by Michael Kun
I’m so tired, Cath. I know I’ve slept off and on the past week, but I don’t remember when, and it certainly doesn’t feel like it.
In your letter, you mentioned that your dad showed up at the funeral. I’m sorry, but I didn’t notice. I don’t know whether to be surprised that he showed up or not, but please thank him for me. And thank your mom again. Please tell her that she can bake a lasagna for me again anytime she wants.
I’m glad to hear that you’re going out for the track team. I don’t know why you didn’t think of that earlier. I’ll bet you’ll do well. Just don’t tell anyone how much faster I am than you. And don’t try arguing with me about that.
As for Dorothy being “miffed” about the funeral, I don’t have the energy to even think about that, let alone analyze the way her mind works. I’m just going to apologize to her. It’s much easier that way.
On the subject of girlfriends, you’ll never guess who I got the nicest note from—Samantha. She knew my dad almost as well as you did, and she wrote a very nice note about how much she always liked him. Then she wrote about how badly she feels about the way she handled our breakup last fall, and how badly she feels about the way she handled things at Thanksgiving. Apparently, the guy she was dating broke up with her, and she says it made her remember how nice I always was to her—which is 94% true—and that she hopes that we can spend some time together when she comes home this summer and “see how it goes.” I haven’t written back to her yet because I’m not sure what I want to say. On the one hand, I want to tell her to get lost because of the way she treated me. But on the other hand, people make mistakes, and I guess you should respect it when they realize that and apologize. And on the other hand—yes, I know that’s three hands—my dad always liked her and thought I was going to marry her someday, so for that reason alone I wonder if I should accept her apology and “see how it goes.”
Have I mentioned how tired I am? Oh yeah, I did that a couple paragraphs ago. Sorry.
I’m going to end this letter now. I’m sure we’ll talk again before you get it, but thanks again for being here to help us out. Even if I can’t remember a single word you said.
Scott
P.S. Please don’t tell Dorothy about Samantha’s letter. I need to figure that out and don’t need to get into an argument about it before I do.
P.P.S. If I did get back together with Samantha and we did get married someday, would you be my best man? I can set you up with a nice tuxedo. No employee discount, though.
P.P.P.S. My dad always liked you a lot, too, by the way. But you knew that.
WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY
February 24, 1983
Dear Scott,
I’m sorry you are going through such a sad time. I wish I knew of some way to make it better, but I know there’s nothing that I can say that will make much of a difference right now. I just hope that eventually you’ll be able to see that your dad was really proud of you. Yes, maybe he wanted you to go to college, but when that didn’t work out, he was there for you. He trusted you with his customers and his business, and he was grooming you to take over the store that he built from scratch. It seems like he was very patient and loving, and he was teaching you everything from how to measure a man for a business suit to how to manage a rude customer. Your stories of working with him in the store actually always reminded me of your Boy Scout camping stories from when we were kids. Your dad was always so calm and supportive, like that time that it was raining and you were really struggling with the tent. He didn’t just grab it from you and do it himself or yell at you or anything, the way a lot of dads would. He waited patiently and let you figure it out. And ever since then, you’ve loved camping and basically can’t shut up about how you can pitch a tent in the rain or a strong wind or whatever. (No, I am NOT still bitter about you having to put up my tent every time we camped out. I think we’ve established that three-dimensional assembly is not my thing. I just didn’t really need to hear about it EVERY time.)
Anyway, I think your dad had the same attitude about you working in the store. He probably hoped that you would eventually love it and take great pride in it if he just sat back and let you do it for yourself, as much as possible. The most important thing though, Scott, is that he loved you and he wanted you to be happy. Please try not to be so down on yourself. I really believe that is the last thing that your dad would have wanted. Of course, I’m sure he never expected to pass away at such a young age. If he had been ill or something like that, I’m sure he would have told you over and over again how much he loved you and how proud he was of you. He just didn’t have the chance.
I’m also sorry that your mom is having such a hard time. I talked to my mom, and she and some of the other neighborhood ladies are going to make more of an effort to stop by and spend time with your mom. It must be a terrible shock to her to lose your dad like that, with no warning or anything. I just keep thinking how full of life and energy he was. It is hard to comprehend that he’s really gone.
You know, I was thinking that maybe my mom could help you out at the store. You and I haven’t had much time to talk about her lately, and there are much more important things to talk about right now, but she seems to have turned a corner and is doing so much better than she was over the holidays. Even with all the sadness and emotion of your dad’s funeral last week, she’s not drinking at all. When I asked her about it, she said that’s just not who she is, or who she wants to be. She said that it’s still hard to accept that my dad left her for a younger woman, but she is trying to see it as an opportunity for a fresh start. She’s been getting rave reviews at the card store, and they promoted her to assistant manager, which means she makes a little more money. And she joined a “Jazzercise” class. I don’t really know what that is. It sounds kind of like the Jane Fonda tapes that the girls on my hall do, but she “love-love-loves it” and has a mini wardrobe of leotards and braided headbands hanging in the laundry room to prove it. Anyway, if you need a more mature salesperson to supervise Todd, or just to help you in general, you might want to talk to her.
