April 29, 1992
Dear friend,
I wish I could report that it’s getting better, but unfortunately it isn’t. It’s hard, too, because we’ve started school again, and I can’t go to the places where I used to go. And it can’t be like it was. And I wasn’t ready to say good-bye just yet.
To tell you the truth, I’ve just been avoiding everything.
I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they’re here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why. Especially since I know that if they went to another school, the person who had their heart broken would have had their heart broken by somebody else, so why does it have to be so personal? And if I went to another school, I would never have known Sam or Patrick or Mary Elizabeth or anyone except my family.
I can tell you one thing that happened. I was in the shopping mall because that’s where I go lately. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been going there every day, trying to figure out why people go there. It’s kind of a personal project.
There was this one little boy. He might have been four years old. I’m not sure. He was crying really hard, and he kept screaming for his mom. He must have been lost. Then, I saw this older kid, who was maybe seventeen. I think he went to a different school because I had never seen him before. Anyway, this older kid, who was really tough-looking with a leather jacket and long hair and everything, went up to the little boy and asked him what his name was. The little boy answered and stopped crying.
Then, the older kid walked away with the little boy.
A minute later, I heard the intercom say to the mom that her boy was at the information desk. So, I went to the information desk to see what would happen.
I guess the mom had been searching for the little boy for a long time because she came running up to the information desk, and when she saw
the little boy, she started crying. She held him tightly and told him to never run off again. Then, she thanked the older kid who had helped, and all the older kid said was, “Next time just watch him a little fucking better.”
Then, he walked away.
The man with the moustache behind the information desk was speechless. So was the mom. The little boy just wiped his nose, looked up at his mom, and said,
“French fries.”
The mom looked down at the little boy and nodded, and they left. So, I followed them. They went to the place where the food stands are, and they got french fries. The little boy was smiling and getting ketchup all over himself. And the mom kept wiping his face in between taking drags off her cigarette.
I kept looking at the mom, trying to imagine what she must have looked like when she was young. If she was married. If her little boy was an accident or planned. And if that made a difference.
I saw other people there. Old men sitting alone. Young girls with blue eye shadow and awkward jaws. Little kids who looked tired. Fathers in nice coats who looked even more tired. Kids working behind the counters of the food places who looked like they hadn’t had the will to live for hours. The machines kept opening and closing. The people kept giving money and getting their change. And it all felt very unsettling to me.
So, I decided to find another place to go and figure out why people go there. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of places like that. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going without a friend. I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like. It’s much easier not to know things sometimes. And to have french fries with your mom be enough.
The only person I’ve really talked to in the last two weeks was Susan, the girl who used to “go with” Michael back in middle school when she had braces. I saw her standing in the hall, surrounded by a group of boys I didn’t know. They were all laughing and making sex jokes, and Susan was doing her best to laugh along with them. When she saw me approaching the group, her face went “ashen.” It was almost like she didn’t want to remember what she was like twelve months ago, and she certainly didn’t want the boys to know that she knew me and used to be my friend. The whole group got quiet and stared at me, but I didn’t even notice them. I just looked at Susan, and all I said was,
“Do you ever miss him?”
I didn’t say it mean or accusingly. I just wanted to know if anybody else remembered Michael. To tell you the truth, I was stoned in a bad way, and I couldn’t get the question out of my mind.
Susan was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. These were the first words we had spoken since the end of last year. I guess it wasn’t fair of me to ask her in a group like that, but I never see her by herself anymore, and I really needed to know.
At first, I thought her blank expression was the result of surprise, but after it didn’t go away for a long while, I knew that it wasn’t. It suddenly dawned on me that if Michael were still around, Susan probably wouldn’t be “going out” with him anymore. Not because she’s a bad person or shallow or mean. But because things change. And friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody.
“I’m sorry I bothered you, Susan. I’m just having a tough time. That’s all. Have a good one,” I said and walked away.
“God, that kid is such a fucking freak,” I heard one of the boys whisper when I was halfway down the hall. He said it more factual than mean, and Susan didn’t correct him. I don’t know if I would have corrected him myself these days.
Love always, Charlie
May 2, 1992
Dear friend,
A few days ago, I went to see Bob to buy more pot. I should probably say that I keep forgetting Bob doesn’t go to school with us. Probably because he watches more television than anyone I know, and he’s great with trivia. You should see him talk about Mary Tyler Moore. It’s kind of spooky.
Bob has this very specific way of living. He says he takes a shower every other day. He weighs his “stash” daily. He says when you’re smoking a cigarette with someone, and you have a lighter, you should light their cigarette first. But if you have matches, you should light your cigarette first, so you breathe in the “harmful sulfur” instead of them. He says it’s the polite thing to do. He also says that it’s bad luck to have “three on a match.” He heard that from his uncle who fought in Vietnam.
Something about how three cigarettes was enough time for the enemy to know where you are.
Bob says that when you’re alone, and you light a cigarette, and the cigarette is only halfway lit that means someone is thinking about you. He also says that when you find a penny, it’s only “lucky” if it’s heads- up. He says the best thing to do is find a lucky penny when you’re with someone and give the other person the good luck. He believes in karma. He also loves to play cards.
Bob goes part-time to the local community college. He wants to be a chef. He is an only child, and his parents are never home. He says it used to bother him a lot when he was younger, but not so much anymore.
The thing about Bob is that when you first meet him, he’s really interesting because he knows about cigarette rules and pennies and Mary Tyler Moore. But after you’ve known him for a while, he starts to repeat these things. In the last few weeks, he hasn’t said anything that I haven’t heard from him before. That’s what made it such a shock when he told me what happened.
Basically, Brad’s father caught Brad and Patrick together.
I guess that Brad’s father didn’t know about his son because when he caught them, Brad’s father started beating Brad. Not a slap kind of beating. A belt kind. A real kind. Patrick told Sam who told Bob that he had never seen anything like it. I guess it was that bad. He wanted to say “Stop” and “You’re killing him.” He even wanted to hold Brad’s father down. But he just froze. And Brad kept yelling, “Get out!” to Patrick. And finally, Patrick just did.
That was last week. And Brad still hasn’t come to school. Everyone thinks he might have been sent to a military school or something. Nobody knows for sure about anything. Patrick tried calling once, but when Brad’s father answered, he just hung up.
Bob said Patrick was “in bad shape.” I can’t tell you how sad I felt when he told me that because I wanted to call Patrick and be his friend and help him. But I didn’t know if I should call him because of what he had said about waiting until things got clear. The thing was I couldn’t think about anything else.
So, on Friday, I went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I waited until the movie had already started before I went into the theater. I didn’t want to ruin the show for everybody. I just wanted to see Patrick play Frank ‘n Furter just like he always does because I knew that if I saw that, I knew he would be okay. Just like my sister getting mad at me for smoking cigarettes.
I sat in the back row and looked on the stage. It was still a couple of scenes before Frank ‘n Furter enters. That’s when I saw Sam playing Janet. And I missed her so much. And I was so sorry about how I messed everything up. Especially when I saw Mary Elizabeth playing Magenta. It was all very hard to watch. But then Patrick finally came on as Frank ‘n Furter, and he was great. He was actually better than ever in a lot of ways. It was just so nice to see all my friends. I left before the movie was over.
I drove home listening to some of the songs we listened to those times when we were infinite. And I pretended they were in the car with me. I even talked out loud. I told Patrick how I thought he was great. I asked Sam about Craig. I told Mary Elizabeth that I was sorry and how much I really loved the e. e. cummings book and wanted to ask her questions about it. But then I stopped because it started to make me too sad. I also thought that if anybody saw me talking out loud when I was alone in the car, their looks might convince me that the something that’s wrong with me might be even worse than I thought.
When I got home, my sister was watching a movie with her new boyfriend. There isn’t much to say other than his name is Erik, and he has short hair and is a junior. Erik had rented the movie. After I shook hands with him, I asked them about the movie because I didn’t recognize it except for an actor who used to be on a TV show, and I couldn’t remember his name.
My sister said, “It’s stupid. You wouldn’t like it.” I said, “What’s it about?”
She said, “Come on, Charlie. It’s almost over.” I said, “Would it be okay if I watched the end?” She said, “You can watch it when we’re done.”
I said, “Well, how about I watch the end with you, and then I can rewind it and watch up to the point I started watching with you?”
That’s when she paused the movie. “Can’t you take a hint?”
“I suppose not.”
“We want to be alone, Charlie.” “Oh. I’m sorry.”
To tell you the truth, I knew she wanted to be alone with Erik, but I really wanted to have some company. I knew it wasn’t fair, though, to ruin her time just because I miss everybody, so I just said good night and left.
I went up to my room and started reading the new book Bill gave me. It’s called The Stranger. Bill said that it’s “very easy to read, but very hard to ‘read well.’” I have no idea what he means, but I like the book so far.
Love always, Charlie
May 8, 1992
Dear friend,
It’s strange how things can change back as suddenly as they changed originally. When one thing happens and suddenly, things are back to normal.
On Monday, Brad came back to school.
He looked very different. It wasn’t that he was bruised or anything. His face actually looked fine. But before, Brad was always this guy who walked down the hallway with a bounce. I can’t really describe it any other way. It’s just that some people walk with their heads to the ground for some reason. They don’t like to look other people in the eye. Brad was never like that. But now he is. Especially when it comes to Patrick.
I saw them talking quiet in the hallway. I was too far away to hear what they said, but I could tell that Brad was ignoring Patrick. And when Patrick started to get upset, Brad just closed his locker and walked away. It wasn’t that strange because Brad and Patrick never talked in school since Brad wanted things to be secret. The strange part was that Patrick would walk up to Brad in the first place. So, I guessed that they didn’t meet on the golf courses anymore. Or talk on the phone even.
Later that afternoon, I was having a cigarette outside by myself, and I saw Patrick alone, also having a cigarette. I wasn’t close enough to really see him, but I didn’t want to interfere with his personal time, so I didn’t walk up to him. But Patrick was crying. He was crying pretty hard. After that, whenever I saw him around anywhere, he didn’t look like he was there. He looked like he was someplace else. And I think I knew that because that’s how people used to say I was. Maybe they still do. I’m not sure.
On Thursday, something really terrible happened.
