I got to touch Sam and have her touch me. It’s the exact opposite. I know that sounds dumb, but it’s true. Just before the scene, I thought about Sam, and I thought that if I touched her in that way on stage and meant it, it would be cheap. And as much as I think I might want to someday touch her like that, I never want it to be cheap. I don’t want it to be Rocky and Janet. I want it to be Sam and I. And I want her to mean it back. So, we just played.

When the show was over, we all bowed together, and there was applause everywhere. Patrick even shoved me in front of the rest of the cast to take my own personal bow. I think this is the initiation for new cast members. All I could think was how nice it was that everyone applauded for me and how glad I was that nobody in my family was there to see me play Rocky in a feather boa. Especially my dad.

I did get an erection, though, but not until later, in the parking lot of the Big Boy.

That’s when Mary Elizabeth asked me to the Sadie Hawkins’ dance after she said, “You looked really good in your costume.”

I like girls. I really do. Because they can think you look good in a bathing suit even when you don’t. The erection made me feel guilty in hindsight though, but I guess it couldn’t be helped.

I told my sister about having a date for the dance, but she was really distracted. Then, I tried to ask her advice about how to treat a girl on a date since I’ve never had a date before, but she wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t being mean. She was just “staring off into space.” I asked her if she was okay, and she said that she needed to be alone, so I went up and finished Naked Lunch.

After I finished, I just laid around in my bed, looking at the ceiling, and I smiled because it was a nice kind of quiet.

Love always, Charlie

February 9, 1992 Dear friend,

I have to say something about my last letter. I know that Sam would never ask me to the dance. I know that she would bring Craig, and if not Craig, then Patrick since Brad’s girlfriend, Nancy, is going with Brad. I think Mary Elizabeth is a really smart and pretty person, and I’m glad

that she is my first date ever. But after I said yes, and Mary Elizabeth announced it to the group, I wanted Sam to be jealous. I know it’s wrong to want something like that, but I really did.

Sam wasn’t jealous, though. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she could have been happier about it, which was hard.

She even told me how to treat a girl on a date, which was very interesting. She said that with a girl like Mary Elizabeth, you shouldn’t tell her she looks pretty. You should tell her how nice her outfit is because her outfit is her choice whereas her face isn’t. She also said that with some girls, you should do things like open car doors and buy flowers, but with Mary Elizabeth (especially since it’s the Sadie Hawkins’ dance), I shouldn’t do that. So, I asked her what I should do, and she said that I should ask a lot of questions and not mind when Mary Elizabeth doesn’t stop talking. I said that it didn’t sound very democratic, but Sam said she does it all the time with boys.

Sam did say that sex things were tricky with Mary Elizabeth since she’s had boyfriends before and is a lot more experienced than I am. She said that the best thing to do when you don’t know what to do during anything sexual is pay attention to how that person is kissing you and kiss them back the same way. She says that is very sensitive, which I certainly want to be.

So, I said, “Can you show me?” And she said, “Don’t be smart.”

We talk to each other like that every now and then. It always makes her laugh. After Sam showed me a Zippo lighter trick, I asked her more about Mary Elizabeth.

“What if I don’t want to do anything sexual with her?” “Just say you’re not ready.”

“Does that work?” “Sometimes.”

I wanted to ask Sam about the other side of “sometimes,” but I didn’t want to be too personal, and I didn’t want to know deep down. I wish I could stop being in love with Sam. I really do.

Love always, Charlie

February 15, 1992 Dear friend,

I don’t feel very well because everything is messy. I did go to the dance, and I did tell Mary Elizabeth how nice her outfit was. I did ask her questions, and I let her talk the whole time. I learned a lot about “objectification,” Native Americans, and the bourgeoisie.

But most of all, I learned about Mary Elizabeth.

Mary Elizabeth wants to go to Berkeley and get two degrees. One is for political science. The other is for sociology with a minor concentration in women’s studies. Mary Elizabeth hates high school and wants to explore lesbian relationships. I asked her if she thought girls were pretty, and she looked at me like I was stupid and said, “That’s not the point.”

Mary Elizabeth’s favorite movie is Reds. Her favorite book is an autobiography of a woman who was a character in Reds. I can’t remember her name. Mary Elizabeth’s favorite color is green. Her favorite season is spring. Her favorite ice cream flavor (she said she refuses to eat low-fat frozen yogurt on principle alone) is Cherry Garcia. Her favorite food is pizza (half mushrooms, half green peppers). Mary Elizabeth is a vegetarian, and she hates her parents. She is also fluent in Spanish.

