August 25, 1991
Dear friend,
I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn’t try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don’t try to figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don’t want you to do that. I will call people by different names or generic names because I don’t want you to find me. I didn’t enclose a return address for the same reason. I mean nothing bad by this. Honest.
I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.
I think you of all people would understand that because I think you of all people are alive and appreciate what that means. At least I hope you do because other people look to you for strength and friendship and it’s that simple. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.
I try to think of my family as a reason for me being this way, especially after my friend Michael stopped going to school one day last spring and we heard Mr. Vaughn’s voice on the loudspeaker.
“Boys and girls, I regret to inform you that one of our students has passed on. We will hold a memorial service for Michael Dobson during assembly this Friday.”
I don’t know how news travels around school and why it is very often right. Maybe it was in the lunchroom. It’s hard to remember. But Dave with the awkward glasses told us that Michael killed himself. His mom played bridge with one of Michael’s neighbors and they heard the gunshot.
I don’t really remember much of what happened after that except that my older brother came to Mr. Vaughn’s office in my middle school and told me to stop crying. Then, he put his arm on my shoulder and told me to get it out of my system before Dad came home. We then went to eat french fries at McDonald’s and he taught me how to play pinball. He even made a joke that because of me he got to skip an afternoon of school and asked me if I wanted to help him work on his Camaro. I guess I was pretty messy because he never let me work on his Camaro before.
At the guidance counselor sessions, they asked the few of us who actually liked Michael to say a few words. I think they were afraid that some of us would try to kill ourselves or something because they looked very tense and one of them kept touching his beard.
Bridget who is crazy said that sometimes she thought about suicide when commercials come on during TV. She was sincere and this puzzled the guidance counselors. Carl who is nice to everyone said that he felt very sad, but could never kill himself because it is a sin.
This one guidance counselor went through the whole group and finally came to me.
“What do you think, Charlie?”
What was so strange about this was the fact that I had never met this man because he was a “specialist” and he knew my name even though I wasn’t wearing a name tag like they do in open house.
“Well, I think that Michael was a nice guy and I don’t understand why he did it. As much as I feel sad, I think that not knowing is what really bothers me.”
I just reread that and it doesn’t sound like how I talk. Especially in that office because I was crying still. I never did stop crying.
The counselor said that he suspected that Michael had “problems at home” and didn’t feel like he had anyone to talk to. That’s maybe why he felt all alone and killed himself.
Then, I started screaming at the guidance counselor that Michael could have talked to me. And I started crying even harder. He tried to calm me down by saying that he meant an adult like a teacher or a guidance counselor. But it didn’t work and eventually my brother came by the middle school in his Camaro to pick me up.
For the rest of the school year, the teachers treated me different and gave me better grades even though I didn’t get any smarter. To tell you the truth, I think I made them all nervous.
Michael’s funeral was strange because his father didn’t cry. And three months later he left Michael’s mom. At least according to Dave at lunchtime. I think about it sometimes. I wonder what went on in Michael’s house around dinner and TV shows. Michael never left a note or at least his parents didn’t let anyone see it. Maybe it was “problems at home.” I wish I knew. It might make me miss him more clearly. It might have made sad sense.
One thing I do know is that it makes me wonder if I have “problems at home” but it seems to me that a lot of other people have it a lot worse.
Like when my sister’s first boyfriend started going around with another girl and my sister cried for the whole weekend.
My dad said, “There are other people who have it a lot worse.”
And my mom was quiet. And that was that. A month later, my sister met another boy and started playing happy records again. And my dad kept working. And my mom kept sweeping. And my brother kept fixing his Camaro. That is, until he left for college at the beginning of the summer. He’s playing football for Penn State but he needed the summer to get his grades right to play football.
I don’t think that there is a favorite kid in our family. There are three of us and I am the youngest. My brother is the oldest. He is a very good football player and likes his car. My sister is very pretty and mean to boys and she is in the middle. I get straight A’s now like my sister and that is why they leave me alone.
My mom cries a lot during TV programs. My dad works a lot and is an honest man. My Aunt Helen used to say that my dad was going to be too proud to have a midlife crisis. It took me until around now to understand what she meant by that because he just turned forty and nothing has changed.
My Aunt Helen was my favorite person in the whole world. She was my mom’s sister. She got straight A’s when she was a teenager and she used to give me books to read. My father said that the books were a little too old for me, but I liked them so he just shrugged and let me read.
My Aunt Helen lived with the family for the last few years of her life because something very bad happened to her. Nobody would tell me what happened then even though I always wanted to know. When I was around seven, I stopped asking about it because I kept asking like kids always do and my Aunt Helen started crying very hard.
That’s when my dad slapped me, saying, “You’re hurting your aunt Helen’s feelings!” I didn’t want to do that, so I stopped. Aunt Helen told my father not to hit me in front of her ever again and my father said this was his house and he would do what he wanted and my mom was quiet and so were my brother and sister.
I don’t remember much more than that because I started crying really hard and after a while my dad had my mom take me to my room. It wasn’t until much later that my mom had a few glasses of white wine and told me what happened to her sister. Some people really do have it a lot worse than I do. They really do.
I should probably go to sleep now. It’s very late. I don’t know why I wrote a lot of this down for you to read. The reason I wrote this letter is
because I start high school tomorrow and I am really afraid of going.
