by Ashlyn Kane
Anyway—what’s happening now? Is everything okay? Did someone punch Harper in the face? Because if not, I volunteer for the honor. What about your parents? They wouldn’t throw you out or anything, right?
Write me back ASAP.
Jonah
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Jonah,
Oh God, it’s awful here. Mom and Dad aren’t threatening to kick me out, and they say they still love me, but it’s like someone died! Mom’s still crying—not all the time, but the other day she literally cried over spilled milk. She says she’s not angry at me, that she’s just feeling emotional, but… she keeps crying like I broke her heart.
Dad’s not much better. He keeps starting weird and awkward conversations. One time it was about whether or not I was sure (yes, I am, very, in case you’re wondering too) and another was about safe sex. He practically out and out asked me if I’ve had another guy’s cock up my ass. He was all euphemistic about it, but I could tell he was worried that I was out getting shot up with HIV-infected sperm.
Kierstyn, on the other hand, has been awesome. She keeps coming into my room when I’m studying and sitting down with her homework beside me. The other day while I was writing an essay sitting on my bed, she did her math homework curled up next to me. I love her lots right now.
Sorry to disappoint, but Zack called first dibs on beating Harper up. Fortunately for Zack (I really don’t want him in jail), he got to the house a day after Harper had left. Still, he practically forced his way into the house and up the stairs to my room. So now Mom seems to think he’s my boyfriend. Anytime someone says the name “Zack,” she tears up.
Harper seemed to be a little bit sorry about it but pretty much told me that it was my fault for kissing a boy in public and not having told my family yet. He’s gone home now, though, so whatever.
Trust me, I gave Natalie a great big hug the next time I saw her. She is my new favorite person.
Still alive and with shelter,
Emerson
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ON A card attached to a large plastic container of gummy bears:
Em,
I wanted to get you something with the last letter, but it was important that I send it quickly, and I didn’t have time. Anyway, happy belated coming out. Or not so happy, I guess, but anyway, have some candy.
I know it sucks right now, but I’m sure it’ll get easier. Just hang in there. Your parents love you. They are just really awkward about stuff. It would probably be the same if your brother had walked in on you having sex with a girl or something, only then they’d be worried about babies too. (Just trying to look on the bright side.)
I wasn’t wondering, Emerson, but thank you for the not-at-all reassuring mental images. I’d cry if I thought Zack was your boyfriend, too, so cut your mom some slack.
Jonah
P.S. Remind me the next time I move to go to California, please. The weather here is freeze-your-tits-off cold. The snow actually froze Elijah’s mohawk the other day.
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Jonah,
Ugh, don’t make jokes about sex with girls or getting them pregnant. One of the beautiful things about being out is that people aren’t supposed to keep putting mental images in my brain of girls and sex and me.
Thank you lots for the candy, though. I’ve been eating it whenever I’m forced to hide in my room.
Hey! Zack is a great person, and I’m offended on his behalf. I could do worse than him for a boyfriend. At least then I’d know that my honor was always safe, what with Zack around to protect it.
Jonah: next time you move, move to California.
Christmas is going to be here soon. I can’t believe it’s come ’round again. You getting time off this Christmas?
Emerson
P.S. Wow, I am even less sold on the idea of a mohawked boyfriend now. I didn’t think that was possible.
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Emerson,
Sorry, sorry, didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject.
I never said Zack wasn’t a good guy, just—look at it from your mom’s point of view. Zack is a guitar-playing gym bunny for all she knows (from all you’ve told me, even). Next you’ll be telling me he has long hair and an earring. It’s no wonder your mom freaked out.
As a side note, I imagine the part where he’d be simultaneously attempting to protect and violate your honor would be frustrating and likely sitcom-level ridiculous.
I do actually have time off for Christmas—well, I’ve got a three-day weekend, which is almost the same thing and frankly a small miracle considering where I work—but not nearly enough to come home, of course. I’ll be spending the holiday with Elijah and his (apparently completely normal) family in Cheyenne, though, so don’t worry about me too much, I won’t be alone. Besides, I’m still talking to you this year, so it’s automatically better than last.
Jonah
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Jonah,
Not that touchy. But, I’m tired of being told about girls having sex as if I should be participating in it and enjoying it. Can I have a break yet?
Um, Zack does have long hair and an earring? And he’s not a gym bunny—he’s an athlete. He does kickboxing and teaches self-defense classes once a week. I’m truly regretful if I actually managed to give you the opinion that he’s a guitar-playing gym bunny.
Sigh, yes, if you want to interpret honor as a sexual thing then fine, yes, that would be amusing. Though I was thinking more along the lines of wanting to duel anyone that insulted me (i.e. punching Harper). Though given the incident at a bar a few weeks ago during which some random guy started fondling my ass, Zack protects that honor too.
Wow, three whole days for Christmas. How will you ever cope with that much time off?