The only thing she asked me the whole time was whether or not I wanted to kiss her good night. When I said that I wasn’t ready, she said she understood and told me what a great time she had. She said I was the most sensitive boy she’d ever met, which I didn’t understand because really all I did was not interrupt her.

Then, she asked me if I wanted to go out again sometime, which Sam and I hadn’t discussed, so I wasn’t prepared to answer it. I said yes because I didn’t want to do anything wrong, but I don’t think I can think of a whole other night’s worth of questions. I don’t know what to do. How many dates can you go on and still not be ready to kiss? I don’t think I will ever be ready for Mary Elizabeth. I’ll have to ask Sam about this.

Incidentally, Sam took Patrick to the dance after Craig said he was too busy. I guess they had a big fight about it. Finally, Craig said that he didn’t want to go to some stupid high school dance since he had already graduated. At one point in the dance, Patrick went to the parking lot to get stoned with his guidance counselor, and Mary Elizabeth was requesting that the deejay play some girl bands, which left Sam and me alone.

“Are you having a good time?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. She just kind of looked sad.

“Not really. Are you?”

“I don’t know. This is my first date, so I don’t know what to compare it to.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.” “Really?”

“You want some punch?” “Sure.”

With that, Sam left. She really did look sad, and I wished I could have made her feel better, but sometimes, I guess you just can’t. So, I stood alone by the wall and watched the dance for a while. I would describe it to you, but I think it’s the kind of thing where you have to be there or at least know the people. But then again, maybe you knew the same people when you went to your high school dances, if you know what I mean.

The one different thing about this particular dance was my sister. She was with her boyfriend. And during a slow song, it looked like they had a huge fight because he stopped looking at her, and she rushed off the dance floor to where the bathrooms are. I tried to follow her, but she had too much of a head start. She never came back to the dance, and her boyfriend eventually left.

After Mary Elizabeth dropped me off, I went into the house and found my sister crying in the basement. This was a different kind of crying. It kind of frightened me. I talked very quiet and slow.

“Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone, Charlie.” “No, really. What’s wrong?” “You wouldn’t understand.” “I could try.”

“That’s a laugh. That’s really a laugh.”

“Do you want me to wake up Mom and Dad then?” “No.”

“Well, maybe they could—”

“CHARLIE! SHUT UP! OKAY?! JUST SHUT UP!”

That’s when she really started crying. I didn’t want to make her feel worse, so I turned to leave her alone. That’s when my sister started hugging me. She didn’t say anything. She just hugged me tight and wouldn’t let go. So, I hugged her back. It was weird, too, because I’ve never hugged my sister. Not when she wasn’t forced to anyway. After a while, she calmed down a bit and let go. She took a deep breath and brushed off the hair that was sticking to her face.

That’s when she told me she was pregnant.

I would tell you about the rest of the night, but I honestly don’t remember much about it. It’s all a very sad daze. I do know that her boyfriend said it wasn’t his baby, but my sister knew that it was. And I do know that he broke up with her right there at the dance. My sister hasn’t told anybody else about it because she doesn’t want it to get around. The only people who know are me, her, and him. I’m not allowed to tell anyone we know. Not anyone. Not ever.

I told my sister that after a while, she probably couldn’t hide it, but she said she wouldn’t let it go that far. Since she was eighteen, she didn’t need Mom or Dad’s permission. All she needed was someone to be with her next Saturday at the clinic. And that person was me.

“It’s lucky I got my license now.”

I said that to make her laugh. But she didn’t.

Love always, Charlie

February 23, 1992 Dear friend,

I was sitting in the waiting room of the clinic. I had been there for an hour or so. I don’t remember exactly how long. Bill had given me a new book to read, but I just couldn’t concentrate on it. I guess it makes sense why not.

Then, I tried to read some magazines, but again, I just couldn’t. It wasn’t so much that they mentioned what the people were eating. It was all the magazine covers. Each one had a smiling face, and every time it was a woman on the cover, she was showing her cleavage. I wondered if those women wanted to do that to look pretty or if it was just part of the job. I wondered if they had a choice or not if they wanted to be successful. I just couldn’t get that thought out of my mind.

I could almost see the photo shoot and the actress or model going to eat a “light lunch” with her boyfriend afterward. I could see him asking her about her day, and how she wouldn’t think too much of it, or maybe if it was her first magazine cover, how she would be very excited because she was starting to become famous. I could see the magazine on the newsstands, and a lot of anonymous eyes looking at it, and how some people would think it was very important. And then how a girl like Mary Elizabeth would be very angry about the actress or model showing her cleavage along with all the other actresses and models doing the same

thing, while some photographer like Craig would just look at the quality of the photograph. Then, I thought there would be some men who would buy the magazine and masturbate to it. And I wondered what the actress or her boyfriend thought about that, if they did at all. And then I thought that it was about time for me to stop thinking because it wasn’t doing my sister any good.