Love always, Charlie
September 7, 1991 Dear friend,
I do not like high school. The cafeteria is called the “Nutrition Center,” which is strange. There is this one girl in my advanced english class named Susan. In middle school, Susan was very fun to be around. She liked movies, and her brother Frank made her tapes of this great music that she shared with us. But over the summer she had her braces taken off, and she got a little taller and prettier and grew breasts. Now, she acts a lot dumber in the hallways, especially when boys are around. And I think it’s sad because Susan doesn’t look as happy. To tell you the truth, she doesn’t like to admit she’s in the advanced english class, and she doesn’t like to say “hi” to me in the hall anymore.
When Susan was at the guidance counselor meeting about Michael, she said that Michael once told her that she was the prettiest girl in the whole world, braces and all. Then, he asked her to “go with him,” which was a big deal at any school. They call it “going out” in high school. And they kissed and talked about movies, and she missed him terribly because he was her best friend.
It’s funny, too, because boys and girls normally weren’t best friends around my school. But Michael and Susan were. Kind of like my Aunt Helen and me. I’m sorry. “My Aunt Helen and I.” That’s one thing I learned this week. That and more consistent punctuation.
I keep quiet most of the time, and only one kid named Sean really seemed to notice me. He waited for me after gym class and said really immature things like how he was going to give me a “swirlie,” which is where someone sticks your head in the toilet and flushes to make your hair swirl around. He seemed pretty unhappy as well, and I told him so. Then, he got mad and started hitting me, and I just did the things my brother taught me to do. My brother is a very good fighter.
“Go for the knees, throat, and eyes.”
And I did. And I really hurt Sean. And then I started crying. And my sister had to leave her senior honors class and drive me home. I got called to Mr. Small’s office, but I didn’t get suspended or anything because a kid told Mr. Small the truth about the fight.
“Sean started it. It was self-defense.”
And it was. I just don’t understand why Sean wanted to hurt me. I didn’t do anything to him. I am very small. That’s true. But I guess Sean didn’t know I could fight. The truth is I could have hurt him a lot worse. And maybe I should have. I thought I might have to if he came after the kid who told Mr. Small the truth, but Sean never did go after him. So, everything was forgotten.
Some kids look at me strange in the hallways because I don’t decorate my locker, and I’m the one who beat up Sean and couldn’t stop crying after he did it. I guess I’m pretty emotional.
It has been very lonely because my sister is busy being the oldest one in our family. My brother is busy being a football player at Penn State. After the training camp, his coach said that he was second string and that when he starts learning the system, he will be first string.
My dad really hopes he will make it to the pros and play for the Steelers. My mom is just glad he gets to go to college for free because my sister doesn’t play football, and there wouldn’t be enough money to send both of them. That’s why she wants me to keep working hard, so I’ll get an academic scholarship.
So, that’s what I’m doing until I meet a friend here. I was hoping that the kid who told the truth could become a friend of mine, but I think he was just being a good guy by telling.
Love always, Charlie
September 11, 1991 Dear friend,
I don’t have a lot of time because my advanced english teacher assigned us a book to read, and I like to read books twice. Incidentally, the book is To Kill a Mockingbird. If you haven’t read it, I think you should because it is very interesting. The teacher has assigned us a few chapters at a time, but I do not like to read books like that. I am halfway through the first time.
Anyway, the reason I am writing to you is because I saw my brother on television. I normally don’t like sports too much, but this was a special occasion. My mother started crying, and my father put his arm around her shoulder, and my sister smiled, which is funny because my brother and sister always fight when he’s around.
But my older brother was on television, and so far, it has been the highlight of my two weeks in high school. I miss him terribly, which is strange, because we never really talked much when he was here. We still don’t talk, to be honest.
I would tell you his position, but like I said, I would like to be anonymous to you. I hope you understand.
Love always, Charlie
September 16, 1991 Dear friend,
I have finished To Kill a Mockingbird. It is now my favorite book of all time, but then again, I always think that until I read another book. My advanced english teacher asked me to call him “Bill” when we’re not in class, and he gave me another book to read. He says that I have a great skill at reading and understanding language, and he wanted me to write an essay about To Kill a Mockingbird.
I mentioned this to my mom, and she asked why Bill didn’t recommend that I just take a sophomore or junior english class. And I told her that Bill said that these were basically the same classes with more complicated books, and that it wouldn’t help me. My mom said that she wasn’t sure and would talk to him during open house. Then, she asked me to help her by washing the dishes, which I did.
Honestly, I don’t like doing dishes. I like eating with my fingers and off napkins, but my sister says that doing so is bad for the environment. She is a part of the Earth Day Club here in high school, and that is where she meets the boys. They are all very nice to her, and I don’t really understand why except maybe the fact that she is pretty. She really is mean to these boys.
One boy has it particularly hard. I won’t tell you his name. But I will tell you all about him. He has very nice brown hair, and he wears it long with a ponytail. I think he will regret this when he looks back on his life. He is always making mix tapes for my sister with very specific themes. One was called “Autumn Leaves.” He included many songs by the Smiths. He even hand-colored the cover. After the movie he rented was over, and he left, my sister gave me the tape.
“Do you want this, Charlie?”
I took the tape, but I felt weird about it because he had made it for her. But I listened to it. And loved it very much. There is one song called “Asleep” that I would like you to listen to. I told my sister about it. And a week later she thanked me because when this boy asked her about the tape, she said exactly what I said about the song “Asleep,” and this boy was very moved by how much it meant to her. I hope this means I will be good at dating when the time comes.
