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 and 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 girlfr 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 girlfr. 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.