August 24, 1996
Dear friend,
In a week's time I'll be off to an experience called college. Right now I'm stuck in the seemingly endless cycle of sorting, and packing, and tossing to determine what I'll be bringing with me to my four year pursuit of further education. That's how I found you again.
I know it's been three years since I last wrote, and I'd like to offer you my most sincere apologies. I hope you're not offended. I haven't forgotten about you, I promise, it's just... I've actually been learning how to talk to real, live people about what I'm thinking. It proved to be quite a shock to me when most everyone, with their own intricate, detailed, complex, lives, full of their own problems and worries, are usually happy to hear what I have to say. I'm learning that it's not my job to absorb everyone else's woes, but that it's a give and take between the people that you love.
I'm proud of myself. Of progress that I've made, that I got into college, having missed as much school as I had for a while. I'm going to major in English literature. I can credit that to Bill.
I think of how nervous Sam was, to be alone in college- and how surprised I was hearing that. Well I'm surprised again, because I'm not afraid at all. I'm not particularly excited either, but I am at peace with the matter. Speaking of Sam, she called me yesterday to give me some exciting news.
"Charlie I'm engaged!" She sounded so happy. I was grinning for her, and I'm sure that my smile did not match her beam which I could hear right through the phone. Her fiancé is a boy named Peter, and he's a really nice guy. He's tall, and funny, and obsessed with Star Wars, and somehow, the two really compliment each other. I always dreamed of marrying Sam, but this is a better arrangement. She's happy, so I am.
A lot has changed over the last few years. Walkmen turned to disk men, though I am still biased towards cassettes. Makes sense with all of the time I spent making fire mixtapes for all of my friends. The other day I heard a song from the 60's called Sinnerman. It's by a woman named Nina Simone, and it sounds like running. It sounds like Patrick. He's currently darting from man to man, party to party, substance to substance. I'm glad he's having fun, but I'm sad that he's not happy. He's running. And from what I haven't figured out. Maybe growing up. It's hard to tell, but I feel confident that he'll find his way.
I think I'm on my way to doing that as well. So friend, this will be my last letter to you. Thanks for all of the help you have given to me. Goodbye Michael.
Love, Charlie.