I should stick to the subject, though. That is what my teacher Bill tells me to do because I write kind of the way I talk. I think that is why he wants me to write that essay about To Kill a Mockingbird.
This boy who likes my sister is always respectful to my parents. My mom likes him very much because of this. My dad thinks he’s soft. I think that’s why my sister does what she does to him.
This one night, she was saying very mean things about how he didn’t stand up to the class bully when he was fifteen or something like that. To tell you the truth, I was just watching the movie he had rented, so I wasn’t paying very close attention to their fight. They fight all the time, so I figured that the movie was at least something different, which it wasn’t because it was a sequel.
Anyway, after she leaned into him for about four movie scenes, which I guess is about ten minutes or so, he started crying. Crying very hard. Then, I turned around, and my sister pointed at me.
“You see. Even Charlie stood up to his bully. You see.”
And this guy got really red-faced. And he looked at me. Then, he looked at her. And he wound up and hit her hard across the face. I mean hard. I just froze because I couldn’t believe he did it. It was not like him at all to hit anybody. He was the boy that made mix tapes with themes and hand-colored covers until he hit my sister and stopped crying.
The weird part is that my sister didn’t do anything. She just looked at him very quietly. It was so weird. My sister goes crazy if you eat the wrong kind of tuna, but here was this guy hitting her, and she didn’t say anything. She just got soft and nice. And she asked me to leave, which I did. After the boy had left, she said that they were “going out” and not to tell mom or dad what happened.
I guess he stood up to his bully. And I guess that makes sense.
That weekend, my sister spent a lot of time with this boy. And they laughed a lot more than they usually did. On Friday night, I was reading my new book, but my brain got tired, so I decided to watch some television instead. And I opened the door to the basement, and my sister and this boy were naked.
He was on top of her, and her legs were draped over either side of the couch. And she screamed at me in a whisper.
“Get out. You pervert.”
So, I left. The next day, we all watched my brother play football. And my sister invited this boy over. I am not sure when he left the previous night. They held hands and acted like everything was happy. And this boy said something about how the football team hasn’t been the same since my brother graduated, and my dad thanked him. And when the boy left, my dad said that this boy was becoming a fine young man who could carry himself. And my mom was quiet. And my sister looked at me to make sure I wouldn’t say anything. And that was that.
“Yes. He is.” That’s all my sister could say. And I could see this boy at home doing his homework and thinking about my sister naked. And I could see them holding hands at football games that they do not watch. And I could see this boy throwing up in the bushes at a party house. And I could see my sister putting up with it.
And I felt very bad for both of them.
Love always, Charlie
September 18, 1991 Dear friend,
I never told you that I am in shop class, did I? Well, I am in shop class, and it is my favorite class next to Bill’s advanced english class. I wrote the essay for To Kill a Mockingbird last night, and I handed it in to Bill this morning. We are supposed to talk about it tomorrow during lunch period.
The point, though, is that there is a guy in shop class named “Nothing.” I’m not kidding. His name is “Nothing.” And he is hilarious. “Nothing” got his name when kids used to tease him in middle school. I think he’s a senior now. The kids started calling him Patty when his real name is Patrick. And “Nothing” told these kids, “Listen, you either call me Patrick, or you call me nothing.”
So, the kids started calling him “Nothing.” And the name just stuck. He was a new kid in the school district at the time because his dad married a new woman in this area. I think I will stop putting quotation marks around Nothing’s name because it is annoying and disrupting my
flow. I hope you do not find this difficult to follow. I will make sure to differentiate if something comes up.
So, in shop class Nothing started to do a very funny impersonation of our teacher, Mr. Callahan. He even painted in the mutton-chop sideburns with a grease pencil. Hilarious. When Mr. Callahan found Nothing doing this near the belt sander, he actually laughed because Nothing wasn’t doing the impersonation mean or anything. It was just that funny. I wish you could have been there because it was the hardest I’ve laughed since my brother left. My brother used to tell Polish jokes, which I know is wrong, but I just blocked out the Polish part and listened to the jokes. Hilarious.
Oh, incidentally, my sister asked for her “Autumn Leaves” mix tape back. She listens to it all the time now.
Love always, Charlie
September 29, 1991 Dear friend,
There is a lot to tell you about the last two weeks. A lot of it is good, but a lot of it is bad. Again, I don’t know why this always happens.
First of all, Bill gave me a C on my To Kill a Mockingbird essay because he said that I run my sentences together. I am trying now to practice not to do that. He also said that I should use the vocabulary words that I learn in class like “corpulent” and “jaundice.” I would use them here, but I really don’t think they are appropriate in this format.
To tell you the truth, I don’t know where they are appropriate to use. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t know them. You should absolutely. But I just have never heard anyone use the words “corpulent” and “jaundice” ever in my life. That includes teachers. So, what’s the point of using words nobody else knows or can say comfortably? I just don’t understand that.
I feel the same way about some movie stars who are terrible to watch. Some of these people must have a million dollars at least, and yet, they keep doing these movies. They blow up bad guys. They yell at their detectives. They do interviews for magazines. Every time I see this one particular movie star on a magazine, I can’t help but feel terribly sorry for her because nobody respects her at all, and yet they keep interviewing her. And the interviews all say the same thing.
They start with what food they are eating in some restaurant. “As
gingerly munched her Chinese Chicken Salad, she spoke of love.” And all the covers say the same thing: “ gets to the bottom of stardom, love, and his/her hit new movie/television show/album.”