I was sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating Salisbury steak, when I saw Patrick walk up to Brad, who was sitting with his football buddies, and I saw Brad ignore him like he did at the locker. And I saw Patrick get
really upset, but Brad still ignored him. Then, I saw Patrick say something, and he looked pretty angry as he turned to walk away. Brad sat still for a second, then he turned around. And then I heard it. It was just loud enough for a few tables to hear. The thing that Brad yelled at Patrick.
“Faggot!”
Brad’s football buddies start laughing. A few tables got quiet as Patrick turned around. He was mad as hell. I’m not kidding. He stormed up to Brad’s table and said,
“What did you call me?”
God, he was mad. I’d never seen Patrick like that before.
Brad sat quiet for a second, but his buddies kept egging him on by pushing his shoulders. Brad looked up at Patrick and said softer and meaner than the last time,
“I called you a faggot.”
Brad’s buddies started laughing even harder. That is, until Patrick threw the first punch. It’s kind of eerie when a whole room gets quiet at once, and then the real noise starts.
The fight was hard. A lot harder than the one I had with Sean last year. There was no clean punching or things you see in movies. They just wrestled and hit. And whoever was the most aggressive or the most angry got in the most hits. In this case, it was pretty even until Brad’s buddies got involved, and it became five on one.
That’s when I got involved. I just couldn’t watch them hurt Patrick even if things weren’t clear just yet.
I think anyone who knew me might have been frightened or confused. Except maybe my brother. He taught me what to do in these situations. I don’t really want to go into detail except to say that by the end of it, Brad and two of his buddies stopped fighting and just stared at me. His other two friends were lying on the ground. One was clutching the knee I bashed in with one of those metal cafeteria chairs. The other one was holding his face. I kind of swiped at his eyes, but not too bad. I didn’t want to be too bad.
I looked down at the ground, and I saw Patrick. His face was pretty messed up, and he was crying hard. I helped him to his feet, and then I looked at Brad. I don’t think we’d ever really exchanged two words before, but I guess this was the time to start. All I said was,
“If you ever do this again, I’ll tell everyone. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll blind you.”
I pointed at his friend who was holding his face, and I knew Brad heard me and knew that I meant it. He didn’t say anything back, though, because the security guards of our school came to bring all of us out of the cafeteria. They took us first to the nurse, and then to Mr. Small. Patrick started the fight, so he was suspended for a week. Brad’s buddies got three days each for ganging up on Patrick after they broke up the original fight. Brad wasn’t suspended at all because it was self-defense. I didn’t get suspended either because I was just helping to defend a friend when it was five on one.
Brad and I got a month’s detention, starting that day.
In detention, Mr. Harris didn’t set up any rules. He just let us read or do homework or talk. It really isn’t much of a punishment unless you like the television programs right after school or are very concerned with your permanent record. I wonder if it’s all a lie. A permanent record, I mean.
On that first day of detention, Brad came to sit next to me. He looked very sad. I think it all kind of hit him after he stopped feeling numb from the fight.
“Charlie?” “Yeah?”
“Thanks. Thanks for stopping them.” “You’re welcome.”
And that was it. I haven’t said anything to him since. And he didn’t sit next to me today. At first when he said it, I was kind of confused. But then I think I got it. Because I wouldn’t want a bunch of my friends beating up Sam even if I wasn’t allowed to like her anymore either.
When I got out of detention that day, Sam was waiting for me. The minute I saw her, she smiled. I was numb. I just couldn’t believe she was really there. Then, I saw her turn and give Brad a real cold look.
Brad said, “Tell him I’m sorry.” Sam replied, “Tell him yourself.”
Brad looked away and walked to his car. Then, Sam walked up to me and messed up my hair.
“So, I heard you’re this ninja or something.” I think I nodded.
Sam drove me home in her pickup truck. On the way, she told me that she was really angry at me for doing what I did to Mary Elizabeth. She told me that Mary Elizabeth is a really old friend of hers. She even reminded me that Mary Elizabeth was there for her when she went
through that tough time she told me about when she gave me the typewriter. I don’t really want to repeat what that was.
So, she said that when I kissed her instead of Mary Elizabeth, I really hurt their friendship for a while. Because I guess Mary Elizabeth really liked me a lot. That made me feel sad because I didn’t know that she liked me that much. I just thought she wanted to expose me to all those great things. That’s when Sam said,
“Charlie, you’re so stupid sometimes. Do you know that?” “Yeah. I really do. Know that. Honest.”
Then, she said that Mary Elizabeth and she got over it, and she thanked me for taking Patrick’s advice and staying away for as long as I did because it made things easier. So, then I said,
“So, we can be friends now?” “Of course,” was all she said. “And Patrick?”
“And Patrick.”
“And everyone else?” “And everyone else.”
That’s when I started crying. But Sam told me to shush. “You remember what I said to Brad?”
“Yeah. You told him that he should tell Patrick that he was sorry himself.”
“That goes for Mary Elizabeth, too.” “I tried, but she told me …”
“I know you tried. I’m telling you to try again.” “Okay.”
Sam dropped me off. When she was too far away to see me, I started to cry again. Because she was my friend again. And that was enough for me. So, I made myself promise to never mess up like I did before. And I’m never going to. I can tell you that.
When I went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show tonight, it was very tense. Not because of Mary Elizabeth. That was actually okay. I said I was sorry, and then I asked her if there was anything she wanted to say to me. And like before, I asked a question and got a very long answer. When I was done listening (I really did listen), I said I was sorry again. Then, she thanked me for not trying to make what I did seem less by offering a lot of excuses. And things were back to normal except we were just friends.
To tell you the truth, I think the biggest reason for everything being okay is that Mary Elizabeth started dating one of Craig’s friends. His
name is Peter, and he’s in college, which makes Mary Elizabeth happy. At the party at Craig’s apartment, I overheard Mary Elizabeth say to Alice that she was much happier with Peter because he was “opinionated,” and they had debates. She said that I was really sweet and understanding, but that our relationship was too one-sided. She wanted a person who was more open to discussion and didn’t need someone’s permission to talk.
I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everyone was, especially me. But I was at a party with my friends, so it really didn’t matter that much. I just drank because I figured that it was about time to stop smoking so much pot.
The thing that made the evening tense was Patrick officially quit doing Frank ‘N Furter in the show. He said that he didn’t want to do it anymore
… ever. So, he sat and watched the show in the audience with me, and he said things that were hard to listen to because Patrick usually isn’t unhappy.
“You ever think, Charlie, that our group is the same as any other group like the football team? And the only real difference between us is what we wear and why we wear it?”
“Yeah?” And there was this pause. “Well, I think it’s all bullshit.”
And he meant it. It was hard to see him mean it that much.
Some guy that I didn’t know from somewhere else did the part of Frank ‘N Furter. He had been the second to Patrick for a long time, and now he got his chance. He was pretty good, too. Not as good as Patrick, but pretty good.
Love always, Charlie
May 11, 1992
Dear friend,
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Patrick these days. I really haven’t said much. I just kind of listen and nod because Patrick needs to talk. But it isn’t like it was with Mary Elizabeth. It’s different.
It started out on the Saturday morning after the show. I was in my bed trying to figure out why sometimes you can wake up and go back to sleep and other times you can’t. Then, my mom knocked.
“Your friend Patrick’s on the phone.”
So, I got up and wiped away the sleep. “Hello?”
“Get dressed. I’m on my way.”
Click. That was it. I actually had a lot of work to do since it was getting closer to the end of the school year, but it sounded like we might be having some kind of adventure, so I got dressed anyway.
Patrick pulled up about ten minutes later. He was wearing the same clothes he wore the night before. He hadn’t showered or anything. I don’t even think he went to bed. He was just wide awake on coffee and cigarettes and Mini Thins, which are these small pills you can buy at Quick Marts or Truck Stops. They keep you awake! They’re not illegal either, but they make you thirsty.
So, I climbed in Patrick’s car, which was filled with cigarette smoke.
He offered me one, but I said not in front of my house. “Your parents don’t know you smoke?”
“No. Should they?” “I guess not.”
Then, we started driving … fast.
At first, Patrick didn’t say much. He just listened to the music on the tape player. After the second song started, I asked him if it was the mix tape I made him for Secret Santa Christmas.
“I’ve been listening to it all night.”
Patrick had this smile all over his face. It was a sick smile. Glazey and numb. He just turned up the volume. And drove faster.
“I’ll tell you something, Charlie. I feel good. You know what I mean? Really good. Like I’m free or something. Like I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m going away to college, right? It’ll be different there. You know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking all night about what kind of posters I want to put up in my dorm room. And if I’ll have an exposed brick wall. I’ve always wanted an exposed brick wall, so I can paint it. Know what I mean?”
I just nodded this time because he didn’t really wait for a “sure.” “Things’ll be different there. They have to be.”
“They will be,” I said. “You really think so?” “Sure.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
That’s kind of how it went all day. We went to see a movie. And we ate pizza. And every time Patrick started getting tired, we got coffee, and
he ate another Mini Thin or two. When things started turning dusk outside, he showed me all the places he and Brad would meet. He didn’t say much about them. He just stared.
We ended up at the golf course.
We sat on the eighteenth green, which was pretty high on a hill, and we watched the sun disappear. By this point, Patrick had bought a bottle of red wine with his fake ID, and we passed it back and forth. Just talking.
“Did you hear about Lily?” he asked. “Who?”
“Lily Miller. I don’t know what her real first name was, but they called her Lily. She was a senior when I was a sophomore.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I thought your brother would have told you. It’s a classic.” “Maybe.”
“Okay. Stop me if you heard it.” “Okay.”
“So, Lily comes up here with this guy who was the lead in all the plays.”
“Parker?”
“Right, Parker. How did you know?” “My sister had a crush on him.”
“Perfect!” We were getting pretty drunk. “So, Parker and Lily come up here one night. And they are so in love! He even gave her his thespian pin or something.”
At this point, Patrick is spitting out wine between sentences, he’s laughing so hard.
“They even had a song. Something like Broken Wings by that band, Mr. Mister. I don’t even know, but I hope it was Broken Wings because it would make the story perfect.”
“Keep going,” I encouraged.
“Okay. Okay.” He swallowed. “So, they’ve been going out for a long time, and I think they’ve even had sex before, but this was going to be a special night. She packed a little picnic, and he brought a boom box to play Broken Wings.”
Patrick just couldn’t get over that song. He laughed for ten minutes. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. So, they have this picnic with sandwiches and
everything. They start to make out. The stereo’s playing, and they’re just about to ‘do it’ when Parker realizes he forgot the condoms. They’re
both naked on this putting green. They both want each other. There’s no condom. So, what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“They did it doggie-style with one of the sandwich bags!” “NO!” was all I could really say.