That’s when I started thinking about my sister.

I thought about the time when she and her friends painted my fingernails, and how that was okay because my brother wasn’t there. And the time she let me use her dolls to make up plays or let me watch whatever I wanted to watch on TV. And when she started becoming a “young lady,” and no one was allowed to look at her because she thought she was fat. And how she really wasn’t fat. And how she was actually very pretty. And how different her face looked when she realized boys thought she was pretty. And how different her face looked the first time she really liked a boy who was not on a poster on her wall. And how her face looked when she realized she was in love with that boy. And then I wondered how her face would look when she came out from behind those doors.

My sister was the one who told me where babies come from. My sister was also the one who laughed when I immediately asked her where babies go to.

When I thought that, I started to cry. But I couldn’t let anyone see me because if they did, they might not let me drive her home, and they might call our parents. And I couldn’t let that happen because my sister was counting on me, and this was the first time anyone ever counted on me for anything. When I realized that this was the first time I cried since I made my aunt Helen the promise not to cry unless it was for something important, I had to go outside because I couldn’t hide it from anyone anymore.

I must have been in the car for a long time because eventually my sister found me there. I was chain-smoking cigarettes and crying still. My sister knocked on the window. I rolled it down. She looked at me with this curious expression. Then, her curiosity turned to anger.

“Charlie, are you smoking?!”

She was so mad. I can’t tell you how mad she was. “I can’t believe you’re smoking!”

That’s when I stopped crying. And started laughing. Because of all the things she could have said right after she got out of there, she picked my

smoking. And she got angry about it. And I knew if my sister was angry, then her face wouldn’t be that different. And she would be okay.

“I’m going to tell Mom and Dad, you know?” “No, you’re not.” God, I couldn’t stop laughing.

When my sister thought about it for a second, I think she figured out why she wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad. It’s like she suddenly remembered where we were and what had just happened and how crazy our whole conversation was considering all that. Then, she started laughing.

But the laughing made her feel sick, so I had to get out of the car and help her into the backseat. I had already set up the pillow and blanket for her because we figured it was probably best for her to sleep it off a little in the car before we went home.

Just before she fell asleep, she said, “Well, if you’re going to smoke, crack the window at least.”

Which made me start laughing again. “Charlie, smoking. I can’t believe it.”

Which made me laugh harder, and I said, “I love you.”

And my sister said, “I love you, too. Just stop it with the laughing already.”

Eventually, my laughing turned into the occasional chuckle, and then it just stopped. I looked back and saw that my sister was asleep. So, I started the car and turned on the heater, so she would be warm. That’s when I started reading the book Bill gave me. It’s Walden by Henry David Thoreau, which is my brother’s girlfriend’s favorite book, so I was very excited to read it.

When the sun went down, I put my smoking pamphlet on the page where I stopped reading and started driving home. I stopped a few blocks from our house to wake up my sister and put the blanket and pillow in the trunk. We pulled into the driveway. We got out. We went inside. And we heard our mother and father’s voices from the top of the stairs.

“Where have you two been all day?” “Yeah. Dinner’s almost ready.”

My sister looked at me. I looked at her. She shrugged. So, I started talking a mile a minute about how we saw a movie and how my sister taught me how to drive on the highways and how we went to McDonald’s.

“McDonald’s?! When?!”

“Your mother cooked ribs, you know?” My father was reading the paper.

As I talked, my sister went up to my father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He didn’t look up from his paper.

“I know, but we didn’t go to McDonald’s until before the movie, and that was a while ago.”

Then, my father said matter-of-factly, “What movie did you see?”

I froze, but my sister came through with the name of a movie just before she kissed my mother on the cheek. I had never heard of this movie.

“Was it any good?” I froze again.

My sister was so calm. “It was okay. Those ribs smell great.”

“Yeah,” I said. Then, I thought of something to change the subject. “Hey, Dad. Is the hockey game on tonight?”

“Yeah, but you’re only allowed to watch it with me if you don’t ask any of your stupid questions.”

“Okay, but can I ask one now before it starts?” “I don’t know. Can you?”

“May I?” I asked, corrected. He grunted, “Go ahead.”

“What do the players call a hockey puck again?” “A biscuit. They call it a biscuit.”

“Great. Thanks.”

From that moment and all through dinner, my parents didn’t ask any more questions about our day, although my mom did say how glad she was that my sister and I were spending more time together.