I think it’s nice for stars to do interviews to make us think they are just like us, but to tell you the truth, I get the feeling that it’s all a big lie. The problem is I don’t know who’s lying. And I don’t know why these magazines sell as much as they do. And I don’t know why the ladies in the dentist’s office like them as much as they do. A Saturday ago, I was in the dentist’s office, and I heard this conversation.
“Did you see that movie?” as she points to the cover. “I did. I saw it with Harold.”
“What do you think?” “She is just lovely.” “Yeah. She is.”
“Oh, I have this new recipe.” “Low-fat?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you have some time tomorrow?”
“No. Why don’t you have Mike fax it to Harold?” “Okay.”
Then, these ladies started talking about the one star I mentioned before, and they both had very strong opinions.
“I think it’s disgraceful.”
“Did you read the interview in Good Housekeeping?”
“A few months back?” “Uh-huh.” “Disgraceful.”
“Did you read the one in Cosmopolitan?”
“No.”
“God, it was practically the same interview.”
“I don’t know why they give her the time of day.”
The fact that one of these ladies was my mom made me feel particularly sad because my mom is beautiful. And she’s always on a diet. Sometimes, my dad calls her beautiful, but she cannot hear him. Incidentally, my dad is a very good husband. He’s just pragmatic.
After the dentist’s office, my mom drove me to the cemetery where a lot of her relatives are buried. My dad does not like to go to the cemetery because it gives him the creeps. But I don’t mind going at all because my
Aunt Helen is buried there. My mom was always the pretty one, as they say, and my Aunt Helen was always the other one. The nice thing was my Aunt Helen was never on a diet. And my Aunt Helen was “corpulent.” Hey, I did it!
My Aunt Helen would always let us kids stay up and watch Saturday Night Live when she was baby-sitting or when she was living with us and my parents went to another couple’s house to get drunk and play board games. When I was very little, I remember going to sleep, while my brother and sister and Aunt Helen watched Love Boat and Fantasy Island. I could never stay awake when I was that little, and I wish I could, because my brother and sister talk about those moments sometimes. Maybe it’s sad that these are now memories. And maybe it’s not sad. And maybe it’s just the fact that we loved Aunt Helen, especially me, and this was the time we could spend with her.
I won’t start listing television episode memories, except one because I guess we’re on the subject, and it seems like something everyone can relate to in a small way. And since I don’t know you, I figure that maybe I can write about something that you can relate to.
The family was sitting around, watching the final episode of M*A*S*H, and I’ll never forget it even though I was very young. My mom was crying. My sister was crying. My brother was using every ounce of strength he had not to cry. And my dad left during one of the final moments to make a sandwich. Now, I don’t remember much about the program itself because I was too young, but my dad never left to make a sandwich except during commercial breaks, and then he usually just sent my mom. I walked to the kitchen, and I saw my dad making a sandwich… and crying. He was crying harder than even my mom. And I couldn’t believe it. When he finished making his sandwich, he put away the things in the refrigerator and stopped crying and wiped his eyes and saw me.
Then, he walked up, patted my shoulder, and said, “This is our little secret, okay, champ?”
“Okay,” I said.
And Dad picked me up with the arm that wasn’t holding the sandwich, and carried me to the room that had the television, and put me on his lap for the rest of the television episode. At the end of the episode, he picked me up, turned off the TV, and turned around.
And my dad declared, “That was a great series.” And my mom said, “The best.”
And my sister asked, “How long was it on the air?”
And my brother replied, “Nine years, stupid.” And my sister responded, “You… stupid.” And my dad said, “Stop it, right now.”
And my mom said, “Listen to your father.” And my brother said nothing.
And my sister said nothing.
And years later I found out my brother was wrong.
I went to the library to look up the figures, and I found out that the episode we watched is the highest watched anything of television history, which I find amazing because it felt like just the five of us.
You know… a lot of kids at school hate their parents. Some of them got hit. And some of them got caught in the middle of wrong lives. Some of them were trophies for their parents to show the neighbors like ribbons or gold stars. And some of them just wanted to drink in peace.
For me personally, as much as I don’t understand my mom and dad and as much as I feel sorry for both of them sometimes, I can’t help but love them very much. My mom drives to visit the cemetery of people she loves. My dad cried during M*A*S*H, and trusted me to keep his secret, and let me sit on his lap, and called me “champ.”
Incidentally, I only have one cavity, and as much as my dentist asks me to, I just can’t bring myself to floss.
Love always, Charlie
October 6, 1991 Dear friend,
I feel very ashamed. I went to the high school football game the other day, and I don’t know exactly why. In middle school, Michael and I would go to the games sometimes even though neither of us were popular enough to go. It was just a place to go on Fridays when we didn’t want to watch television. Sometimes, we would see Susan there, and she and Michael would hold hands.
But this time, I went alone because Michael is gone, and Susan hangs around different boys now, and Bridget is still crazy, and Carl’s mom sent him to a Catholic school, and Dave with the awkward glasses moved away. I was just kind of watching people, seeing who was in love and who was just hanging around, and I saw that kid I told you about. Remember Nothing? Nothing was there at the football game, and he was
one of the few people who was not an adult that was actually watching the game. I mean really watching the game. He would yell things out.
“C’mon, Brad!” That’s the name of our quarterback.
Now, normally I am very shy, but Nothing seemed like the kind of guy you could just walk up to at a football game even though you were three years younger and not popular.