Zack and Hayley are talking about a road trip, and I think I might be able to swing it. Mostly because they’re talking about heading to Hayley’s, so a bed’s not going to cost that much. Hayley is from New Orleans, so I have to say, I’m pretty tempted. They’re talking about New Year’s, so I’m thinking we might actually do it. Though, nine hours on the road with Zack, Hayley, and Greg? I’ll let you know if I survive it.
Emerson
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Emerson,
You do an extremely thorough job defending your non-boyfriend. Just saying. Don’t ask me how I knew about the hair and the earring.
Wow, a road trip? And here I thought you were chained to the house or something. Soon you’ll be telling me you’re going to Daytona Beach on spring break.
Since I want to move on to California as soon as possible, the three days at Christmas is not a setback by any means. It gives me just enough time to catch my breath before diving back into the drudgery. The good thing is that keeping so busy helps me to use my spare time wisely, and I am getting a ton of writing done. Sorry, I know it drives you nuts when I tease about it, but I’m a little superstitious; I’m afraid I’ll jinx it.
Make sure to send me Hayley’s address so I can wish you a happy new year.
Jonah
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WRITTEN in a cheap Christmas card that read “Merry Christ-moose” over a bad drawing of a moose in a scarf and Rudolph’s nose:
Jonah,
Why do you make defending Zack sound so suspicious? Like it’s an inadvertent declaration of love? As for the hair and earring, if I thought you had a computer, I’d accuse you of Facebook stalking. As it is I guess I’ll just have to assume that you’re a freak with lucky guesses.
We’re just going to New Orleans for New Year’s. We’ll drive down on the 30th and home on the 2nd. Dad’s feeling well enough now to mind things at the store for a few days without my help. Also, did you miss the part where I said we’d be staying at Hayley’s parents’? The only expense will be gas and New Year’s—Hayley says her mother loves to feed people, so we won’t even have to worry about food.
I can’t wait to read what you’re writing. I’ll get to read it the moment it’s done, right?
Emerson
§
&nbs
p; ATTACHED to a large, heavy package and shipped via UPS on a card depicting a shiny green Christmas tree with raised ornaments:
Dear Emerson,
Merry Christmas (and Happy New Year, in case the card I plan on sending to you at Hayley’s doesn’t make it there in time).
Vis-a-vis writing and the computer thing—actually, now that you mention it… is the suspense killing you yet? Long story short—or actually not short, actually, it’s just over 100,000 words—er. It turns out I’m a novelist after all. I was just checking my mail—literally, I opened your letter and the acceptance letter was behind it with a big fat advance (ok, not that big or fat, but it’s money I wasn’t expecting). Anyway, I needed a computer to do the required editing, so I went out and bought one of those netbook things with free wireless access for six months. I’ll e-mail you from my new address ASAP.
The book should come out sometime this summer. My contract says I’m not allowed to transmit the file electronically to anyone other than the editors, but I’ll see if I can get you an advanced reader’s copy.
As for your Christmas present—well. It actually is as extravagant as it looks, this time, and I expect you to use it.
Jonah
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SENT in a large, bubble-lined envelope with a small rectangular box and a folder inside along with another Christmas card:
Jonah,
Oh, wow. Where to begin?
You got a book deal?! I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you wrote a novel! I can’t believe you wrote a novel and didn’t tell me, and I can’t believe you wrote a novel that’s going to be published! That’s so exciting. I’m giving you mental hugs and high fives of congratulations.
Though, you are a bitch for not sending me a copy before you signed a contract. I will forgive you, but you’re a bigger bitch if you don’t get me an advanced reading copy. Seriously.
You bought me a graphics tablet? This is just awesome. So awesome that I couldn’t wait to use it. The gift in the small box was something I bought you a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t leave it at that, not when you bought me a tablet, so I made you some stuff. Nothing special, but I just thought you might like to see your present in action.
I suppose now would also be a good time to mention how much use this gift will get in the new year. After way too many hours spent down in the academic advisory and registrar offices, I am now an art student. I am the newest member of the design program. I took a few courses last summer and last term that they’re willing to count toward the degree and to advance me to second-term freshman status.
Merry Christmas, Jonah!
And Happy New Year! I’ll send you a card from New Orleans.
Emerson
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Emerson,
The pen is seriously awesome. In ten years when I am a famous and highly paid author I will tell everyone it’s because I wrote everything in the fountain pen you gave me, and all the other famous highly paid authors will be jealous and try to steal the fountain pen mojo, but I will have hidden it away somewhere safe because of course it is too important to go in a desk drawer or something equally asinine.
It’s entirely possible I’ve had too much eggnog.
Congrats on the art program thing! Knew you could do it. Obviously you’ve been practicing if the stuff you sent me is any indication.
I am actually e-mailing you from Cheyenne! We are heading back early tomorrow (the 26th) and everyone else is in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. (The room is spinning. Again with the eggnog. Thank God for spell check.)
