You just asked Vince for forgiveness.
Maybe the price is giving it.
I Haven’t Managed It
By the time I get home. Man,
not sure I can fall for a girl
who can out-philosophize me.
How annoying, although, in
retrospect, sort of lovable, too.
I’m softening a little, but then
I walk past Luke’s room, where
the open door leaks the scent
of new paint. I peek in. Khaki,
aka baby shit green. Lovely.
How am I supposed to forgive
that, not that it surprises me.
Lorelei will forevermore be
synonymous with baby shit green.
That must mean her kids are little
shits. Ha! I will take amusement
where I can find it in this mess.
Speaking of messes, the one that
was my room this morning has
been straightened away. I am not
amused at that. “Hey, Lorelei,
wherever you are!” I yell. “Leave
my messes alone! They’re mine!”
I Lock Myself In
My artificially clean room,
mess up the bed, just because,
and when I peel back the quilt,
I notice she’s changed the sheets.
These smell of some unfamiliar
detergent. It probably has a name
like “Garden of Clean” or “Rain
on Apple Trees.” Too feminine,
and I bet it makes me itch.
I give the sheets time to air out,
go to my desk, and turn on
my laptop, start writing a letter
to the school board in my head.
It would be easy to let emotions
interfere with stating what should
be obvious to any thinking person
in a clear way. I remind myself
not to use obscene language; not
easy when it comes to Mr. DeLucca.
Finally, I Type
Dear Lane County School Board Members:
I am writing to urge you to retain the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower in Lane County High School libraries and classrooms. This book is an honest representation of issues every young person is faced with, offering the necessary perspective teen readers need to make informed choices.
Frank DeLucca, the man who is spearheading this challenge, wrote in a recent letter to the editor that many parents aren’t involved enough in their children’s lives. I agree with him there, and nowhere is this more apparent than when it comes to frank (excuse the pun) discussions about sex and sexuality. However, his assertion that dialogues about masturbation or rape somehow equate to pornography makes me worry a little about what arouses the man.
That he chose to involve other members of his church and insinuate God into the conversation is likewise alarming. From what I’ve observed, “high moral standards” are not the exclusive domain of Christians, and the phrase itself is obscure. Who gets to define it or decide which literature fits that definition? I don’t know that much about the Bible, other than it was written thousands of years ago, which dilutes its relevance. However, I know its faithful followers tend to cherry-pick verses to suit their needs, the same way they cherry-pick words or scenes from other books to label obscene. It’s all about context, and if you don’t read a book in its entirety, there is no context. Have these people who are challenging Perks actually read it, or are they relying on Internet research to find objectionable material?
Finally, I must address the “homosexual agenda” accusation. First of all, what agenda, exactly, is that? Demanding the equal rights promised by the Constitution, rights already afforded them by the Supreme Court of the United States? Second, what’s next? Removing books with Muslim characters, because these somehow promote Sharia law? Banning books with Latino characters because they might make readers sympathetic to immigration reform?
In discussing the challenge, my English teacher, Ms. Hannity, said some kids have no one to speak for them. My little brother was one of those kids. Luke was gay, and nobody spoke for him. If he were here today, I’d make sure to give him books like Perks, with characters who could speak for him, so he’d know he wasn’t alone and that he’d find his way eventually.
But Luke isn’t here. He took his own life, a victim of intolerance. Maybe if the kids who drove him over the brink had read the right books, they would’ve understood that being gay doesn’t make you bad or even different. It’s an intrinsic element of who you are. Maybe they would have shown the tolerance their parents and ministers never taught them.
There are young people who need books to speak for them. And there are others who need books to speak to them. Perks is a necessary book for all. Please keep it on our bookshelves, with unrestricted access. And please don’t allow a clearly prejudiced few to decide for the rest of this community what we may or may not read.
When I Finish
I go back, insert business
letter headers and the date,
clean up spelling
and grammar, clarify
meaning. Sign my name
at the bottom.
The content satisfies
me, but in writing
it, one thing crystallized.
I was Luke’s big brother.
It was my job to be his voice,
and I failed miserably.
I never told anyone about
him being depressed or
taking Mom’s pills.