“Hey, you’re in my shop class!” He’s a very friendly person. “I’m Charlie.” I said, not too shy.
“And I’m Patrick. And this is Sam.” He pointed to a very pretty girl next to him. And she waved to me.
“Hey, Charlie.” Sam had a very nice smile.
They both told me to have a seat, and they both seemed to mean it, so I took a seat. I listened to Nothing yell at the field. And I listened to his play-by-play analysis. And I figured out that this was a kid who knew football very well. He actually knew football as well as my brother. Maybe I should call Nothing “Patrick” from now on since that is how he introduced himself, and that is what Sam calls him.
Incidentally, Sam has brown hair and very very pretty green eyes. The kind of green that doesn’t make a big deal about itself. I would have told you that sooner, but under the stadium lights, everything looked kind of washed out. It wasn’t until we went to the Big Boy, and Sam and Patrick started to chain-smoke that I got a good look at her. The nice thing about the Big Boy was the fact that Patrick and Sam didn’t just throw around inside jokes and make me struggle to keep up. Not at all. They asked me questions.
“How old are you, Charlie?” “Fifteen.”
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” “I don’t know just yet.”
“What’s your favorite band?”
“I think maybe the Smiths because I love their song ‘Asleep,’ but I’m really not sure one way or the other because I don’t know any other songs by them too well.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“I don’t know really. They’re all the same to me.” “How about your favorite book?”
“This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald.” “Why?”
“Because it was the last one I read.”
This made them laugh because they knew I meant it honest, not show- off. Then they told me their favorites, and we sat quiet. I ate the pumpkin pie because the lady said it was in season, and Patrick and Sam smoked more cigarettes.
I looked at them, and they looked really happy together. A good kind of happy. And even though I thought Sam was very pretty and nice, and she was the first girl I ever wanted to ask on a date someday when I can drive, I did not mind that she had a boyfriend, especially if he was a good guy like Patrick.
“How long have you been ‘going out’?” I asked. Then, they started laughing. Really laughing hard. “What’s so funny?” I said.
“We’re brother and sister,” Patrick said, still laughing. “But you don’t look alike,” I said.
That’s when Sam explained that they were actually stepsister and stepbrother since Patrick’s dad married Sam’s mom. I was very happy to know that because I would really like to ask Sam on a date someday. I really would. She is so nice.
I feel ashamed, though, because that night, I had a weird dream. I was with Sam. And we were both naked. And her legs were spread over the sides of the couch. And I woke up. And I had never felt that good in my life. But I also felt bad because I saw her naked without her permission. I think that I should tell Sam about this, and I really hope it does not prevent us from maybe making up inside jokes of our own. It would be very nice to have a friend again. I would like that even more than a date.
Love always, Charlie
October 14, 1991 Dear friend,
Do you know what “masturbation” is? I think you probably do because you are older than me. But just in case, I will tell you. Masturbation is when you rub your genitals until you have an orgasm. Wow!
I thought that in those movies and television shows when they talk about having a coffee break that they should have a masturbation break. But then again, I think this would decrease productivity.
I’m only being cute here. I don’t really mean it. I just wanted to make you smile. I meant the “wow” though.
I told Sam that I dreamt that she and I were naked on the sofa, and I started crying because I felt bad, and do you know what she did? She laughed. Not a mean laugh, either. A really nice, warm laugh. She said that she thought I was being cute. And she said it was okay that I had a dream about her. And I stopped crying. Sam then asked me if I thought she was pretty, and I told her I thought she was “lovely.” Sam then looked me right in the eye.
“You know you’re too young for me, Charlie? You do know that?” “Yes, I do.”
“I don’t want you to waste your time thinking about me that way.” “I won’t. It was just a dream.”
Sam then gave me a hug, and it was strange because my family doesn’t hug a lot except my Aunt Helen. But after a few moments, I could smell Sam’s perfume, and I could feel her body against me. And I stepped back.
“Sam, I’m thinking about you that way.”
She just looked at me and shook her head. Then, she put her arm around my shoulder and walked me down the hallway. We met Patrick outside because they didn’t like to go to class sometimes. They preferred to smoke.
“Charlie has a Charlie-esque crush on me, Patrick.” “He does, huh?”
“I’m trying not to,” I offered, which just made them laugh.
Patrick then asked Sam to leave, which she did, and he explained some things to me, so I would know how to be around other girls and not waste my time thinking about Sam that way.
“Charlie, has anyone told you how it works?” “I don’t think so.”
“Well, there are rules you follow here not because you want to, but because you have to. You get it?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay. You take girls, for example. They’re copying their moms and magazines and everything to know how to act around guys.”
I thought about the moms and the magazines and the everythings, and the thought made me nervous, especially if it includes TV.
“I mean it’s not like in the movies where girls like assholes or anything like that. It’s not that easy. They just like somebody that can give them a purpose.”
“A purpose?”
“Right. You know? Girls like guys to be a challenge. It gives them some mold to fit in how they act. Like a mom. What would a mom do if she couldn’t fuss over you and make you clean your room? And what would you do without her fussing and making you do it? Everyone needs a mom. And a mom knows this. And it gives her a sense of purpose. You get it?”
“Yeah,” I said even though I didn’t. But I got it enough to say “Yeah” and not be lying, though.