“YES!” was Patrick’s rebuttal. “GOD!” was my counter. “YES!” was Patrick’s conclusion.
After we shook off the giggles and wasted most of the wine with spit takes, he turned to me.
“And you want to know the best part?” “What?”
“She was the valedictorian. And everyone knew it when she went up to give her speech!”
There’s nothing like the deep breaths after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons. It was that great.
So, Patrick and I shared all the stories we could think of.
There was a kid named Barry, who used to build kites in art class. Then, after school, he would attach firecrackers to the kite and fly it and blow it up. He’s now studying to be an air traffic controller.
—Patrick’s story via Sam
And then there was this kid named Chip who spent all of his money from allowance and Christmas and birthdays to buy bug killing equipment and he would go door to door asking if he could kill the bugs for free.
—my story via my sister
There was a guy named Carl Burns and everyone called him C.B. And one day C.B. got so drunk at a party that he tried to “fuck” the host’s dog.
—Patrick’s story
And there was this guy they called “Action Jack” because supposedly he was caught masturbating at a drunk party. And at every pep rally, the kids would clap and chant. Action Jack … clap clap clap … Action Jack!
—my story via my brother There were other stories and other names. Second Base Stace, who had breasts in the fourth grade and let some of the boys feel them.
Vincent, who took acid and tried to flush a sofa down the toilet. Sheila, who allegedly masturbated with a hot dog and had to go to the emergency room. The list went on and on.
By the end, all I could think was what these people must feel like when they go to their class reunions. I wonder if they’re embarrassed, and I wonder if that’s a small price to pay for being a legend.
After we sobered up a bit with coffee and Mini Thins, Patrick drove me home. The mix tape I made for him hit a bunch of winter songs. And Patrick turned to me.
“Thanks, Charlie.” “Sure.”
“No. I mean in the cafeteria.” “Sure.”
After that, it was quiet. He drove me home and pulled up in the driveway. We hugged good night, and when I was just about to let go, he held me a little tighter. And he moved his face to mine. And he kissed me. A real kiss. Then, he pulled away real slow.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. That’s okay.” “Really. I’m sorry.”
“No, really. It was okay.”
So, he said “thanks” and hugged me again. And moved in to kiss me again. And I just let him. I don’t know why. We stayed in his car for a long time.
We didn’t do anything other than kiss. And we didn’t even do that for very long. After a while, his eyes lost the glazey numb look from the wine or the coffee or the fact that he had stayed up the night before. Then, he started crying. Then, he started talking about Brad.
And I just let him. Because that’s what friends are for.
Love always, Charlie
May 17, 1992
Dear friend,
It seems like every morning since that first night, I wake up dull, and my head hurts, and I can’t breathe. Patrick and I have been spending a lot of time together. We drink a lot. Actually, it’s more like Patrick drinks, and I sip.
It’s just hard to see a friend hurt this much. Especially when you can’t do anything except “be there.” I want to make him stop hurting, but I can’t. So, I just follow him around whenever he wants to show me his world.
One night Patrick took me to this park where men go to find each other. Patrick told me that if I didn’t want to be bothered by anyone that I should just not make eye contact. He said that eye contact is how you agree to fool around anonymously. Nobody talks. They just find places to go. After a while, Patrick saw someone he liked. He asked me if I needed any cigarettes, and when I said no, he patted my shoulder and walked away with this boy.
I just sat on a bench, looking around. All I saw were the shadows of people. Some on the ground. Some by a tree. Some just walking. It was so quiet. After a few minutes, I lit a cigarette, and I heard somebody whisper.
“You got an extra cigarette?” the voice asked. I turned around and saw a man in shadow. “Sure,” I said.
I reached out to hand the man a cigarette. He took it. “You got a light?” he said.
“Sure,” I said, and I struck a match for him.
Instead of just leaning down and lighting the cigarette, he reached out to make a cup around the match with our hands, which is something we all do when it’s windy. But it wasn’t windy. I think he just wanted to touch my hands because while he was lighting the cigarette, he did it for a lot longer than necessary. Maybe he wanted me to see his face over the glow of the match. To see how handsome he was. I don’t know. He did look familiar. But I couldn’t figure out from where.
He blew out the match. “Thanks.” And exhaled. “No problem,” I said.
“Mind if I sit down?” he asked. “Not really.”
He sat down. And said a few things. And it was his voice. I recognized his voice. So, I lit another cigarette and looked at his face again, and thought hard, and that’s when I figured it out. It was the guy who does the sports on the TV news!
“Nice night,” he said.
I couldn’t believe it! I guess I managed to nod because he kept talking. About sports! He kept talking about how the designated hitter in baseball was bad and why basketball was a commercial success and what teams
looked promising in college football. He even mentioned my brother’s name! I swear!
All I said was, “So, what’s it like being on television?”
It must have been the wrong thing to say because he just got up and walked away. It was too bad because I wanted to ask him if he thought my brother would make it to the pros.
Another night, Patrick took me to this place where they sell poppers, which is this drug you inhale. They didn’t have poppers, but the guy behind the counter said that he had something that was just as good. So, Patrick bought that. It was in this aerosal can. We both took a sniff of it, and I swear we both thought we were going to die of a heart attack.
All in all, I think Patrick took me to about every place there is to go that I wouldn’t have known about otherwise. There was this karaoke bar on one of the main streets in the city. And there was this dance club. And this one bathroom in this one gym. All these places. Sometimes, Patrick would pick up guys. Sometimes, he wouldn’t. He said that it was hard being safe. And you never know.
The nights he would pick up someone always made him sad. It’s hard, too, because Patrick began every night really excited. He always said he felt free. And tonight was his destiny. And things like that. But by the end of that night, he just looked sad. Sometimes, he would talk about Brad. Sometimes, he wouldn’t. But after a while, the whole thing just wasn’t interesting to him anymore, and he ran out of things to keep himself numb.
So, tonight, he dropped me off at home. It was the night we went back to the park where men meet. And the night he saw Brad there with some guy. Brad was too into what he was doing to notice us. Patrick didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. He just walked back to the car. And we drove in silence. On the way, he threw the bottle of wine out the window. And it landed with a crash. And this time he didn’t try to kiss me like he had every night. He just thanked me for being his friend. And drove away.
Love always, Charlie
May 21, 1992
Dear friend,
The school year is just about over. We have another month or so to go. But the seniors like my sister and Sam and Patrick only have a couple of weeks. Then, they have prom and graduation, and they are all busy making plans.
Mary Elizabeth is taking her new boyfriend, Peter. My sister is taking Erik. Patrick is going with Alice. And Craig agreed to go with Sam this time. They have even rented a limo and everything. Not my sister, though. She’s going in her new boyfriend’s car, which is a Buick.
Bill has been very sentimental lately because he can feel his first year of teaching coming to an end. At least that’s what he said to me. He was planning on moving to New York and writing plays, but he told me that he doesn’t really think he wants to anymore. He really likes teaching kids English and thinks maybe he can take over the drama department, too, next year.
I guess he’s been thinking about this a lot because he hadn’t given me a new book to read since The Stranger. He did ask me to watch a lot of movies, though, and write an essay about what I thought of all those movies. The movies were The Graduate, Harold & Maude, My Life as a Dog (which has subtitles!), Dead Poets Society, and a movie called The Unbelievable Truth, which was very hard to find.
I watched all the movies in one day. It was quite great.
The essay I wrote was very similar to the past few essays I wrote because everything Bill tells me to read or see are similar. Except the time he had me read Naked Lunch.
Incidentally, he told me he had given me that book because he had just broken up with his girlfriend and was feeling philosophical. I guess that’s why he was sad that afternoon when we talked about On the Road. He apologized for letting his personal life affect his teaching, and I accepted because I didn’t know what else to do. It’s strange to think about your teachers as being people even when they’re Bill. I guess he has since made up with his girlfriend. They’re living together now. At least that’s what he said.
So, in school Bill gave me my final book to read for the year. It’s called The Fountainhead, and it’s very long.
When he gave me the book, Bill said, “Be skeptical about this one. It’s a great book. But try to be a filter, not a sponge.”
Sometimes, I think Bill forgets that I am sixteen. But I am very happy that he does.
I haven’t started reading it because I am very behind in my other classes because I spent so much time with Patrick. But if I can catch up, I
will end my first year with straight A’s, which makes me very happy. I almost didn’t get an A in math, but then Mr. Carlo told me to stop asking “why?” all the time and just follow the formulas. So, I did. Now, I get perfect scores on all my tests. I just wish I knew what the formulas did. I honestly have no idea.
I was just thinking that I wrote to you first because I was afraid about starting high school. Today, I feel good, so that’s kind of funny.
By the way, Patrick stopped drinking that night he saw Brad in the park. I guess he’s feeling better. He just wants to graduate and go to college now.
I saw Brad in detention the Monday after I saw him at the park. And he looked just like he always looks.
Love always, Charlie
May 27, 1992
Dear friend,
I’ve been reading The Fountainhead for the past few days, and it’s an excellent book. I read on the back cover that the author was born in Russia and came to America when she was young. She barely spoke English, but she wanted to be a great writer. I thought that was very admirable, so I sat down and tried to write a story.
“Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight.”
That was the first sentence. The problem was that I just couldn’t think of the next one. After cleaning my room three times, I decided to leave Ian alone for a while because I was starting to get mad at him.
I’ve had a lot of time to write and read and think about things this past week because everyone is busy with prom and graduation and schedules. Next Friday is their last day of school. And then prom is on Tuesday, which I thought was strange because I thought it would be on a weekend, but Sam told me that every school can’t have their prom on the same night or else there wouldn’t be enough tuxedos and restaurants to go around. I said it felt very well planned. And then Sunday is their graduation. It all feels very exciting. I wish it were happening to me.
I wonder what it will be like when I leave this place. The fact that I will have to have a roommate and buy shampoo. I thought how great it would be to go to my senior prom three years from now with Sam. I
hope it’s on a Friday. And I hope I will be a valedictorian at graduation. I wonder what my speech would be. And if Bill would help me with it if he didn’t go to New York and write plays. Or maybe he would even if he was in New York writing plays. I think that would be especially nice of him.
I don’t know. The Fountainhead is a very good book. I hope I am being a filter.