Oh boy, and now we get to Samantha. Wow. I mean, wow. The good thing is that there’s no rush, right? She’s away at the Unaccredited Virginia School for the Clueless, and you probably can’t see her until summer break because of work, so it’s not like you have to make a decision right now. You’re dealing with a lot of stuff right now, so, yeah, I’m glad she sent you a nice note and all. You should do whatever you want, obviously, but this probably isn’t a great time to rush into anything, you know? It’s nice that your dad liked her so much. I have to wonder, though, did you tell him about what happened at Thanksgiving? Sorry if you don’t want me to remind you, but that was pretty shitty. Anyway, whatever, let’s not get crazy and start talking about marriage, assuming you were even halfway serious about that. I mean, I know your dad just passed away and you’re thinking a lot of Big Thoughts these days, but we’re only 18, right? Maybe you should just slow it down a bit, in general? There’s so much history with Samantha. Some of it is good history, but there’s some bad stuff to consider, as well, right?
And don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Dorothy. I hardly see her these days anyway, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t see your latest letter.
Given all the important things going on these days, I won’t bore you today with my chatter about the track team and whatnot. We’ve got plenty of time for all of that.
I miss you, and I hope things get better soon.
Love,
Cath
P.S. I just remembered that you’re 19 now, although that was a birthday we’d all like to forget.
P.P.S. I almost cried when I heard that Donnie Dibsie came back to pay his respects. He’s a good guy. Let’s not make fun of him anymore, okay? After all, we’re all Tornadoes.
* * *
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
* * *
February 2
8, 1983
Dear Cath,
I’m sorry I missed your call last night. I’ve been working around the clock. I didn’t get home until almost one in the morning because I had to stick around after we closed to count the money in the cash register—then recount it, then recount it again because it didn’t add up right. Then I had to restack the clothes on the shelves and do inventory, and then I had to fill out order forms, and then I had to send out checks to our suppliers. And then I had to turn right around this morning to do it all over again. I have never been so tired in my life. Never. I feel like I’ve just run 100 miles, entirely uphill. I honestly have no idea how adults do this every day of the week, week in and week out. And I have no idea how my dad figured out how to get everything done in time to get home by seven o’clock for dinner. I mean, that cash register alone took me three hours. I know I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but each time I counted the drawer, I came up with a completely different number—and none of those numbers matched up with the number on the tape. If it were just a couple cents, I’d forget about it. But how could it be off by ten or twenty dollars each time? How?
Anyway, I’m tired. Very, very tired.
And I wish I were in college, like you and everyone else we know, but I’m not.
Do you remember that time junior year when I had to take a couple days off school to go to Baltimore to get my eyes checked? Well, it was a lie. Or half a lie. After my parents told him about how I have trouble spelling and with math, Dr. Grossman—Chris’s dad—told me he thought I might have this thing called “dyslexia.” It’s this thing where your brain mixes up letters and numbers. So he made an appointment for me to see a doctor at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore to take a bunch of tests. That’s when I told you I was going to get my eyes checked. My parents were actually excited about it because they figured if it was some medical issue, we could get it fixed, and then I’d turn into a straight-A student and go off to college. Anyway, the tests took all day, and then I had to go back to Baltimore on another day to get the results. The doctor sat me down like he was going to tell me I had some terminable disease. Then he said, “Scott, I wish I could make this simpler for you, but you don’t have dyslexia.” I don’t? “No, you don’t. I wish I could give you an answer, but I think the answer may just be that you’re bad at spelling.” And math? “And math. It’s probably just that you don’t try hard enough. You’re kind of what we call an underachiever.”
Hmm, where have I heard that before?
So I actually have a medical opinion that I’m an underachiever.
Do you know what’s sad—I was actually hoping he’d tell me I had “dyslexia” because I wouldn’t have to take responsibility. And I know my parents were thinking the same thing. But not going to college is all on me, isn’t it?
And underachiever or not, I can’t run the store by myself. I just can’t do it. I’m going to stop by your house tomorrow to see if your mom wants to come work at the store a couple days a week. (I don’t know if I mentioned it or not, but my mom is going to come in a few days a week, too.)
And I have to tell Farrah that he’s out of the band and Todd’s back in, which Farrah will not take well.
And I just broke up with Dorothy over the phone, which I’m sure you’ve heard about nonstop ever since it happened. I probably should have called you ahead of time to warn you so you could hide, but it just sort of happened naturally in the course of the conversation. Before you tell me that I should have broken up with her in person like a gentleman, my mother has already said that exact same thing. I agree that would have been the best way to do it. But I don’t know when I would see her in person again. It could be months, and I didn’t feel like pretending or dragging this out. She’s a good person, but she was driving me nuts. I just remembered what my dad used to call her. Everything was so dramatic with her. If I liked drama, I’d go see The Godfather.