“The thing is some girls think they can actually change guys. And what’s funny is that if they actually did change them, they’d get bored. They’d have no challenge left. You just have to give girls some time to think of a new way of doing things, that’s all. Some of them will figure it out here. Some later. Some never. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
But I guess I did worry about it. I’ve been worrying about it ever since he told me. I look at people holding hands in the hallways, and I try to think about how it all works. At the school dances, I sit in the background, and I tap my toe, and I wonder how many couples will dance to “their song.” In the hallways, I see the girls wearing the guys’ jackets, and I think about the idea of property. And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are. I really hope they are.
Bill looked at me looking at people, and after class, he asked me what I was thinking about, and I told him. He listened, and he nodded and made “affirmation” sounds. When I had finished, his face changed into a “serious talk” face.
“Do you always think this much, Charlie?”
“Is that bad?” I just wanted someone to tell me the truth.
“Not necessarily. It’s just that sometimes people use thought to not participate in life.”
“Is that bad?” “Yes.”
“I think I participate, though. Don’t you think I am?” “Well, are you dancing at these dances?”
“I’m not a very good dancer.” “Are you going on dates?”
“Well, I don’t have a car, and even if I did, I can’t drive because I’m fifteen, and anyway, I haven’t met a girl I like except for Sam, but I am too young for her, and she would always have to drive, which I don’t think is fair.”
Bill smiled and continued asking me questions. Slowly, he got to “problems at home.” And I told him about the boy who makes mix tapes hitting my sister because my sister only told me not to tell mom or dad about it, so I figured I could tell Bill. He got this very serious look on his face after I told him, and he said something to me I don’t think I will forget this semester or ever.
“Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve.”
I just stood there, quiet. Bill patted my shoulder and gave me a new book to read. He told me everything was going to be okay.
I usually walk home from school because it makes me feel like I’ve earned it. What I mean is that I want to be able to tell my kids that I walked to school like my grandparents did in the “old days.” It’s odd that I’m planning this considering I’ve never had a date, but I guess that makes sense. It usually takes me an extra hour or so to walk as opposed to taking the bus, but it’s worth it when the weather is nice and cool like it was today.
When I finally got home, my sister was sitting on a chair. My mom and my dad were standing in front of her. And I knew that Bill had called home and told them. And I felt terrible. It was all my fault.
My sister was crying. My mom was very very quiet. My dad did all the talking. He said that my sister was not allowed to see the boy who hit her anymore, and he was going to have a talk with the boy’s parents tonight. My sister then said that it was all her fault, that she was provoking him, but my dad said it was no excuse.
“But I love him!” I had never seen my sister cry that much. “No, you don’t.”
“I hate you!”
“No, you don’t.” My dad can be very calm sometimes. “He’s my whole world.”
“Don’t ever say that about anyone again. Not even me.” That was my mom.
My mom chooses her battles carefully, and I can tell you one thing about my family. When my mom does say something, she always gets her way. And this time was no exception. My sister stopped crying immediately.
After that, my dad gave my sister a rare kiss on the forehead. Then, he left the house, got in his Oldsmobile, and drove away. I thought he probably was going to talk to the boy’s parents. And I felt very sorry for them. His parents, I mean. Because my dad doesn’t lose fights. He just doesn’t.
My mom then went into the kitchen to make my sister’s favorite thing to eat, and my sister looked at me.
“I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
“I love you,” was all I could say in return.
“You’re a freak, you know that? You’ve always been a freak.
Everyone says so. They always have.” “I’m trying not to be.”
Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.
By the way, I figure you are probably curious about my dad. Did he hit us when we were kids or now even? I just thought you might be curious because Bill was, after I told him about that boy and my sister. Well, if you are wondering, he didn’t. He never touched my brother or sister. And the only time he ever slapped me was when I made my Aunt Helen cry. And once we all calmed down, he got on his knees in front of me and said that his stepdad hit him a lot, and he decided in college when my mom got pregnant with my older brother that he would never hit his kids. And he felt terrible for doing it. And he was so sorry. And he would never hit me again. And he hasn’t.
He’s just stern sometimes.
Love always, Charlie
October 15, 1991 Dear friend,
I guess I forgot to mention in my last letter that it was Patrick who told me about masturbation. I guess I also forgot to tell you how often I do it now, which is a lot. I don’t like to look at pictures. I just close my eyes and dream about a lady I do not know. And I try not to feel ashamed. I never think about Sam when I do it. Never. That’s very important to me because I was so happy when she said “Charlie-esque” since it felt like an inside joke of sorts.
One night, I felt so guilty that I promised God that I would never do it again. So, I started using blankets, but then the blankets hurt, so I started using pillows, but then the pillows hurt, so I went back to normal. I
wasn’t raised very religiously because my parents went to Catholic school, but I do believe in God very much. I just never gave God a name, if you know what I mean. I hope I haven’t let Him down regardless.
Incidentally, my dad did have a serious talk with the boy’s parents. The boy’s mother was very very angry and screamed at her son. The boy’s father kept quiet. And my dad didn’t get too personal with them. He didn’t tell them they did a “lousy job” raising their son or anything.
As far as he was concerned, the only important thing was getting their help to keep their son away from his daughter. Once that was settled, he left them to deal with their family and came home to deal with his. At least that’s how he put it.
The one thing I did ask my dad was about the boy’s problems at home. Whether or not he thought the parents hit their son. He told me to mind my own business. Because he didn’t know and would never ask and didn’t think it mattered.
“Not everyone has a sob story, Charlie, and even if they do, it’s no excuse.”
That’s all he said. And then we went to watch television.