Love always, Charlie
June 2, 1992 Dear friend,
Did you have a senior prank? I’m guessing you probably did because my sister said it’s a tradition at a lot of schools. This year, the prank was as follows: Some seniors filled the swimming pool with about six thousand packages of grape Kool-Aid. I have no idea who thinks of these things or why, except that the senior prank is supposed to signify the end of school. What this has to do with a grape pool is beyond me, but I was very happy not to have gym.
It’s actually been a very exciting time because we’ve all been busy finishing up the year. This Friday is the last day of school for all of my friends and my sister. They’ve been talking about their prom nonstop. Even the people that think it’s a “joke” like Mary Elizabeth can’t stop talking about what a “joke” it is. It’s all very fun to witness.
So, by this time, everyone has finally figured out which schools he or she is going to next year. Patrick is going to the University of Washington because he wants to be near the music there. He says he thinks he wants to work for a record company someday. Maybe be a publicist or a person who finds new bands. Sam finally made her decision to leave early for the summer program at the college of her choice. I love that expression. College of my choice. Safety school is another favorite.
The thing was that Sam got into two schools. The college of her choice and a safety school. She could have started at the safety school in the fall, but in order to go to the college of her choice, she had to do this special summer program just like my brother. That’s right! The school is Penn State, which is so great because now I can visit my brother and Sam with one trip. I don’t want to think about Sam leaving just yet, but I
did wonder what would happen if she and my brother ever started dating, which is stupid because they are nothing alike, and Sam is in love with Craig. I have to stop doing this.
My sister is going to a “small liberal arts college back East” called Sarah Lawrence. She almost didn’t get to go because it costs a lot of money, but then she got an academic scholarship through the Rotary Club or Moose Lodge or something like that, which I thought was very generous of them. My sister is going to be second in her class. I thought she might have been valedictorian, but she got a B when she was going through that tough time with her old boyfriend.
Mary Elizabeth is going to Berkeley. And Alice is going to study movies at New York University. I never even knew she liked movies, but I guess she does. She calls them “films.”
Incidentally, I finished The Fountainhead. It was a really great experience. It’s strange to describe reading a book as a really great experience, but that’s kind of how it felt. It was a different book from the others because it wasn’t about being a kid. And it wasn’t like The Stranger or Naked Lunch even though I think it was philosophical in a way. But it wasn’t like you had to really search for the philosophy. It was pretty straightforward, I thought, and the great part is that I took what the author wrote about and put it in terms of my own life. Maybe that’s what being a filter means. I’m not sure.
There was this one part where the main character, who is this architect, is sitting on a boat with his best friend, who is a newspaper tycoon. And the newspaper tycoon says that the architect is a very cold man. The architect replies that if the boat were sinking, and there was only room in the lifeboat for one person, he would gladly give up his life for the newspaper tycoon. And then he says something like this…
“I would die for you. But I won’t live for you.”
Something like that. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. Maybe that is what makes people “participate.” I’m not really certain. Because I don’t know if I would mind living for Sam for a while. Then again, she wouldn’t want me to, so maybe it’s a lot friendlier than all that. I hope so anyway.
I told my psychiatrist about the book and Bill and about Sam and Patrick and all their colleges, but he just keeps asking me questions about when I was younger. The thing is I feel that I’m just repeating the same memories to him. I don’t know. He says it’s important. I guess we’ll have to see.
I would write a little more today, but I have to learn my math formulas for the final on Thursday. Wish me luck!
Love always, Charlie
June 5, 1992 Dear friend,
I wanted to tell you about us running. There was this beautiful sunset. And there was this hill. The hill up to the eighteenth green where Patrick and I spit wine from laughing. And just a few hours before, Sam and Patrick and everyone I love and know had their last day of high school ever. And I was happy because they were happy. My sister even let me hug her in the hallway. Congratulations was the word of the day. So, Sam and Patrick and I went to the Big Boy and smoked cigarettes. Then, we went walking, waiting for it to be time to go to Rocky Horror. And we were talking about things that seemed important at the time. And we were looking up that hill. And then Patrick started running after the sunset. And Sam immediately followed him. And I saw them in silhouette. Running after the sun. Then, I started running. And everything was as good as it could be.
That night, Patrick decided to play Frank ‘n Furter one last time. He was so happy to put on the costume, and everyone was happy he decided to do it. It was quite moving actually. He gave the best show I ever saw him give. Maybe I was biased, but I don’t care. It was the show I’ll always remember. Especially his last song.
The song is called “I’m Going Home.” In the movie, Tim Curry, who plays the character, cries during that song. But Patrick was smiling. And it felt just right.
I even persuaded my sister to come to the show with her boyfriend. I have been trying to get her to come since I started going, but she never would. But this time she did. And since she and her boyfriend never saw the show before, they were technically “virgins,” which meant they would have to do all these embarrassing things before the show started to get “initiated.” I decided not to tell my sister this, and she and her boyfriend had to go on stage and try to dance the Time Warp.
Whoever lost the dance contest had to pretend he or she was having sex with a large stuffed Gumby doll, so I quickly showed my sister and her boyfriend how to dance the Time Warp, so they wouldn’t lose the
contest. It was fun watching my sister dance the Time Warp on stage, but I don’t think I could have handled her pretending to have sex with a large stuffed Gumby.
I asked my sister if she wanted to come to Craig’s for the party afterward, but she said that one of her friends was having a party, so she was going to that. That was okay with me because at least she came to the show. And before she left, she hugged me again. Two in one day! I really do love my sister. Especially when she’s nice.
The party at Craig’s was great. Craig and Peter bought champagne to congratulate all the people who were graduating. And we danced. And we talked. And I saw Mary Elizabeth kissing Peter and looking happy. And I saw Sam kissing Craig and looking happy. And I saw Patrick and Alice not even care that they weren’t kissing anybody because they were too excited talking about their futures.
So, I just sat there with a bottle of champagne near the CD player, and I changed the songs to fit the mood of what I saw. I was lucky, too, because Craig has an excellent collection. When people looked a little tired, I played something fun. When they looked like they wanted to talk, I played something soft. It was a great way to sit alone at a party and still feel a part of things.
After the party, everyone thanked me because they said it was the perfect music. Craig said that I should be a deejay to make money while I was still in school just like he does modeling. I thought that was a good idea. Maybe I could save up a lot of money, so I would be able to go to college even if something like the Rotary Club or Moose Lodge didn’t come through.
My brother said recently on the phone that if he makes it to the pros, I don’t have to worry about my college money at all. He said he’d take care of it. I can’t wait to see my brother. He’s coming home for my sister’s graduation, which is so nice.
Love always, Charlie
June 9, 1992 Dear friend,
It is now prom night. And I am sitting in my room. Yesterday was difficult because I didn’t know anybody since all my friends and my sister were no longer in school.
The worst was lunchtime because it reminded me of when everyone was angry with me for Mary Elizabeth. I couldn’t even eat my sandwich, and my mom made my favorite because I think she knew how sad I would be with everyone gone.
The halls seemed different. And the juniors were acting different because they are now the seniors. They even had T-shirts made. I don’t know who plans these things.
All I can think about is the fact that Sam is leaving in two weeks to go to Penn State. And Mary Elizabeth is going to be busy with her guy. And my sister is going to be busy with hers. And Alice and I aren’t that close. I know Patrick will be around, but I’m afraid that maybe since he isn’t sad, he won’t want to spend time with me. I know that’s wrong in my head, but it feels that way sometimes. So, then the only person I would have to talk to would be my psychiatrist, and I don’t like the idea of that right now because he keeps asking me questions about when I was younger, and they’re starting to get weird.
I’m just lucky that I have so much schoolwork and don’t have a lot of time to think.
All I hope is that tonight is great for the people whom it’s supposed to be great for. My sister’s boyfriend showed up in his Buick, and he was wearing a white “tails” coat over a black suit, which looked wrong for some reason. His “cumberbunn” (I don’t know how to spell this) matched my sister’s dress, which was powder blue and low-cut. It reminded me of those magazines. I have to stop spinning out like this. Okay.
All I hope is that my sister feels beautiful, and her new guy makes her feel beautiful. I hope that Craig doesn’t make Sam feel that her prom isn’t special just because he’s older. I hope the same for Mary Elizabeth with Peter. I hope Brad and Patrick decide to make up and dance in front of the whole school. And that Alice is secretly a lesbian and in love with Brad’s girlfriend Nancy (and vice versa), so nobody feels left out. I hope the deejay is as good as everyone said I was last Friday. And I hope everyone’s pictures turn out great and never become old photographs and nobody gets in a car accident.
That is what I really hope.
Love always, Charlie
June 10, 1992
Dear friend,
I just got home from school, and my sister is still asleep from the after-prom party the school organized. I called over to Patrick and Sam’s, but they’re still asleep, too. Patrick and Sam have a cordless phone which always runs out of batteries, and Sam’s mom sounded like a mom in the Peanuts cartoons. Wah Wah … Wuh.
I had two finals today. One in biology, which I think I got a perfect in. The other in Bill’s class. The final was about The Great Gatsby. The only thing hard about it was the fact that he had me read the book so long ago, and it was difficult to remember.
After I handed in the final, I asked Bill if he wanted me to write an essay about The Fountainhead, since I told him that I had finished it, and he hadn’t told me to do anything. He said that it wouldn’t be fair to have me write another essay when I have so many finals this week. Instead, he invited me over to his town house to spend Saturday afternoon with his girlfriend and him, which sounds like fun.
So, on Friday, I will go to Rocky Horror. Then, on Saturday, I will go over to Bill’s town house. Then, on Sunday, I will watch everyone graduate and spend time with my brother and all the family because of my sister. Then, I’ll probably go to Sam and Patrick’s to celebrate their graduating. Then, I’ll have two more days of school, which doesn’t make sense because all my finals will be over. But they have some activities planned. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
The reason I am thinking so far in advance is because school is terribly lonely. I think I’ve said that before, but it’s getting harder every day. I have two finals tomorrow. History and typing. Then, on Friday, I have finals in all my other classes like gym and shop. I don’t know if there will be actual finals in these classes. Especially shop. I think Mr. Callahan will just play some of his old records for us. He did that when we were supposed to have a midterm, too, but it won’t be the same without Patrick lip-synching. Incidentally, I got a perfect on my math final last week.
Love always, Charlie
June 13, 1992
Dear friend,
I just got home from Bill’s house. I would have written to you about last night this morning, but I had to go to Bill’s.