As for Samantha, well, I know you and she don’t exactly like each other, but I’m still crazy about her, Cath. I’ve been crazy about her since the first time I met her after her family moved here. I know you think the only reason I dated her is because she’s blond and pretty and looks great in a bikini, but that’s not true at all. She’s also very sweet, and she gets my jokes, and if I had to list the 100 nicest things anyone has ever said to me, 50 would be from her. (Of the remaining 50, 25 would be from my mom, and 25 would be from you.) I know she treated me like crap when she went off to college, and I haven’t forgotten what happened at Thanksgiving. But if someone you care about apologizes to you, if someone you’ve held in your arms tells you that she’s so sorry for what she did, shouldn’t you accept that apology? I mean, people make mistakes, right? And if you can’t forgive someone you’re close to for making a mistake, then why do apologies even exist?
This is a long way of saying that I’ve accepted Samantha’s apology and I like having her back in my life again and looking at her picture before I go to sleep. If I can ever get away from work, I may try to go visit her in the next couple weeks, and she says she may be able to come home during her spring break. And she’ll also be back for the summer. Whatever happens happens. If nothing happens, I’ll be fine. But if I end up getting back together with the only girl who’s ever loved me, you won’t hear me complaining. And if we do get back together, I will have to figure out how to convince you and her to get along. I still don’t understand what the issue is you have with each other. I mean, you’re both great people. And one of you is an amazing kisser.
Okay, now I feel bad. I’m talking about kissing Samantha when my dad died and I should be thinking about him. Now I’m remembering how tired he was when he got home from work. All he wanted to do after dinner was lie on the couch and watch TV, and I used to complain that he was too lazy to go outside and shoot baskets with me. But now I get why he was so tired every night. And now I realize what a complete shit I was.
I’m going to go to sleep now. I have to get up in few hours. Good luck dealing with Dorothy.
Talk to you soon.
Scott
MARCH
WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY
March 2, 1983
Dear Scott,
I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been talking to Jane about you and your dad and everything. I’ve been kind of lucky so far in my life and haven’t had anyone that I’m close to pass away, but Jane has some experience with it, and it’s been nice for me to be able to talk to her. She said that all the fatigue that you’re feeling is really typical for someone who is grieving. She said that she remembers feeling like she was living two lives at the same time—one in the past, where her new understanding of loss made her see so many interactions from the past in a different light, and one in the present, where she was fighting to keep it together on a daily basis. She said she can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to also have the responsibility of working in the store, on top of everything. Jane’s advice was to just listen to your body, as much as you possibly can. Don’t feel bad if you sleep all day on your day off or call the band to blow off practice so you can lie on the couch. She said our society sucks at supporting a grieving person and you just have to take care of yourself and hope that people cut you some slack. On the other hand, if you’re suddenly having a good day, don’t beat yourself up about it. She said that she used to worry that she would forget her mom if she didn’t think about her all the time, but she swears, Scott, that your dad will stay with you, in lots of good and happy ways, and you don’t have to stay sad to remember him. Anyway, if you ever want to talk to someone who really gets what you’re going through, Jane’s here and she’d be happy to talk to you, okay?
You know, I do get the whole Samantha thing. In a way, I may even get it more than you do, because I can see it. In 3-D. Everyone can see it. You’re a completely different person around her, and you always have been. And I get it. And it’s cool. And I don’t mean to be unsupportive. It’s just that Samantha’s just a little bit careless, you know? When I
think of Samantha, I think of her driving too fast with the windows down, her long hair blowing all over the place, tunes cranked, soda in hand, laughing her ass off about something you just said. And that’s cool. It’s all good, really. But, you know, I can’t help but worry about you, Scott. I’m worried that she’s going to hurt you again. Okay. There. I’ve said it. I’m sure I’ve said too much, and I’ll shut up now and like you said, whatever happens, happens. And you know, Scott, I really do want you to be happy, and if you get back together with Samantha and she makes you happy, then I promise to try not to worry so much and to be nicer about everything.
Oh, and by the way, don’t worry about Dorothy. She’s found a big bony shoulder to cry on, which belongs to … James! (You didn’t think I was going to say Walter, did you?) How did we not see this coming? She loves drama. He’s a big old softy. Et voilà!—they can’t get enough of each other. It’s sweet, actually, and they seem to really click together.
Anyway, Jane and I have both cut our hours way back at the Pizza Pan so she can do all her sorority pledge stuff and I can work out with the track team.
And I’m totally loving being on the track team. I have to say, I didn’t get the whole sorority thing before. Like, how could you have a couple of cocktail parties, meetings, and events, and suddenly you’re all wearing the same sweatshirts and being best friends? I was pretty cynical about it, and I thought it was really fake and surfacy. But now I sort of get it. I mean, I’ve only been working out with the track girls for a few weeks, and I feel like I’ve made some really good friends. (Katie, Donna, Sandy, and Donna-with-the-Headbands, so we don’t confuse her with the other Donna.) We’re together in the gym or on the track for about two hours every afternoon. They’re a very cool, very funny group. The coaches think I’ll be better at cross-country than track, and right now I am working on overall speed and endurance. Even though I have a lot to learn and most of the girls are way faster than I am, I love it. I love wearing official athletic department practice gear and sweatshirts. I love being with so many other girls who love to run. I love hanging around the athletic complex with the other spring athletes. Need I remind you of how I feel about baseball players? Probably not.
