فصل 34

April 18, 1992

Dear friend,

I have made a terrible mess of things. I really have. I feel terrible about it. Patrick said the best thing I could do is just stay away for a while.

It all started last Monday. Mary Elizabeth came to school with a book of poems by a famous poet named e. e. cummings. The story behind the book was that she saw a movie that talked about one poem that compares this woman’s hands to flowers and rain. She thought it was so beautiful that she went out and bought the book. She has read it a lot of times since, and she said she wanted me to have my own copy. Not the copy she bought, but a new one.

All day she told me to show everyone the book.

I know I should have been grateful because it was a very nice thing to do. But I wasn’t grateful. I wasn’t grateful at all. Don’t get me wrong. I acted like I was. But I wasn’t. To tell you the truth, I was starting to get mad. Maybe if she would have given me the copy of the book that she bought for herself, it would have been different. Or maybe if she had just hand-copied the rain poem she loves on a piece of nice paper. And definitely if she didn’t make me show the book to everyone we know.

Maybe I should have been honest then, but it didn’t feel like the right time.

When I left school that day, I didn’t go home because I just couldn’t talk to her on the phone, and my mother is not a very “adroit” liar about things like that. So, instead, I walked to the area where all the shops and video stores are. I went straight to the bookstore. And when the lady behind the counter asked me if I needed any help, I opened up my bag, and I returned the book Mary Elizabeth bought me. I didn’t do anything with the money. It just sat in my pocket.

When I walked home, all I could think was what a terrible thing it was that I just did, and I started crying. By the time I walked in the front door, I was crying so much that my sister stopped watching television to talk to me. When I told her what I did, she drove me back to the bookstore because I was too messy to drive, and I got the book back, which made me feel a little better.

When Mary Elizabeth asked me where I had been all day on the phone that night, I told her that I went to the store with my sister. And when she asked if I bought her something nice, I said I did. I didn’t even think she was serious, but I said it anyway. I just felt so bad about almost returning her book. I spent the next hour on the phone listening to her talk about the book. Then, we said good night. Then, I went downstairs to ask my sister if she could drive me to the store again, so I could get Mary Elizabeth something nice. My sister told me to drive myself. And that I had better start being honest with Mary Elizabeth about how I feel. Maybe I should have then, but it just didn’t feel like the right time.

The next day in school I gave Mary Elizabeth the gift that I drove to buy her. It was a new copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. The first thing Mary Elizabeth said was,

“That’s original.”

I just reminded myself that she didn’t say it mean. She wasn’t making fun of me. She wasn’t comparing. Or criticizing. And she really wasn’t. Believe me. So, I just explained to her how Bill gives me special books to read outside of class and how To Kill a Mockingbird was the first one. And how it was special to me. Then, she said,

“Thank you. It’s very sweet.”

But then she went on to explain how she had read it three years earlier and thought it was “overrated” and how they turned it into a black-and-white film with famous actors like Gregory Peck and Robert Duvall that won an Academy Award for the screenplay writer. I just kind of put my feelings away somewhere after that.

I left school, walked around, and didn’t get home until one o’clock in the morning. When I explained to my father why, he told me to act like a man.

The next day in school, when Mary Elizabeth asked where I had been the day before, I told her that I bought a pack of cigarettes, went to the Big Boy, and spent the entire day reading the e. e. cummings book and eating club sandwiches. I knew I was safe saying that because she would never ask me any questions about the book. And I was right. After she got done talking about it that time, I didn’t think I’d ever really need to read it myself. Even if I wanted to.

I definitely think I should have been honest then, but to tell you the truth, I was getting as mad as I used to get playing sports, and it was starting to scare me.

Luckily, Easter vacation was starting on Friday, and it distracted things a little bit. Bill gave me Hamlet to read for the break. He said I would need the free time to really concentrate on the play. I guess I don’t need to say who wrote it. The only advice Bill gave me was to think about the main character in terms of the other main characters in the books I’ve read thus far. He said not to get caught up thinking the play was “too fancy.”

So, on Good Friday yesterday, we had a special showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. What made it special was the fact that everyone knew it was the beginning of Easter vacation, and a lot of kids were still wearing their suits and dresses from Mass. It reminded me of Ash Wednesday in school when the kids come in with thumbprints on their foreheads. It always adds an air of excitement.

After the show, Craig invited all of us back to his apartment to drink wine and listen to the White Album. After the record was over, Patrick suggested we all play truth or dare, a game that he loves to play when he’s “buzzed.”

Guess who chose dares over truth all night? Me. I just didn’t want to tell Mary Elizabeth the truth because of a game.

It was working pretty well most of the night. The dares were things like “chug a beer.” But then, Patrick gave me a dare. I don’t even think he knew what he was doing, but he gave it to me anyway.

“Kiss the prettiest girl in the room on the lips.”

That’s when I chose to be honest. In retrospect, I probably could not have picked a worse time.

The silence started after I stood up (since Mary Elizabeth was sitting right next to me). By the time I had knelt down in front of Sam and kissed her, the silence was unbearable. It wasn’t a romantic kiss. It was friendly, like when I played Rocky and she played Janet. But it didn’t matter.

I could say that it was the wine or the beer that I chugged. I could also say that I had forgotten the time Mary Elizabeth asked me if I thought she was pretty. But I would be lying. The truth is that when Patrick dared me, I knew that if I kissed Mary Elizabeth, I would be lying to everyone. Including Sam. Including Patrick. Including Mary Elizabeth. And I just couldn’t do it anymore. Even if it was part of a game.

After the silence, Patrick did his best to salvage the evening. The first thing he said was,

“Well, isn’t this awkward?”

But it didn’t work. Mary Elizabeth walked quickly out of the room and into the bathroom. Patrick told me later that she didn’t want anyone to see her cry. Sam followed her, but before she completely left the room, she turned to me and said serious and dark,

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

It was the look on her face when she said it. And how much she meant it. It suddenly made everything seem like it really was. I felt terrible. Just terrible. Patrick immediately stood up and took me out of Craig’s apartment. We walked to the street, and the only thing I was aware of was the cold. I said that I should go back inside and apologize. Patrick said,

“No. I’ll get our coats. Just stay here.”

When Patrick left me outside, I started to cry. It was real and panicky, and I couldn’t stop it. When Patrick came back, I said, really crying,

“I really think I should go apologize.”

Patrick shook his head. “Believe me. You don’t want to go in there.”

Then, he jiggled the car keys in front of my face and said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

In the car, I told Patrick everything that had been going on. About the record. And the book. And To Kill a Mockingbird. And how Mary Elizabeth never asked any questions. And all Patrick said was, “It’s too bad you’re not gay.”

That made me stop crying a little bit.

“Then again, if you were gay, I would never date you. You’re a mess.”

That made me start laughing a little bit.

“And I thought Brad was fucked-up. Jesus.”

That made me laugh a lot more. Then, he turned on the radio and we drove through the tunnels back home. When he dropped me off, Patrick told me the best thing to do was keep away for a while. I guess I already told you that. He said that when he knew more, he’d give me a call.

“Thanks, Patrick.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And then I said, “You know, Patrick? If I were gay, I’d want to date you.”

I don’t know why I said it, but it seemed right.

Patrick just smiled cocky and said, “Of course.” Then, he peeled out down the road.

When I lay down in bed that night, I put on the Billie Holiday record, and I started reading the book of e. e. cummings poems. After I read the poem that compares the woman’s hands to flowers and rain, I put the book down and went to the window. I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time. Not thinking anything. Not feeling anything. Not hearing the record. For hours.

Something really is wrong with me. And I don’t know what it is.

Love always, Charlie