Both probably contributed
to his decision. And I didn’t say
a word. Not even a hint.
Neither did I confront those
jerkwads, tell them to back off
or face imminent destruction.
No, I, in my infinite wisdom,
decided the best way
to proceed was to do nothing,
to let it all blow away like wildfire
smoke, and that’s what I told
Luke to do, too. “It will get
better, just like everyone says.”
Was it because I believed
the counsel or because it was
the easier route? Even before
all the shit stirred up,
when Luke first came out to me
I begged him to stay quiet.
I’m just as guilty of intolerance
as anyone else.
I was his brother.
I should have been his voice.
Instead, I was his censor.
It’s a Two Pills to Sleep
Kind of night. No booze
chaser. Don’t want to emerge
from my room, nor risk
confrontation.
I settle into my
strange-smelling bed,
think about firing up my music.
Instead, for some
inexplicable reason,
I call Alexa, who is surprised,
and pleased, that my churning
brain chose to dial her number.
The problem with pills
is they make you want to spill
your guts, but your tongue
grows thick and your stream
of thought slows to a trickle.
Still, after two or three
sentences of minuscule talk,
and a couple of false starts,
I manage to come clean
about both the pills
and what’s bothering me.
“I sucked as a brother.
If only . . . I mean . . . ah,
Jesus. I can’t fix any of this.
I can’t bring him back.
And no one but me
gives a shit, you know?”
I do. Her voice is a gentle
wave lapping against
my ear. No one can bring
him back, Matt, a
nd there’s
more than enough guilt
to go around. Get some
sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I think she’ll hang up,
but instead she starts singing
in a clear, beautiful alto,
Linkin Park’s “What I’ve Done.”
The lyrics swallow me.
Will mercy ever come and
wash away what I’ve done?
Or maybe, more accurately,
what I didn’t do.
When I Turn In
My letter, Mr. Wells reads
it on the spot, along with
several others. He observes,
Looks like we’re coming
down around five to one
in favor of keeping the book
available. Does anyone care
to share what they wrote?
Hands go up. Mine is not
among them. I have no desire
to share. At least, not until one
of the Biblettes, Kerri Cook,
decides to read hers. The highlights
(although “high” is an incorrect
reference) come straight from
the Frank DeLucca Handbook:
• Community standards . . .
• Impressionable children . . .
• Easy access to pornography . . .
• Doing battle for the Lord . . .
As She Reads
I do a little Web search on
my phone, and when she finishes
I blurt out, “Do you even know
the definition of pornography?”
Well . . . not exactly, she admits.
Dirty books and pictures?
“Dirty? You mean, like,
they need a bath? But no,
as per the World English
Dictionary, pornography
is ‘words, pictures, films,
etc. designed to stimulate
sexual excitement.’ Do you
believe that’s what Stephen
Chbosky was trying to do
when he wrote Perks?”
Um, probably not, but what if
that’s an unintended side effect?
“Does reading about rape
turn you on? Because if it
does, you might as well stop
battling for the Lord. You’ve
already lost the war.”
Gasps and Whistles
Send Kerri back to her seat,
beet-faced. Mr. Wells does
his best to rein in the noise.
Okay. That’s enough. Can we
show a little respect for opinions
that differ from our own, please?
I really think you ought to read
what you wrote, Matt, since
you’re clearly on opposite sides.
He offers my letter and I reach
out to take it. “I guess. Whatever.”
I’m usually not big on standing
up in front of a bunch of people
and sharing my opinion verbally.
I much prefer writing my thoughts
down on paper. Fortunately, I have
that in front of me, and when I finish,
most everyone, with obvious exceptions,
joins a chorus of approval—right ons,
and yeahs and a no shit or two. Poor
Kerri can only cross her arms and frown.
Finally, Mr. Wells breaks it up.
Ahem. Okay. Thank you for
the well-organized and thoughtful
way you pleaded your case, Matt.
You, too, Kerri. I’d like both of you—
no, all of you—to consider attending
the school board meeting. I’m happy
to send these letters ahead, but
showing up in person and asking
to be heard is much more powerful.
It’s important for the board to understand
the impact their decision will have.
The meeting is next Thursday evening
at seven o’clock, here in the cafetorium.
