My aunt Helen drank a lot. My aunt Helen took drugs a lot. My aunt Helen had many problems with men and boys. She was a very unhappy person most of her life. She went to hospitals all the time. All kinds of hospitals. Finally, she went to a hospital that helped her figure things out enough to try and make things normal, so she moved in with my family. She started taking classes to get a good job. She told her last bad man to leave her alone. She started losing weight without going on a diet. She took care of us, so my parents could go out and drink and play board games. She let us stay up late. She was the only person other than my mom and dad and brother and sister to buy me two presents. One for my birthday. One for Christmas. Even when she moved in with the family and had no money. She always bought me two presents. They were always the best presents.
On December 24, 1983, a policeman came to the door. My aunt Helen was in a terrible car accident. It was very snowy. The policeman told my mom that my aunt Helen had passed away. He was a very nice man because when my mom started crying, he said that it was a very bad accident, and my Aunt Helen was definitely killed instantly. In other words, there was no pain. There was no pain anymore.
The policeman asked my mom to come down and identify the body. My dad was still at work. That was when I walked up with my brother and sister. It was my seventh birthday. We all wore party hats. My mom made my sister and brother wear them. My sister saw Mom crying and asked what was wrong. My mom couldn’t say anything. The policeman got on one knee and told us what happened. My brother and sister cried. But I didn’t. I knew that the policeman made a mistake.
My mom asked my brother and sister to take care of me and left with the policeman. I think we watched TV. I don’t think I really remember. My dad came home before my mom.
“Why the long faces?”
We told him. He did not cry. He asked if we were okay. My brother and sister said no. I said yes. The policeman just made a mistake. It is very snowy. He probably couldn’t see. My mom came home. She was crying. She looked at my dad and nodded. My dad held her. That’s when I figured out that the policeman didn’t make a mistake.
I don’t really know what happened next, and I never really asked. I just remember going to the hospital. I remember sitting in a room with bright lights. I remember a doctor asking me questions. I remember telling him how Aunt Helen was the only one who hugged me. I remember seeing my family on Christmas day in a waiting room. I remember not being allowed to go to the funeral. I remember never saying good-bye to my Aunt Helen.
I don’t know how long I kept going to the doctor. I don’t remember how long they kept me out of school. It was a long time. I know that much. All I remember is the day I started getting better because I remembered the last thing my Aunt Helen said just before she left to drive in the snow.
She wrapped herself in a coat. I handed her the car keys because I was always the one who could find them. I asked Aunt Helen where she was going. She told me that it was a secret. I kept bugging my aunt Helen, which she loved. She loved the way I would keep asking her questions. She finally shook her head, smiled, and whispered in my ear.
“I’m going to buy your birthday present.”
That’s the last time I ever saw her. I like to think my aunt Helen would now have that good job she was studying for. I like to think she would have met a good man. I like to think she would have lost the weight she always wanted to lose without dieting.
Despite everything my mom and doctor and dad have said to me about blame, I can’t stop thinking what I know. And I know that my aunt Helen would still be alive today if she just bought me one present like everybody else. She would be alive if I were born on a day that didn’t snow. I would do anything to make this go away. I miss her terribly. I have to stop writing now because I am too sad.
Love always,
Charlie
December 30, 1991
Dear friend,
The day after I wrote to you, I finished The Catcher in the Rye. I have read it three times since. I really didn’t know what else to do. Sam and Patrick are finally coming home tonight, but I won’t get to see them. Patrick is going to meet Brad somewhere. Sam is going to meet Craig. I’ll see them both tomorrow at the Big Boy and then at Bob’s New Year’s Eve party.
The exciting part is that I’m going to drive to the Big Boy by myself. My dad said I couldn’t drive until the weather cleared up, and it finally did a little bit yesterday. I made a mix tape for the occasion. It is called “The First Time I Drove.” Maybe I’m being too sentimental, but I like to think that when I’m old, I will be able to look at all these tapes and remember those drives.
The first time I drove alone was to see my aunt Helen. It was the first time I ever went to see her without at least my mom. I made it a special time. I bought flowers with my Christmas money. I even made her a mix tape and left it at the grave. I hope you do not think that makes me weird.
I told my aunt Helen all about my life. About Sam and Patrick. About their friends. About my first New Year’s Eve party tomorrow. I told her about how my brother would be playing his last football game of the season on New Year’s Day. I told her about my brother leaving and how my mom cried. I told her about the books I read. I told her about the song “Asleep.” I told her when we all felt infinite. I told her about me getting my driver’s license. How my mom drove us there. And how I drove us back. And how the policeman who ran the test didn’t even look weird or have a funny name, which felt like a gyp to me.
I remember when I was just about to say good-bye to my aunt Helen, I started crying. It was a real kind of crying, too. Not the panicky type, which I do a lot. And I made Aunt Helen a promise to only cry about important things because I would hate to think that crying as much as I do would make crying for Aunt Helen less than it is.
Then, I said good-bye, and I drove home.
I read the book again that night because I knew that if I didn’t, I would probably start crying again. The panicky type, I mean. I read until I was completely exhausted and had to go to sleep. In the morning, I finished the book and then started immediately reading it again. Anything to not feel like crying. Because I made the promise to Aunt Helen. And because I don’t want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can’t think again. Not ever again.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning. If this gets any worse, I might have to go back to the doctor. It’s getting that bad again.
Love always,
Charlie
January 1, 1992
Dear friend,
It’s now 4 o’clock in the morning, which is the new year even though it’s still December 31, that is, until people sleep. I can’t sleep. Everyone else is either asleep or having sex. I’ve been watching cable television and eating jello. And seeing things move. I wanted to tell you about Sam and Patrick and Craig and Brad and Bob and everyone, but I can’t remember right now.
It’s peaceful outside. I do know that. And I drove to the Big Boy earlier. And I saw Sam and Patrick. And they were with Brad and Craig. And it made me very sad because I wanted to be alone with them. This has never come up before.
Things were worse an hour ago, and I was looking at this tree but it was a dragon and then a tree, and I remembered that one nice pretty weather day when I was part of the air. And I remembered that I mowed the lawn that day for my allowance just like I shovel the driveway for my allowance now. So I started shoveling Bob’s driveway, which is a strange thing to do at a New Year’s Eve party really.