My sister is still mad at me, but my dad said I did the right thing. I hope that I did, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.
Love always, Charlie
October 28, 1991 Dear friend,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a couple of weeks, but I have been trying to “participate” like Bill said. It’s strange because sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book. Also, when I write letters, I spend the next two days thinking about what I figured out in my letters. I do not know if this is good or bad. Nevertheless, I am trying to participate.
Incidentally, the book Bill gave me was Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie. I know what you’re thinking. The cartoon Peter Pan with the lost boys. The actual book is so much better than that. It’s just about this boy who refuses to grow up, and when Wendy grows up, he feels very betrayed. At least that’s what I got out of it. I think Bill gave me the book to teach me a lesson of some kind.
The good news is that I read the book, and because of its fantasy nature, I could not pretend that I was in the book. That way I could participate and still read.
In terms of my participation in things, I am trying to go to social events that they set up in my school. It’s too late to join any clubs or anything like that, but I still try to go to the things that I can. Things like the homecoming football game and dance, even if I don’t have a date.
I cannot imagine that I will ever come home for a homecoming game after I leave here, but it was fun to pretend that I was. I found Patrick and Sam sitting in their normal spot in the bleachers, and I started acting like I hadn’t seen them in a year even though I had seen them that afternoon in lunch when I ate my orange, and they smoked cigarettes.
“Patrick, is that you? And Sam… it’s been so long. Who’s winning? God, college is such a trial. My professor is making me read twenty- seven books this weekend, and my girlfriend needs me to paint signs for her protest rally Tuesday. Let those administrators know we mean business. Dad is busy with his golf swing, and Mom has her hands full with tennis. We must do this again. I would stay, but I have to pick my sister up from her emotional workshop. She’s making real progress. Good to see ya.”
And then I walked away. I went down to the concession stand and bought three boxes of nachos and a diet coke for Sam. When I returned, I sat down and gave Patrick and Sam the nachos and Sam her diet coke. And Sam smiled. The great thing about Sam is that she doesn’t think I’m crazy for pretending to do things. Patrick doesn’t either, but he was too busy watching the game and screaming at Brad, the quarterback.
Sam told me during the game that they were going over to their friend’s house later for a party. Then, she asked me if I wanted to go, and I said yes because I had never been to a party before. I had seen one at my house, though.
My parents went to Ohio to see a very distant cousin get buried or married. I don’t remember which. And they left my brother in charge of the house. He was sixteen at the time. My brother used the opportunity to throw a big party with beer and everything. I was ordered to stay in my room, which was okay because that’s where everyone kept their coats, and it was fun looking through the stuff in their pockets. Every ten minutes or so, a drunk girl or boy would stumble in my room to see if they could make out there or something. Then, they would see me and walk away. That is, except for this one couple.
This one couple, whom I was told later were very popular and in love, stumbled into my room and asked if I minded them using it. I told them that my brother and sister said I had to stay here, and they asked if they could use the room anyway with me still in it. I said I didn’t see why not, so they closed the door and started kissing. Kissing very hard. After a few minutes, the boy’s hand went up the girl’s shirt, and she started protesting.
“C’mon, Dave.” “What?”
“The kid’s in here.” “It’s okay.”
And the boy kept working up the girl’s shirt, and as much as she said no, he kept working it. After a few minutes, she stopped protesting, and he pulled her shirt off, and she had a white bra on with lace. I honestly didn’t know what to do by this point. Pretty soon, he took off her bra and started to kiss her breasts. And then he put his hand down her pants, and she started moaning. I think they were both very drunk. He reached to take off her pants, but she started crying really hard, so he reached for his own. He pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees.
“Please. Dave. No.”
But the boy just talked soft to her about how good she looked and things like that, and she grabbed his penis with her hands and started moving it. I wish I could describe this a little more nicely without using words like penis, but that was the way it was.
After a few minutes, the boy pushed the girl’s head down, and she started to kiss his penis. She was still crying. Finally, she stopped crying because he put his penis in her mouth, and I don’t think you can cry in that position. I had to stop watching at that point because I started to feel sick, but it kept going on, and they kept doing other things, and she kept saying “no.” Even when I covered my ears, I could still hear her say that. My sister came in eventually to bring me a bowl of potato chips, and when she found the boy and the girl, they stopped. My sister was very embarrassed, but not as embarrassed as the girl. The boy looked kind of
smug. He didn’t say much. After they left, my sister turned to me. “Did they know you were in here?”
“Yes. They asked if they could use the room.” “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“I didn’t know what they were doing.”
“You pervert,” my sister muttered as she left the room, still carrying the bowl of potato chips.
I told Sam and Patrick about it, and they both fell silent. Sam mentioned she used to date Dave before she got into punk music, and Patrick said he’d heard about that infamous party. I wasn’t surprised since it became somewhat legendary, especially when people learned my older brother was involved.
When the police arrived, they found my brother asleep on the roof, and no one knew how he got there. My sister was making out with a senior in the laundry room; she was only a freshman then. Parents came to pick up their kids, with many girls crying and throwing up, while most of the boys had already fled. My brother got into serious trouble, and my sister received a stern talk from my parents about bad influences. And that was the end of it.
Dave is a senior now and plays as a wide receiver on the football team. I watched him catch a touchdown pass from Brad, winning the game for our school. The crowd went wild, but all I could think about was that party. I looked over at Sam and quietly asked, “He raped her, didn’t he?”