Anyway, since my choices seem to be sign off or hurl on my keyboard, I’m going to end this letter and pray it doesn’t say something really embarrassing.
Jonah
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Jonah,
Fountain pen mojo? If this is you on eggnog, we need to feed it to you more often.
Thank you. I’m looking forward to taking lessons in art history over economic history.
It’s nice that you have a computer now so that we can communicate in real time (I’m still sending you a post card from New Orleans, FYI), and you are right, it would be best not to damage your new toy by puking all over it. Just saying.
I think it’s time to go to bed. Yes, I know it’s only nine, but I’m exhausted. Because I am an awesome brother, I took Kierstyn and Natalie out for a day of post-Christmas sale fun. I am vastly underappreciated, as I’ve received little sympathy for how much my feet suffer. Parents weren’t nearly grateful enough considering I saved them from Boxing Day hell.
Tired and sore,
Emerson
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Emerson,
Oh God, what did I say to you? I told you, you should never let me near alcohol.
It looks like I’ll be heading to California the third week in January, much sooner than I anticipated. Elijah isn’t going to be thrilled, but I don’t think he’ll be very surprised either.
You courageous soul, braving the insanity of the mall on Boxing Day. What were you thinking? That way lies madness.
Anyway, happy new year.
Jonah
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Jonah,
Only that you were going to rule the world of popular fiction with the power of your pen mojo.
California is sunny—I think you’ll find it much preferable to Wyoming.
Unfortunately I was only thinking that I was an awesome big brother, and I wasn’t thinking about the reality of what I had signed up for.
In other news, Mom came home from the mall yesterday with a copy of Family Secrets: Gay Sons, a Mother’s Story and Straight Parents, Gay Children: Keeping Families Together. She was last seen clutching at Family Secrets and crying. At least she’s now crying because of other people’s gay children?
We’re leaving for New Orleans tomorrow, so the next you hear from me may be via snail mail from Louisiana.
Emerson
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SENT via snail-mail to Emerson at Hayley’s New Orleans address:
one paper party hat with pink cellophane pom-pom
one lurid purple noisemaker
one marzipan pig
one blue plastic toy dragon
one singing New Year’s card (“Auld Lang Syne”)
one roll of Mentos
Dear Emerson,
Happy New Year! Hopefully nine hours in a car with three normal people won’t have damaged your fragile nonsensibilities too much. (I am an author now, and I get to make up words if I want to. So there.)
Included are all the necessary items for an excellent New Year’s celebration (minus some champagne because apparently you can’t be trusted around alcohol either). I was going to include a condom, but given your last drunken sexual encounter, that seemed like a bad idea.
Anyway, enjoy.
Jonah
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WRITTEN on the back of a postcard with the picture of a donkey on it:
Jonah,
Oh look, I found your picture on a postcard in New Orleans.
Went partying on New Year’s. Got drunk.
Lost most of the package; Hayley ate the Mentos.
Happy fucking New Year.
Emerson
§
IN EMERSON’S e-mail three days later, with no subject line: a picture of a donkey with a badly drawn-on frown.
§
THE day after that:
So, I deserved that. I’m sorry, Emerson. I didn’t mean to imply—whatever the hell it is I implied. I just shouldn’t send you letters immediately after messy breakups, apparently.
I know it’s a crap excuse. Believe me, I would take it back if I could.
J.
§
Jonah,
I shouldn’t read letters while hung over, I guess. Your joke wouldn’t have been very funny while sober, but it packed more of a punch while ill. How about we agree to never mention such things again?
Now stop pouting and no more puppy dog eyes.
Emerson
§
E
merson,
Capital idea. This thing where we get mad at each other is frankly balls.
So, other than, you know—how was the trip?
J
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Jonah,
I don’t like it much either.
The trip was good. Hayley’s mom gave us way too much food to eat. So… we had too much to drink and too much to eat. We went partying on the town—and whatever you do, spend New Year’s in New Orleans at least once. I took loads of pictures; I attached a few to the e-mail. Just don’t tell Hayley you’ve seen that third one; she threatened bodily harm if I showed it to anyone else.
Classes start in a few days; I get to do my first term in Design.
Emerson
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Emerson,
So, sounds (and looks!) like you had a good New Year’s at least. Word to the wise, don’t break up with your boyfriend three days before New Year’s Eve; it makes for a shitty celebration.
You must be excited for your new term. I’ve been using my shiny new Internet access to find myself a place in California that isn’t a dump. A job would be a good bonus. It’s a bit challenging since I don’t know exactly where I want to go yet. Maybe San Francisco. After all, why not?
So, are you finally going to come visit me when I make it somewhere warm?
Jonah
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Jonah,
I could have told you that—breaking up always makes days shitty.
San Francisco, eh? Good idea—after all, where else should you go?
Your homes not being warm enough has never been the problem, but rather how far away you are. When am I supposed to make the journey out to San Fran? How am I supposed to pay for it?