Last night, Craig and Sam broke up.
It was very sad to watch. In the past few days, I have heard a lot about the prom, and thanks to those twenty-four-hour film places, I have seen what everyone looked like. Sam looked beautiful. Patrick looked handsome. Mary Elizabeth, Alice, Mary Elizabeth’s boyfriend all looked great, too. The only thing is that Alice wore white stick deodorant with a strapless dress, and it showed. I don’t think that kind of thing matters, but supposedly Alice was paranoid about it all night. Craig looked handsome as well, but he wore a suit instead of a tux. That’s not why they broke up.
Actually, the prom was supposed to be very nice. The limo was really great, and the limo driver got everyone stoned, which made the very expensive food taste even better. His name was Billy. The prom’s music came from this really bad cover band called The Gypsies of the Allegheny, but the drummer was good, so everyone had a nice time dancing. Patrick and Brad didn’t even look at each other, but Sam said Patrick was really okay about it.
After the prom, my sister and her boyfriend went to the after-prom party the school organized. It was at this popular dance club downtown. She said that it was really fun with everyone all dressed up and dancing to good music played by a deejay instead of The Gypsies of the Allegheny. They even had a comedian who did impersonations. The only thing was that once you went in, you couldn’t leave and come back. I guess the parents thought that it would keep the kids out of trouble. But nobody seemed to mind. They were having too much fun, and enough people smuggled in liquor anyway.
After the party, it was about seven o’clock in the morning and everyone went to the Big Boy for pancakes or bacon.
I asked Patrick how he liked the after-prom party, and he said that it was a lot of fun. He said that Craig had rented a hotel suite for all of them, but only Craig and Sam went. Actually, Sam wanted to go to the after-prom party the school organized, too, but Craig got really angry because he already paid for the hotel suite. That’s not why they broke up. It happened yesterday at Craig’s house after Rocky Horror. Like I said, Mary Elizabeth’s boyfriend, Peter, is good friends with Craig, and he kind of stepped into the middle of things. I guess he really likes Mary Elizabeth a lot and has grown to like Sam quite a bit because he’s the one
who brought it up. Nobody even suspected.
Basically, Craig had been cheating on Sam ever since they started going out. And when I say cheat, I don’t mean he got drunk once and fooled around with one girl and felt bad about it. There were several girls. Several times. Drunk and sober. And I guess he never felt bad.
The reason Peter didn’t say anything at first was the fact that he didn’t know anybody. And he didn’t know Sam. He just thought she was this dumb high school girl because that’s what Craig always told him.
Anyway, after he got to know Sam, Peter kept telling Craig that Craig had to tell her the truth because she wasn’t just some dumb high school girl. Craig kept promising he would, but he never did it. There was always some excuse. Craig called them “reasons.”
“I don’t want to ruin the prom for her.” “I don’t want to ruin graduation for her.” “I don’t want to ruin the show for her.”
Then, finally, Craig said there was no point telling her anything at all. She was about to go away to college anyway. She would find a new guy. He was always “safe” about other girls. There was nothing to worry about in that way. And why not just let Sam remember the whole experience in a good way? Because he really liked Sam and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Peter went along with this logic even though he thought it was wrong. At least that’s what he said. But then after the show yesterday, Craig told him that he fooled around with yet another girl the afternoon of the prom. That’s when Peter told Craig that if Craig didn’t say something to Sam, he would. Well, Craig didn’t say anything, and Peter still didn’t think it was his business, but then he overheard Sam at the party. She was talking to Mary Elizabeth about how Craig might be “the one” and how she was trying to think of ways to keep it going long-distance while she was at school. Letters. Phone calls. Vacations. And breaks. That was it for Peter.
He went up to Craig and said, “You tell her something now, or I tell her everything.”
So, Craig pulled Sam into his bedroom. They were in there for a while. Then, Sam walked from the bedroom straight out the front door, silently sobbing. Craig didn’t run after her. That was probably the worst part. Not that he should have tried to get back together with her, but I think he should have run after her anyway.
All I know is that Sam was devastated. Mary Elizabeth and Alice went after her to make sure she was okay. I would have gone, too, but Patrick
grabbed my arm to stay. He wanted to know what was going on, I guess, or maybe he figured Sam would be better off with female company.
I’m glad that we stayed, though, because I think our presence prevented a pretty violent fight between Craig and Peter. Because we were there, all they really did was scream at each other. That’s where I heard most of the details I’m writing to you about.
Craig would say, “Fuck you, Peter! Fuck you!”
And Peter would say, “Don’t blame me that you fucked around on her since the beginning! The afternoon of her prom!? You’re just a bastard! You hear me?! A fucking bastard!”
Things like that.
When it looked like things were going to get violent, Patrick stepped between the two and, with my help, got Peter out of the apartment. When we got outside, the girls were gone. So, Patrick and I got into Patrick’s car and drove Peter home. He was still seething, so he “vented” about Craig. That’s where I heard the rest of the details I’m writing to you about. Finally, we dropped Peter off, and he made us promise to make sure Mary Elizabeth didn’t think he was cheating on her because he wasn’t. He just didn’t want to be found “guilty by association” with that “prick.”
We promised, and he went into his apartment building.
Patrick and I weren’t sure how much Craig actually told Sam. We both hoped he gave her a “soft” version of the truth. Enough to make her stay away. But not enough to make her doubt everything about everything. Maybe it’s better to know the whole truth. I honestly don’t know.
So, we just made a pact that we wouldn’t tell her unless we found out that Craig made it sound like “nothing big,” and Sam was ready to forgive him. I hope it doesn’t come to that. I hope Craig told her enough to make her stay away.
We drove around to all the places where we thought we might find the girls, but we couldn’t find them. Patrick figured they were probably just driving around, trying to let Sam “cool off a bit.”
So, Patrick dropped me at home. He said he’d call me tomorrow when he heard anything.
I remember going to sleep last night, and I realized something. Something that I think is important. I realized that throughout the course of the evening, I wasn’t happy about Craig and Sam breaking up. Not at all.
I never once thought that it would mean Sam might start liking me. All I cared about was the fact that Sam got really hurt. And I guess I realized
at that moment that I really did love her. Because there was nothing to gain, and that didn’t matter.
It was hard walking up the steps to Bill’s town house that afternoon because I didn’t receive a phone call all morning from Patrick. And I was so worried about Sam. I called on the phone, but nobody was there.
Bill looks different without a suit. He was wearing his old graduate school T-shirt. Which was Brown. The school. Not the color. His girlfriend was wearing sandals and a nice flowered dress. She even had hair under her arms. No kidding! They looked very happy together. And I was glad for Bill.
Their house didn’t have a lot of furniture in it, but it was very comfortable. They had a lot of books, which I spent about a half an hour asking them about. There was also a picture of Bill and his girlfriend when they were at Brown together in graduate school. Bill had very long hair then.
Bill’s girlfriend made lunch while Bill made the salad. I just sat in the kitchen, drinking a ginger ale, and watching them. The lunch was a spaghetti dish of some sort because Bill’s girlfriend doesn’t eat meat. Bill doesn’t eat meat either now. The salad did have imitation bacon bits, though, because bacon is the only thing they both miss.
They had a really nice collection of jazz records, and they kept playing them all through lunch. After a while, they broke open a bottle of white wine and gave me another ginger ale. Then, we started talking.
Bill asked me about The Fountainhead, and I told him, making sure that I was a filter.
Then, he asked me about how I liked my first year of high school, and I told him, making sure that I included all the stories in which I “participated.”
Then, he asked me about girls, and I told him how I really loved Sam, and how I wondered what the lady who wrote The Fountainhead would say about how I came to realize that I loved her.
After I finished, Bill got very quiet. He cleared his throat. “Charlie … I want to thank you.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because it has been a wonderful experience teaching you.” “Oh … I’m glad.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Then, Bill took this really long pause, and his voice sounded like my dad when he wants to have a big talk.
“Charlie,” he said. “Do you know why I gave you all that extra work?”
I shook my head no. That look on his face. It made me quiet. “Charlie, do you know how smart you are?”
I just shook my head no again. He was talking for real. It was strange. “Charlie, you’re one of the most gifted people I’ve ever known. And I
don’t mean in terms of my other students. I mean in terms of anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why I gave you the extra work. I was wondering if you were aware of that?”
“I guess so. I don’t know.” I felt really strange. I didn’t know where this was coming from. I just wrote some essays.
“Charlie. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. I just want you to know that you’re very special… and the only reason I’m telling you is that I don’t know if anyone else ever has.”
I looked up at him. And then I didn’t feel strange. I felt like I wanted to cry. He was being so nice to me, and the way his girlfriend looked, I knew that this meant a lot to him. And I didn’t know why it did.
“So, when the school year ends, and I’m not your teacher anymore, I want you to know that if you ever need anything, or want to know about more books, or want to show me anything you write, or anything, you can always come to me as a friend. I do consider you a friend, Charlie.”
I started crying a little bit. I actually think his girlfriend was, too. But Bill wasn’t. He looked very solid. I just remember wanting to hug him. But I’ve never done that before, and I guess Patrick and girls and family don’t count. I didn’t say anything for a while because I didn’t know what to say.
So, finally I just said, “You’re the best teacher I ever had.” And he said, “Thank you.”
And that was that. Bill didn’t try to make sure that I would see him next year if I needed anything. He didn’t ask me why I was crying. He just let me hear what he had to say in my own way and let things be. That was probably the best part.
After a few minutes, it was time for me to leave. I don’t know who decides these things. It just happens.
So, we went to the door, and Bill’s girlfriend hugged me goodbye, which was very nice considering I didn’t know her except for today. Then, Bill extended his hand, and I took it. And we shook hands. And I even sneaked in a quick hug before I said “good-bye.”
When I was driving home, I just thought about the word “special.” And I thought the last person who said that about me was my aunt Helen.
I was very grateful to have heard it again. Because I guess we all forget sometimes. And I think everyone is special in their own way. I really do.
My brother gets home tonight. And everyone’s graduation is tomorrow. Patrick still hasn’t called. I called him, but no one was home again. So, I decided to go out and buy everyone their graduation presents. I really haven’t had time to do that until now.
Love always, Charlie
June 16, 1992
Dear friend,
I just rode home on the bus. It was the last day of school for me today. And it was raining. When I do ride the bus, I usually sit toward the middle because I’ve heard sitting in the front is for nerds and sitting in the back is for squids, and the whole thing makes me nervous. I don’t know what they call “squids” in other schools.