That night, after our parents went to sleep, I went down to the car and got the pillow and blanket out of the trunk. I brought them to my sister in her room. She was pretty tired. And she spoke very softly. She thanked me for the whole day. She said that I didn’t let her down. And she said that she wanted it to be our little secret since she decided to tell her old boyfriend that the pregnancy was a false alarm. I guess she just didn’t trust him with the truth anymore.

Just after I turned out the lights and opened the door, I heard her say softly,

“I want you to stop smoking, you hear?” “I hear.”

“Because I really do love you, Charlie.” “I love you, too.”

“I mean it.” “So do I.”

“Okay, then. Good night.” “Good night.”

That’s when I shut the door and left her to sleep.

I didn’t feel like reading that night, so I went downstairs and watched a half-hour-long commercial that advertised an exercise machine. They kept flashing a 1-800 number, so I called it. The woman who picked up the other end of the phone was named Michelle. And I told Michelle that I was a kid and did not need an exercise machine, but I hoped she was having a good night.

That’s when Michelle hung up on me. And I didn’t mind a bit.

Love always, Charlie

March 7, 1992 Dear friend,

Girls are weird, and I don’t mean that offensively. I just can’t put it any other way.

I have now gone on another date with Mary Elizabeth. In a lot of ways, it was similar to the dance except that we got to wear more comfortable clothes. She was the one who asked me out again, and I suppose that’s okay, but I think I’m going to start doing the asking from time to time because I can’t always hope to get asked. Also, if I do the asking, then I’ll be sure to go out with the girl of my choice if she says yes. It’s just so complicated.

The good news is that I got to be the one who drove this time. I asked my father if I could borrow his car. It happened at the dinner table.

“What for?” My dad gets protective of his car. “Charlie’s got a girlfriend,” my sister said. “She’s not my girlfriend,” I said.

“Who is this girl?” my father asked.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked from the kitchen. “Charlie wants to borrow the car,” my dad replied. “What for?” my mother asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!” my father said with a raised voice.

“No need to get snippy,” my mother said.

“Sorry,” my father said, though it was clear he didn’t mean it. He turned back to me.

“So, tell me about this girl.”

I told him a bit about Mary Elizabeth, skipping the details about the tattoo and belly button ring. He smiled, probably trying to see if I felt guilty about anything. Then, he said I could borrow his car. When my mother came in with coffee, my father recounted the story while I had dessert.

Later that night, as I was finishing my book, my father came in and sat on the edge of my bed. He lit a cigarette and started talking to me about sex. He had given me this talk a few years earlier, but back then, it was more biological.

This time, he said things like:

“I know I’m your old man, but…”

“You can’t be too careful these days,” and “wear protection.”

“If she says no, then you have to assume she means it…”

“If you force her to do something she doesn’t want to do, you’re in big trouble…”

“And even if she says no but really means yes, she’s playing games and isn’t worth the price of dinner.”

“If you need to talk to someone, you can come to me, but if you don’t want to do that, talk to your brother,” and finally,

“I’m glad we had this talk.”

He ruffled my hair, smiled, and left the room. My father isn’t like the ones on TV. He isn’t embarrassed by topics like sex, and he’s very knowledgeable about them.

I think he was especially happy because, when I was very little, I used to kiss a boy in the neighborhood a lot. Even though the psychiatrist said it was natural for little boys and girls to explore, I think my father was worried. Maybe that’s normal, but I don’t understand why.

Mary Elizabeth and I went to see a movie downtown. It was an “art” movie, which she said had won an award at a big film festival in Europe. She thought that was impressive. While we waited for the movie to start, she lamented how people flock to Hollywood movies while only a few appreciate films like this. She also talked about how she couldn’t wait to go to college, where people appreciate such things.

The movie was in a foreign language with subtitles, which was fun because I had never read a movie before. The film was interesting, but I didn’t think it was very good because I didn’t feel different when it was over.

Mary Elizabeth, however, was moved. She called it an “articulate” film. So “articulate.” I guess it was, though I didn’t understand it.

Afterward, we went to an underground record store Mary Elizabeth loves. She gave me a tour, saying it was the one place where she felt like herself. She showed me the movie section and told me about cult filmmakers and French directors. Then, she took me to the import section and introduced me to “real” alternative music and girl bands like the Slits.

She felt bad for not getting me a Christmas gift and wanted to make it up to me. So, she bought me a Billie Holiday record and invited me to her house to listen to it.

I sat alone in her basement while she fetched drinks. The room was clean and smelled like people didn’t live there. It had a fireplace with a mantel, golf trophies, a television, and a nice stereo. Mary Elizabeth came back with two glasses and a bottle of brandy, saying she hated everything her parents loved except brandy.