She just nodded. I couldn’t tell if she was sad or just knew more than me.
“We should tell someone, shouldn’t we?” I suggested.
Sam shook her head, explaining how difficult it is to prove such things, especially when both the boy and girl are popular and still in love.
The next day at the homecoming dance, I saw Dave dancing with his girl. Anger surged within me, and it scared me how intense it was. I thought about confronting him, but Sam, sensing my fury, put her arm around me and calmed me down. I’m glad she did because I might have gotten even angrier if his girl had tried to stop me, thinking she loved him.
Instead, I decided to let the air out of Dave’s tires. Sam knew which car was his.
That Friday night after the homecoming game, I felt a warmth I can’t quite describe. Sam and Patrick drove me to the party, with me sitting in the middle of Sam’s pickup truck. Sam loves her truck because it reminds her of her dad. As Patrick searched for a station on the radio, skipping commercials and bad songs, he finally found an amazing song about a boy, and we all got quiet.
Sam tapped her hand on the steering wheel, Patrick made waves with his hand out the window, and I just sat between them. When the song ended, I said, “I feel infinite.”
Sam and Patrick looked at me like I’d said the greatest thing ever. Those five minutes felt like a lifetime, and we felt young in the best way. I later bought the record, but it’s not the same unless you’re on your way to your first real party, sitting in the middle seat of a pickup truck with two wonderful people when it starts to rain.
We arrived at the party, and Patrick did a secret knock. The door opened a crack, revealing a guy with frizzy hair.
“Patrick known as Patty known as Nothing?” “Bob.”
They hugged, then Bob hugged Sam, and she introduced me, “This is our friend, Charlie.”
To my surprise, Bob hugged me too. As we hung up our coats, Sam whispered that Bob was “baked like a cake.”
The basement was smoky and filled with older kids. Two girls showed each other their tattoos and belly button rings, probably seniors. A guy named Fritz was eating a lot of Twinkies while his girlfriend talked about women’s rights, and he kept saying, “I know, baby.”
Sam and Patrick started smoking cigarettes. Bob brought us beers and introduced two new guests: Maggie, who needed the bathroom, and Brad, the quarterback. Seeing him in person felt surreal.
Everyone was friendly, asking me about myself since I was the youngest and declined a beer. I’d tried beer once with my brother and didn’t like it.
When Bob passed around food, he offered me a brownie. I accepted, hungry because I was used to Sam and Patrick taking me to Big Boy after games. The brownie tasted strange but was still good. However, it wasn’t an ordinary brownie. Thirty minutes later, the room started to slip away, and everything felt like a movie.
Sam noticed and asked Bob, “What the hell is your problem?”
“He likes it. Ask him.”
“How do you feel, Charlie?” “Light.”
“You see?” Bob looked nervous, which was later explained as paranoia.
Sam sat beside me, holding my hand. “Are you seeing anything, Charlie?”
“Light.”
“Does it feel good?” “Uh-huh.”
“Are you thirsty?” “Uh-huh.”
“What would you like to drink?” “A milkshake.”
Everyone except Sam laughed. “He’s stoned.”
“Are you hungry, Charlie?” “Uh-huh.”
“What would you like to eat?” “A milkshake.”
They laughed harder, though nothing I said was funny. Sam stood me up. “C’mon. We’ll get you a milkshake.” She turned to Bob. “I still think you’re an asshole.”
Bob laughed, and Sam joined in, making me glad everyone seemed happy.
In the kitchen, the light was blindingly bright. Sam made a milkshake while I went to the bathroom. On the way back, I heard a noise and found Patrick kissing Brad. They turned around, and Patrick said, “Brad doesn’t want people to know.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s scared.”
“Why?”
“Are you stoned?”
“They said I was. Sam is making me a milkshake.” Patrick tried not to laugh.
“Listen, Charlie. Brad doesn’t want people to know. Promise you won’t tell anyone. It’s our secret. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Patrick returned to Brad, and I went back to the kitchen. The milkshake was the best I ever had.
Before we left, Sam played a few favorite songs, including “Blackbird” and “MLK.” They were beautiful.
At the party, Patrick smiled more than I’d ever seen, even when Bob teased him about Brad. Patrick pointed at me, saying, “He’s a wallflower.”
Bob nodded, and the whole room agreed. Patrick sat beside me. “You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.”
I didn’t realize people noticed me. Sitting between Sam and Patrick, I felt like I belonged, and I started to cry. No one thought it was weird. Bob raised his drink, and everyone toasted, “To Charlie.”
I felt special, especially because of Sam.
I would tell you more about the homecoming dance, but letting the air out of Dave’s tires was the best part. I tried dancing, but I prefer songs you can’t dance to. Sam looked beautiful, but I tried not to notice.
Brad and Patrick didn’t interact at the dance. Brad was with Nancy, his cheerleader girlfriend. My sister danced with someone she wasn’t supposed to, even though a different boy had picked her up.
After the dance, we drove in Sam’s pickup. Near the Fort Pitt Tunnel, Sam asked Patrick to pull over. She climbed into the back, wearing just her dress, and told Patrick to drive. He smiled, and I guessed they’d done this before.
Patrick drove fast, and as we approached the tunnel, Sam stood up, her dress flowing like waves. Inside the tunnel, the sound vanished, replaced by a song called “Landslide.” When we emerged, Sam screamed joyfully. We all laughed.
In that moment, I swear we were infinite.
Love always, Charlie