Anyway, today I decided to sit in the front with my legs over the whole seat. Kind of like I was lying down with my back to the window. I did this so I could look back at the other kids on the bus. I’m glad school buses don’t have seat belts, or else I wouldn’t have been able to do it.
The one thing I noticed was how different everyone looked. When we were all little, we used to sing songs on the bus ride home from the last day of school. The favorite song was a Pink Floyd song, I found out later, called Another Brick in the Wall, Part II. But there was this other song we loved even more because it ended with a swear. It went like this…
No more pencils/no more books/no more teachers’ dirty looks/when the teacher rings the bell/drop your books and run like hell.
When we finished, we looked at the bus driver for a tense second. Then, we all laughed because we knew we could get in trouble for swearing, but the strength of our numbers would prevent any retribution. We were too young to know that the bus driver didn’t care about our song. That all he wanted to do was go home after work. And maybe sleep off the drinks he had at lunch. Back then, it didn’t matter. The nerds and the squids were one.
My brother came home Saturday night. And he looked even more different than the kids on the school bus looked compared to the
beginning of the year. He had a beard! I was so happy! He also smiled different and was more “courteous.” We all sat down to dinner, and everyone asked him questions about college. Dad asked about football. Mom asked about classes. I asked for all the fun stories. My sister asked nervous questions about what college is “really” like and would she put on the “freshman fifteen”? I don’t know what this is, but I’m guessing it means you get fatter.
I was expecting my brother to just talk and talk about himself for a long time. He would do that whenever there was a big game in high school or the prom or something. But he seemed a lot more interested in what we were all doing, especially my sister with her graduation.
So, while they were talking, I suddenly remembered the TV news sports man and what he said about my brother. I got so excited. And I told my whole family. And this is what happened as a result.
My dad said, “Hey! How about that?!” My brother said, “Really!?”
I said, “Yeah. I talked to him.”
My brother said, “Did he say something good?”
My father said, “Any press is good press.” I don’t know where my father learns these things.
My brother kept going. “What did he say?”
I said, “Well, I think he said that college sports puts a lot of pressure on the students who do them.” My brother kept nodding. “But he said that it built character. And he said that Penn State was looking really good with their recruitment. And he mentioned you.”
My dad said, “Hey! How about that?” My brother said, “Really?”
I said, “Yeah. I talked to him.”
My brother said, “When did you talk to him?” I said, “A couple weeks ago.”
And then I froze because I suddenly remembered the other part. The fact that I met the man in the park at night. And the fact that I gave him one of my cigarettes. And the fact that he was trying to pick me up. I just sat there, hoping it would go away. But it didn’t.
“Where did you meet him, honey?” my mom asked.
The room turned pins and needles quiet. And I did my best impersonation of myself when I can’t remember something. And here’s what’s going on inside my head.
Okay …he came to school to have a talk with the class … no… my sister would know it was a lie … I met him at the Big Boy … he was with
his family… no… my dad would scold me for bothering the “poor man”…he said it on a news cast … but I said I talked to him … wait…
“In the park. I was there with Patrick,” I said.
My dad said, “Was he there with his family? Did you bother the poor man?”
“No. He was alone.”
That was enough for my dad and everybody else, and I didn’t even have to lie. Luckily, the attention was turned off me when my mother said what she likes to say when we’re all together celebrating something.
“Who’s in the mood for ice cream?”
Everyone was except for my sister. I think she was worried about the “freshman fifteen.”
The next morning started early. I still hadn’t heard from Patrick or Sam or anybody, but I knew I would see them at graduation, so I tried not to worry too much. All my relatives, including my dad’s family from Ohio, came to the house around ten A.M. The two families really don’t like each other, except for all us younger cousins because we don’t know any better.
We had this big brunch with champagne, and just like last year for my brother’s graduation, my mom gave her dad (my grandfather) sparkling apple juice instead of champagne because she didn’t want him to get drunk and make a scene. And he said the same thing he said last year.
“This is good champagne.”
I don’t think he knew the difference because he’s a beer drinker.
Sometimes, whiskey.
Around twelve-thirty, brunch was over. All the cousins drove all the cars because the adults were still a little too drunk to drive to the graduation. Except for my dad, because he was too busy videotaping everyone with a camera he rented from the video store.
“Why buy a camera when you only need it three times a year?”
So, my sister, brother, dad, mom, and I each had to go in a different car to make sure nobody got lost. I went with all my Ohio cousins, who promptly pulled out a “joint” and passed it around. I didn’t smoke any of it because I wasn’t in the mood, and they said what they always say.
“Charlie, you’re such a pussy.”
So, all the cars pulled into the parking lot, and we all got out. And my sister yelled at my cousin Mike for rolling down the window while he was driving and messing up her hair.
“I was smoking a cigarette,” was his reply. “Couldn’t you wait ten minutes?” was my sister’s.
“But it was a great song,” was his final word.
So, as my dad was getting the video camera out of the trunk, and my brother was talking to some of the graduating girls who were a year older and “looking good,” my sister went for my mom to get my mom’s purse. The great thing about my mom’s purse is that no matter what you need at any given moment, she has it. When I was little, I used to call it the “first-aid kit” because that’s all we needed back then. I still can’t figure out how she does it.
After primping, my sister followed the trail of graduation caps to the field, and we all found our way to the bleachers. I sat in between my mom and brother since my dad was off getting a better camera angle. And my mom kept shushing my grandfather, who kept talking about how many black people were in the school.
When she couldn’t stop him, she mentioned my story about the TV news sports man talking about my brother. This made my grandfather call my brother over to talk about it. This was smart on my mom’s part because my brother is the only person who can get my grandfather to stop making a scene because he’s really direct about it. After the story, this is what happened…
“Jesus. Look at these bleachers. How many colored people—” My brother cut him off.
“Okay, Grandpa. Here’s the deal. If you embarrass us one more time, I’m going to drive you back to the nursing home, and you’ll never see your granddaughter give a speech.” My brother is real tough.
“But then you won’t see the speech either, big shot.” My grandfather’s real tough, too.
“Yeah, but my dad is videotaping it. And I can arrange it so I get to see the tape, and you don’t. Can’t I?”
My grandfather has a really weird smile. Especially when someone else wins. He didn’t say anything more about it. He just started talking about football and didn’t even mention anything about my brother playing on a team with black kids. I can’t tell you how bad it was last year since my brother was on the field graduating instead of up in the bleachers making my grandfather stop.
While they were talking football, I kept looking for Patrick and Sam, but all I saw were those graduation caps in the distance. When the music started, the caps started marching toward the folding chairs set up on the field. That’s when I finally saw Sam walking behind Patrick. I was so relieved. I couldn’t really tell if she was happy or sad, but it was enough just to see her and know that she was there.
When all the kids got in the chairs, the music stopped. And Mr. Small got up and gave a speech about what a wonderful class this was. He mentioned some of the achievements the school had made, and he emphasized how much they needed support at the Community Day Bake Sale to start a new computer lab. Then, he introduced the class president, who gave a speech. I don’t know what class presidents do, but the girl gave a very good speech.
Then, it was time for the five top honor students to give a speech. That’s the tradition in the school. My sister was second in her class, so she gave the fourth speech. The valedictorian is always last. Then, Mr. Small and the vice principal, whom Patrick swears is gay, hand out the diplomas.
The first three speeches were very similar. They all had quotes from pop songs that had something to do with the future. And all through the speeches, I could see my mother’s hands. She was gripping them tighter and tighter together.
When they announced my sister’s name, my mom uncoiled into applause. It was really great watching my sister get on the podium because my brother was something like 223rd in his class and consequently didn’t get to give a speech. And maybe I’m biased, but when my sister quoted a pop song and talked about the future, it seemed great. I looked over at my brother, and he looked over at me. And we both smiled. Then, we looked at my mother, and she was crying real soft and messy, so my brother and I each took one of her hands. She looked at us and smiled and cried harder. Then, we both rested our heads on her shoulders, like a sideways hug, which made her cry even harder. Or maybe it let her cry even harder. I’m not sure which. But she gave our hands a little squeeze and said, “My boys,” real soft, and went back to crying. I love my mom so much. I don’t care if that’s corny to say. I think on my next birthday, I’m going to buy her a present. I think that should be the tradition. The kid gets gifts from everybody, and he buys one present for his mom since she was there, too. I think that would be nice.
When my sister finished her speech, we all clapped and yelled, but nobody clapped or yelled louder than my grandfather. Nobody.
I don’t remember what the valedictorian said except that she quoted Henry David Thoreau instead of a pop song.
Then, Mr. Small got up on the stage and asked everyone to refrain from applause until all the names were read and all the diplomas were handed out. I should mention that this didn’t work last year either.
So, I saw my sister get her diploma and my mother cry again. And then I saw Mary Elizabeth. And I saw Alice. And I saw Patrick. And I saw Sam. It was a great day. Even when I saw Brad. It seemed okay.
We all met my sister in the parking lot, and the first one to hug her was my grandfather. He really is a proud man in his way. Everyone said how much they loved my sister’s speech even if they didn’t. Then, we all saw my father walking across the parking lot, holding the video camera above his head triumphantly. I don’t think anybody hugged my sister longer than my dad. I looked around for Sam and Patrick, but I couldn’t find them anywhere.
On the way home for the party, my Ohio cousins lit up another joint. This time, I took a hit, but they still called me a “pussy.” I don’t know why. Maybe that’s just what Ohio cousins do. That and tell jokes.
“What has 32 legs and 1 tooth?” “What?” we all asked.
“A West Virginia unemployment line.” Things like that.
When we got home, my Ohio cousins went straight for the bar because graduations seem to be the one occasion where anyone can drink. At least it was like that last year and this year. I wonder what my graduation will be like. It seems very far away.
So, my sister spent the first hour of the party opening up all the gifts, and her smile grew with each check, sweater, or fifty dollar bill. Nobody in our family is rich, but it seems like everybody saves up just enough for these kind of events, and we all pretend we’re rich for a day.
The only people who didn’t get my sister money or a sweater were my brother and I. My brother promised to take her out one day to shop for college things like soap, which he would pay for, and I bought her a little house that was hand-carved out of stone and painted in England. I told her I wanted to give her something that makes her feel like she’s at home even after she goes away. My sister actually kissed my cheek for that.