She asked me to pour the drinks while she made a fire. She was unusually excited, talking about how much she loved fires and her dream of marrying a man and living in Vermont someday. When the fire was ready, she put on the record and danced over to me. She said she felt very warm, but not in the temperature sense.

The music started, and she clinked my glass, saying “cheers,” before taking a sip of brandy. Brandy is very good, by the way, but it was better at the Secret Santa party. We finished our first glasses quickly.

My heart was racing, and I was nervous. She handed me another glass of brandy, touching my hand softly. Then, she draped her leg over mine. I felt her hand on the back of my neck, moving slowly, and my heart pounded even more.

“Do you like the record?” she asked quietly.

“Very much.” I really did. It was beautiful.

“Charlie?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Do you like me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t be nervous.”

“Okay.”

That’s when I felt her other hand, starting at my knee and working its way up my leg to my hip and stomach. She removed her leg and sat on my lap, facing me. She looked into my eyes without blinking. Her face looked warm and different. She kissed my neck, ears, cheeks, and lips, and everything melted away. She took my hand and slid it up her sweater, and I was in disbelief about what was happening. Or what breasts felt like. Or later, what they looked like. Or how difficult bras are.

After we had done everything you can do from the stomach up, I lay on the floor, and Mary Elizabeth rested her head on my chest. We both breathed slowly, listening to the music and the fire crackling. When the last song ended, I felt her breath on my chest.

“Charlie?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re very pretty.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Then, she held me tighter, and for the next half hour, she didn’t talk. I just lay there, thinking about how her voice changed when she asked if she was pretty, and how much she changed when I answered, and how Sam said she didn’t like things like that, and how much my arm was starting to hurt.

Thank God we heard the automatic garage door opener when we did.

Love always, Charlie

March 28, 1992

Dear friend,

It’s finally starting to warm up a bit, and people are being nicer in the hallways. Not necessarily to me, but in general. I wrote a paper about *Walden* for Bill, but this time I did it differently. Instead of a book report, I pretended I was living by myself near a lake for two years, living off the land and having insights. Honestly, I kind of like the idea of doing that right now.

Ever since that night with Mary Elizabeth, things have been different. It started that Monday at school when Sam and Patrick looked at me with big grins. Mary Elizabeth had told them about our night together, which I didn’t want her to do, but Sam and Patrick thought it was great. They were really happy for us. Sam kept saying,

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. You guys are great together.”

I think Mary Elizabeth thinks so too because she’s been acting completely different. She’s nice all the time, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like we’ll be having a cigarette outside with Sam and Patrick at the end of the day, and we’ll all be talking until it’s time to go home. Then, when I get home, Mary Elizabeth will call me right away and ask, “What’s up?” I don’t know what to say because the only thing new in my life is my walk home, which isn’t much. But I describe the walk anyway. Then she talks and doesn’t stop for a long time. She’s been doing this all week. That and picking lint off my clothes.

Two days ago, she was talking about books, including ones I had read. When I told her I had read them, she asked long questions that were really just her ideas with a question mark at the end. All I could say was either “yes” or “no.” There was no room to say anything else. After that, she talked about her college plans, which I had heard before. So, I put down the phone, went to the bathroom, and when I came back, she was still talking. I know it was wrong, but I needed a break. Otherwise, I might have yelled or hung up.

She also keeps talking about the Billie Holiday record she bought me. She wants to expose me to all these great things. Honestly, I don’t want to be exposed to them if it means I have to hear her talk about them all the time. It feels like, of the three things involved—Mary Elizabeth, me, and the great things—only the first one matters to her. I don’t understand that. I would give someone a record so they could love the record, not to remind them I gave it to them.

Then, there was the dinner. Since the holidays were over, my mom asked if I wanted Sam and Patrick over for dinner like she promised after I told her they said she had great taste in clothing. I was so excited! I told Patrick and Sam, and we made plans for Sunday night. Two hours later, Mary Elizabeth walked up to me in the hall and said,

“What time Sunday?”

I didn’t know what to do. It was just for Sam and Patrick. That was the whole idea from the beginning. I never even invited Mary Elizabeth. I understand why she assumed she would be invited, but she didn’t wait to see or hint at it.

So, at the dinner, where I wanted my parents to see how nice and great Sam and Patrick were, Mary Elizabeth talked the whole time. It wasn’t all her fault. My parents asked her more questions than they asked Sam or Patrick. Probably because I’m dating Mary Elizabeth, and that’s more curious to them than my friends are