Come see how government works.
When Class Breaks Up
And I start toward the door,
Mr. Wells catches me.
One second, Matt. I really
do hope you’ll come to that
meeting. I’m afraid the other
side is going to be quite well
represented. They’re very
organized. There needs to be
a strong contingent speaking
out against censorship, and
your letter is a compelling
argument. You’d be a great help.
“Thanks, Mr. Wells, but I’m
not sure the school board would
care about hearing from me.”
The classroom has emptied,
a fact he confirms before he
adds, I hear Frank DeLucca
is running for a school board
position. I think this is a grand-
stand play to get his name out
there. If he manages to sway
the current board, it would
definitely position him well.
The last thing we need are zealots
in charge of our schools, yeah?
Please think about attending.
DeLucca’s decisions probably
wouldn’t affect me, but he’s got
a point. “I’ll try to be there. And, hey,
maybe I should run for the school
board!” It’s supposed to be a joke.
So why does he say, Maybe
you should. Are you a registered
voter? That’s the main requirement,
and living in the district you run in.
Of course, you might have a better
chance of winning in a year or two.
But as I told you, I really think you
should consider politics, and school
board is a good place to get your feet
wet. And maybe major in poli-sci?
The Dude Is Relentless
“Thanks, Mr. Wells. I’ll keep
that on my radar.” Me, a politician?
Don’t you have to be morally
bankrupt and heavily connected
to old guys with vaults full of
money to burn? I don’t know
many of those, but even if I did,
I’d probably try to get them to buy
me something better than a school
board position. Still, I just might
attend that meeting. It would be
fun to go full throttle up against
Hayden’s Peeping Tom father.
That thought stays with me the rest
of the day, and people probably
think the big-ass grin I’m wearing
is indicative of an impending mental
breakdown. Can’t wait, Mr. DeLucca.
Alexa Catches Up
With me after school.
I have to admit it’s kind of nice
having someone—anyone—come
looking for me who doesn’t have
an ulterior motive. Or does she?
Are you busy this afternoon?
Have time to drive me home?
Okay, not the worst ulterior
motive and I don’t have anything
to do but homework. “Not busy.
Happy to drive you home.”
We are barely out of the parking
lot when she says, Any chance
we can go somewhere and talk?
Shazam! I hear Martha tell me,
Communication is key to any
relationship. I suppose Alexa and
I do have a relationship of some kind.
“Do you have someplace in mind?”
Anywhere, really. I just have
something I need to tell you.
Something She Needs to Tell Me?
Crap! No, it can’t be that. She swore . . .
Wait. How effective is the pill?
Ninety-eight percent, yeah? “Okay,
but can you give me a little hint?”
Just please take me somewhere
we can talk privately? Somewhere
I can walk home from in Steve
Maddens if I must. It’s a joke,
and she smiles, but doesn’t offer
another word, and, disturbed
only by the metronome rhythm
of the windshield wipers, the silence
swells with uneasy anticipation
until we reach one of my favorite
contemplation spots next to the river.
“This okay?” She nods, then withdraws
again for several long minutes.
Finally, I’m not good at keeping
my feelings stashed inside, so please
forgive me if I make you uncomfortable. . . .
She Tells Me
She realizes Hayden
is still a ragged wound,
that this isn’t a demand
for commitment, or for
me to hurry and make up
my confused mind.
(Okay, the “confused”
is my interpretation of
the tone of her voice.)
I just need to know
if there’s any chance
of an “us.” I feel like
there might be. When
we’re together, we have
fun, and there was that night,
which was spectacular
and . . . I mean, I don’t
mind waiting, as long as . . .
She’s so adorable and
genuine and anxious,
I can’t help myself.
I Reach Across
The seat, pull her to me, and
before my lips can even find
hers, she offers her tongue.
I suck it into my mouth,
and the slippery dance begins.
Her lips taste of berry gloss,
too subtle to be seen, but delicious
to savor. Her dark hair is a silky
cape down the length of her back,
and when I thread my fingers
through it, the luscious perfume
of her shampoo envelops me.
We kiss without pause for a very
long time, and when she pulls back
to take in air, I kiss down her neck,
back up her jawline to her ear.
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