But the best part of the party happened when my mother came to me and said I had a phone call. I went to the phone.
“Hello?” “Charlie?” “Sam!”
“When are you coming over?” she asked. “Now!” I said.
Then, my father, who was drinking a whiskey sour, growled, “You’re not going anywhere until your relatives leave. You hear me?”
“Uh, Sam … I have to wait for my relatives to leave,” I said.
“Okay … we’ll be here until seven. Then, we’ll call you from wherever we are.” Sam really sounded happy.
“Okay, Sam. Congratulations!” “Thanks, Charlie. Bye.” “Bye.”
I hung up the phone.
I swear to you, I thought my relatives would never leave. Every story they told. Every pig in a blanket they ate. Every photograph they looked at, and every time I heard “when you were this high” with the appropriate gesture. It was like the clock stopped. It’s not that I minded the stories because I didn’t. And the pigs in blankets were quite good. But I wanted to see Sam.
At about 9:30, everyone was stuffed and sober. At 9:45, the hugs were over. At 9:50, the driveway was clear. My father gave me twenty dollars and the keys to his car, saying, “Thanks for sticking around. It meant a lot to me and the family.” He was tipsy, but meant it just the same. Sam had told me they were going to a dance club downtown. So, I loaded everyone’s gifts in my trunk, climbed in the car, and drove away.
There’s something about that tunnel that leads to downtown. It’s glorious at night. Just glorious. You start on one side of the mountain, and it’s dark, and the radio is loud. As you enter the tunnel, the wind gets sucked away, and you squint from the lights overhead. When you adjust to the lights, you can see the other side in the distance just as the sound of the radio fades to nothing because the waves just can’t reach. Then, you’re in the middle of the tunnel, and everything becomes a calm dream. As you see the opening get closer, you just can’t get there fast enough. And finally, just when you think you’ll never get there, you see the opening right in front of you. And the radio comes back even louder than you remember it. And the wind is waiting. And you fly out of the tunnel onto the bridge. And there it is. The city. A million lights and buildings and everything seems as exciting as the first time you saw it. It really is a grand entrance.
After about half an hour looking around the dance club, I finally saw Mary Elizabeth with Peter. They were both drinking scotch and sodas, which Peter bought since he is older and had his hand stamped. I congratulated Mary Elizabeth and asked where everybody was. She told me that Alice was getting high in the ladies’ room and Sam and Patrick were on the floor dancing. She said to just have a seat until they come back because she didn’t know where they were specifically. So, I sat
down and listened to Peter argue with Mary Elizabeth about the Democratic candidates. Again, the clock seemed to stop. I wanted to see Sam that badly.
After about three songs, Sam and Patrick came back completely coated in sweat.
“Charlie!”
I stood up, and we all hugged like we hadn’t seen each other in months. Considering everything that happened, I guess that makes sense. After we let go, Patrick lay on top of Peter and Mary Elizabeth like they were a sofa. Then, he took Mary Elizabeth’s drink out of her hand and drank it. “Hey, asshole” was her response. I think he was drunk, even though he hasn’t been drinking lately, but Patrick does that stuff sober, so it’s hard to tell.
That’s when Sam grabbed my hand. “I love this song!”
She led me to the dance floor. And she started dancing. And I started dancing. It was a fast song, so I wasn’t very good, but she didn’t seem to mind. We were just dancing, and that was enough. The song ended, and then a slow one came on. She looked at me. I looked at her. Then, she took my hands and pulled me in to dance slow. I don’t know how to dance slow very well either, but I do know how to sway.
Her whisper smelled like cranberry juice and vodka. “I looked for you in the parking lot today.”
I hoped mine still smelled like toothpaste. “I was looking for you, too.”
Then, we were quiet for the rest of the song. She held me a little closer. I held her a little closer. And we kept dancing. It was the one time all day that I really wanted the clock to stop. And just be there for a long time.
After the dance club, we went back to Peter’s apartment, and I gave everyone their graduation presents. I gave Alice a film book about Night of the Living Dead, which she liked, and I gave Mary Elizabeth a copy of My Life as a Dog on videotape with the subtitles in it, which she loved.
Then, I gave Patrick and Sam their presents. I even wrapped them up special. I used the Sunday funny papers because they are in color. Patrick tore through his. Sam didn’t rip any of the paper. She just plucked off the tape. And they looked at what was inside each box.
I gave Patrick On the Road, Naked Lunch, The Stranger, This Side of Paradise, Peter Pan, and A Separate Peace.
I gave Sam To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, The Great Gatsby, Hamlet, Walden, and The Fountainhead.
Under the books was a card that I wrote using the typewriter Sam bought me. The cards said that these were my copies of all my favorite books, and I wanted Sam and Patrick to have them because they were my two favorite people in the whole world.
When they both looked up from reading, they were quiet. Nobody smiled or cried or did anything. We were just open, looking at each other. They knew I meant the cards I wrote. And I knew it meant a lot to them.
“What do the cards say?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “Do you mind, Charlie?” Patrick asked.
I shook my head no, and they each read their cards while I went to fill up my coffee cup with red wine.
When I came back, they all looked at me, and I said, “I’m going to miss you all very much. I hope you have a great time at college.” And then I started crying because it suddenly hit me that they were all leaving. I think Peter thinks I’m a little strange. So, Sam stood up and took me into the kitchen, telling me on the way there that it was “okay.” When we got to the kitchen, I was a little more calm.
Sam said, “You know I’m leaving in a week, Charlie?” “Yeah. I know.”
“Don’t start crying again.” “Okay.”
“I want you to listen.” “Okay.”
“I’m really scared to be alone at college.”
“You are?” I asked. I never really thought of that before. “Just like you’re really scared to be alone here.” “Okay.” I nodded.
“So, I’ll make you a deal. When things get to be too much at college, I’ll call you, and when things get to be too much here, you call me.”
“Could we write letters back and forth?” “Of course,” she said.
Then, I started crying again. I really am a roller-coaster sometimes.
But Sam was patient.
“Charlie, I’m going to be back at the end of the summer, but before we think about that, let’s just enjoy this last week together. All of us. Okay?”
I nodded and calmed down.
We spent the rest of the night just drinking and listening to music like we always did, but this time it was at Peter’s, and it was better than Craig’s, actually, because Peter has a better music collection. It was about one o’clock in the morning when it suddenly occurred to me.
“Oh my God!” I said. “What’s wrong, Charlie?” “Tomorrow’s a school day!”
I don’t think I could have made them laugh harder.
Peter took me into the kitchen to make coffee, so I could sober up to drive home. I had about eight cups in a row and was ready to drive in about twenty minutes. The problem was, by the time I got home, I was so awake from the coffee, I couldn’t fall asleep. By the time I got to school, I felt like dying. Luckily, all the finals were over, and all we did all day was watch film strips. I don’t think I ever slept better. I was glad, too, because school really is lonely without them.
Today was different because I didn’t sleep, and I didn’t get to see Sam or Patrick last night because they were having a special dinner out with their parents. And my brother was on a date with one of the girls who was “looking good” at graduation. My sister was busy with her boyfriend. And my mom and dad were still tired from the graduation party.
Today, pretty much every teacher just let the kids sit around and talk after we handed in our textbooks. I honestly didn’t know anybody, except maybe for Susan, but after that time in the hallway, she’s avoided me more than ever. So, I didn’t really talk. The only good class was Bill’s because I got to talk to Bill. It was hard saying good-bye to him after class was over, but he said that it wasn’t good-bye. I could call him anytime over the summer if I wanted to talk or borrow books, and that made me feel a little better.
This one kid with crooked teeth named Leonard called me a “teacher’s pet” in the hallway after Bill’s class, but I didn’t mind because I think he missed the point somewhere.
I ate lunch outside on a bench where we all used to smoke. After I ate my Ho-Ho, I lit up a cigarette, and I was kind of hoping someone would ask me for one, but no one did.
When the last class was over, everyone was cheering and making plans with each other for the summer. And everyone was clearing out their lockers by throwing their old papers and notes and books on the hallway floor. When I got to my locker, I saw this skinny kid who had the locker next to me all year. I had never really talked to him before.
I cleared my throat and said, “Hey. My name is Charlie.” All he said was, “I know.”
Then, he closed his locker door and walked away.
So, I just opened my locker, put all my old papers and things in my backpack, and walked over the debris of books and papers and notes in the hallway to the parking lot outside. Then, I got on the bus. Then, I wrote this letter to you.
I’m actually really glad that the school year is over. I want to spend a lot of time with everyone before they leave. Especially Sam.
By the way, I ended up getting straight A’s this whole year. My mother was very proud and put my report card on the refrigerator.
Love always, Charlie
June 22, 1992
Dear friend,
The night before Sam was going to leave made the whole week a blur. Sam was frantic because not only did she need to spend time with us, but she had to get ready to go. Buying things. Packing things. Things like that.
Every night, we would all get together after Sam had just said good- bye to some uncle or had another lunch with her mom or had done more shopping for school things. She was scared, and it wasn’t until she had a sip of whatever we were drinking or a hit off of whatever we were smoking that she would calm down and be the same Sam.
The one thing that really helped Sam through her week was her lunch with Craig. She said she wanted to see him to have some kind of “closure,” and I guess she was lucky enough to get it because Craig was nice enough to tell her that she was right to break up with him. And that she was a special person. And that he was sorry and wished her well. It’s strange the times people choose to be generous.
The best part was that Sam said she didn’t ask him about the girls he might be dating even though she wanted to know. She wasn’t bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.
On the night before she left, we were all there at Sam and Patrick’s house. Bob, Alice, Mary Elizabeth (without Peter), and I. We just sat on the rug in the “games” room, remembering things.
Remember the show where Patrick did this… or remember when Bob did this… or Charlie… or Mary Elizabeth… or Alice… or Sam…
The inside jokes weren’t jokes anymore. They had become stories. Nobody brought up the bad names or the bad times. And nobody felt sad as long as we could postpone tomorrow with more nostalgia.
After a while, Mary Elizabeth and Bob and Alice left, saying they would be back in the morning to see Sam off. So, it was just me, Patrick, and Sam. Just sitting there. Not saying much. Until we started our own remember when.
Remember when Charlie first came to us at the football game…and remember when Charlie let the air our of Dave’s tires at the homecoming dance…and remember the poem… and the mix tape… and Punk Rocky in color…and remember when we all felt infinite…
After I said that, we all got quiet and sad. In the silence, I remembered this one time that I never told anybody about. The time we were walking. Just the three of us. And I was in the middle. I don’t remember where we were walking to or where we were walking from. I don’t even remember the season. I just remember walking between them and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere.
Finally, Patrick stood up. “I’m tired, guys. Good night.”
Then, he messed up our hair and went up to his room. Sam turned to me.
“Charlie, I have to pack up some things. Would you stay with me for a while?”
I nodded, and we went upstairs.
As we entered her room, I noticed how different it looked from the night Sam kissed me. The pictures were down, and the dressers were empty, and everything was in a big pile on the bed. I said to myself that I would not cry no matter what because I didn’t want to make Sam feel any more panicked than she already was.
So, I just watched her pack, and I tried to notice as many details as I possibly could. Her long hair and her thin wrists and her green eyes. I wanted to remember everything. Especially the sound of her voice.
Sam talked about a lot of things, trying to keep herself distracted. She talked about what a long drive they had tomorrow and how her parents had rented a van. She wondered what her classes would be like and what her eventual “major” would be. She said she didn’t want to join a sorority but was looking forward to the football games. She was just getting more and more sad. Finally, she turned around.
“Why didn’t you ask me out when the whole Craig thing happened?” I just sat there. I didn’t know what to say. She said it soft.
“Charlie … after that thing with Mary Elizabeth at the party and us dancing at the club and everything …”
I didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I was lost.
“Okay, Charlie … I’ll make this easy. When that whole thing with Craig happened, what did you think?” She really wanted to know.
I said, “Well, I thought a lot of things. But mostly, I thought that your being sad was much more important to me than Craig not being your boyfriend anymore. And if it meant that I would never get to think of you that way, as long as you were happy, it was okay. That’s when I realized that I really loved you.”
She sat down on the floor with me. She spoke quiet.
“Charlie, don’t you get it? I can’t feel that. It’s sweet and everything, but it’s like you’re not even there sometimes. It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder. What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things.”
“Like what?” I asked. My mouth was dry.
“I don’t know. Like take their hands when the slow song comes up for a change. Or be the one who asks someone for a date. Or tell people what you need. Or what you want. Like on the dance floor, did you want to kiss me?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Then, why didn’t you?” she asked real serious. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to.” “Why did you think that?”
“Because of what you said.”
“What I said nine months ago? When I told you not to think of me that way?”
I nodded.
“Charlie, I also told you not to tell Mary Elizabeth she was pretty. And to ask her a lot of questions and not interrupt her. Now she’s with a guy who does the exact opposite. And it works because that’s who Peter really is. He’s being himself. And he does things.”
“But I didn’t like Mary Elizabeth.”
“Charlie, you’re missing the point. The point is that I don’t think you would have acted different even if you did like Mary Elizabeth. It’s like you can come to Patrick’s rescue and hurt two guys that are trying to hurt him, but what about when Patrick’s hurting himself? Like when you guys
went to that park? Or when he was kissing you? Did you want him to kiss you?”
I shook my head no.
“So, why did you let him?”
“I was just trying to be a friend,” I said.
“But you weren’t, Charlie. At those times, you weren’t being his friend at all. Because you weren’t honest with him.”
I sat there very still. I looked at the floor. I didn’t say anything. Very uncomfortable.
“Charlie, I told you not to think of me that way nine months ago because of what I’m saying now. Not because of Craig. Not because I didn’t think you were great. It’s just that I don’t want to be somebody’s crush. If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am. And I don’t want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it, too. I want them to be able to do whatever they want around me. And if they do something I don’t like, I’ll tell them.”
She was starting to cry a little. But she wasn’t sad.
“You know I blamed Craig for not letting me do things? You know how stupid I feel about that now? Maybe he didn’t really encourage me to do things, but he didn’t prevent me from doing them either. But after a while, I didn’t do things because I didn’t want him to think different about me. But the thing is, I wasn’t being honest. So, why would I care whether or not he loved me when he didn’t really even know me?”
I looked up at her. She had stopped crying.
“So, tomorrow, I’m leaving. And I’m not going to let that happen again with anyone else. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is. But right now I’m here with you. And I want to know where you are, what you need, and what you want to do.”
She waited patiently for my answer. But after everything she said, I figured that I should just do what I wanted to do. Not think about it. Not say it out loud. And if she didn’t like it, then she could just say so. And we could go back to packing.
So, I kissed her. And she kissed me back. And we lay down on the floor and kept kissing. And it was soft. And we made quiet noises. And kept silent. And still. We went over to the bed and lay down on all the things that weren’t put in suitcases. And we touched each other from the waist up over our clothes. And then under our clothes. And then without clothes. And it was so beautiful. She was so beautiful. She took my hand
and slid it under her pants. And I touched her. And I just couldn’t believe it. It was like everything made sense. Until she moved her hand under my pants, and she touched me.
That’s when I stopped her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did that hurt?”
I shook my head. It felt good actually. I didn’t know what was wrong. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No. Don’t be sorry,” I said. “But, I feel bad,” she said.
“Please don’t feel bad. It was very nice,” I said. I was starting to get really upset.
“You’re not ready?” she asked.
I nodded. But that wasn’t it. I didn’t know what it was.
“It’s okay that you’re not ready,” she said. She was being really nice to me, but I was just feeling so bad.
“Charlie, do you want to go home?” she asked.
I guess I nodded because she helped me get dressed. And then she put on her shirt. And I wanted to kick myself for being such a baby. Because I loved Sam. And we were together. And I was ruining it. Just ruining it. Just terrible. I felt so terrible.
She took me outside.
“Do you need a ride?” she asked. I had my father’s car. I wasn’t drunk.
She looked really worried. “No, thanks.”
“Charlie, I’m not going to let you drive like this.” “I’m sorry. I’ll walk then,” I said.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning. I’m driving you home.”
She went to another room to get the car keys. I just stood in the entry hall. I felt like I wanted to die.
“You’re white as a sheet, Charlie. Do you need some water?” “No. I don’t know.” I started to cry really hard.
“Here. Just lie down on the couch,” she said.
She laid me down on the couch. She brought out a damp washcloth and put it on my forehead.
“You can sleep here tonight. Okay?” “Okay.”
“Just calm down. Take deep breaths.”
I did what she told me. And just before I fell asleep, I said something. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay, Charlie. Just go to sleep,” Sam said.
But I wasn’t talking to Sam anymore. I was talking to someone else.
When I fell asleep, I had this dream. My brother and my sister and I were watching television with my Aunt Helen. Everything was in slow motion. The sound was thick. And she was doing what Sam was doing. That’s when I woke up. And I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Sam and Patrick were standing over me. Patrick asked if I wanted some breakfast. I guess I nodded. We went and ate. Sam still looked worried. Patrick looked normal. We had bacon and eggs with their parents, and everyone made small talk. I don’t know why I’m telling you about bacon and eggs. It’s not important. It’s not important at all. Mary Elizabeth and everyone came over, and while Sam’s mom was busy checking everything twice, we all walked to the driveway. Sam and Patrick’s parents got in the van. Patrick got in the driver’s side of Sam’s pickup truck, telling everyone he’d see them in a couple of days. Then, Sam hugged and said good-bye to everyone. Since she was coming back for a few days toward the end of the summer, it was more of a “see ya” than a good-bye.
I was last. Sam walked up and held me for a long time. Finally, she whispered in my ear. She said a lot of wonderful things about how it was okay that I wasn’t ready last night and how she would miss me and how she wanted me to take care of myself while she was gone.
“You’re my best friend,” was all I could say in return.
She smiled and kissed my cheek, and it was like for a moment, the bad part of last night disappeared. But it still felt like a goodbye rather than a “see ya.” The thing was, I didn’t cry. I didn’t know what I felt.
Finally, Sam climbed into her pickup, and Patrick started it up. And a great song was playing. And everyone smiled. Including me. But I wasn’t there anymore.
It wasn’t until I couldn’t see the cars that I came back and things started feeling bad again. But this time, they felt much worse. Mary Elizabeth and everyone were crying now, and they asked me if I wanted to go to the Big Boy or something. I told them no. Thank you. I need to go home.
“Are you okay, Charlie?” Mary Elizabeth asked. I guess I was starting to look bad again because she looked worried.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired,” I lied. I got in my dad’s car, and drove away. And I could hear all these songs on the radio, but the radio wasn’t on. And when I got into the driveway, I think I forgot to turn off the car. I just went to the couch in the family room where the TV is. And I could see the TV shows, but the TV wasn’t on.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like all I can do is keep writing this gibberish to keep from breaking apart. Sam’s gone. And Patrick won’t be home for a few days. And I just couldn’t talk with Mary Elizabeth or anybody or my brother or anybody in my family. Except maybe my aunt Helen. But she’s gone. And even if she were here, I don’t think I could talk to her either. Because I’m starting to feel like what I dreamt about her last night was true. And my psychiatrist’s questions weren’t weird after all.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I know other people have it a lot worse. I do know that, but it’s crashing in anyway, and I just can’t stop thinking that the little kid eating french fries with his mom in the shopping mall is going to grow up and hit my sister. I’d do anything not to think that. I know I’m thinking too fast again, and it’s all in my head like the trance, but it’s there, and it won’t go away. I just keep seeing him, and he keeps hitting my sister, and he won’t stop, and I want him to stop because he doesn’t mean it, but he just doesn’t listen, and I don’t know what to do.
I’m sorry, but I have to stop this letter now.
But first, I want to thank you for being one of those people who listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even though you could have. I really mean it, and I’m sorry I’ve put you through this when you don’t even know who I am, and we’ve never met in person, and I can’t tell you who I am because I promised to keep all those little secrets. I just don’t want you to think that I picked your name out of the phone book. It would kill me if you thought that. So, please believe me when I tell you that I felt terrible after Michael died, and I saw a girl in class, who didn’t notice me, and she talked all about you to a friend of hers. And even though I didn’t know you, I felt like I did because you sounded like such a good person. The kind of person who wouldn’t mind receiving letters from a kid. The kind of person who would understand how they were better than a diary because there is communion and a diary can be found. I just don’t want you to worry about me, or think that you’ve met me, or waste your time anymore. I’m so sorry that I wasted your time because you really do mean a lot to me and I hope you have a very nice life because I really think you deserve it. I really do. I hope you do, too. Okay, then. Goodbye.
Love always, Charlie
