Author's Note: This was actually an English assignment. Decided to submit it to FFnet and deviantART because I like how it came out. It's basically to write as Holden ten years after The Catcher in the Rye actually takes place. You've probably seen it before, lol.

Disclaimer: If I owned The Catcher in the Rye, Holden wouldn't have turned out so freaking whiny.

--

You're probably waiting for me to talk about how wonderful life has been, how amazing I am now, and about how things have drastically improved for me. Well, I won't lie – things have improved, but I don't like it when people say drastically, because it makes you think that everything is right in the world when it's not. It really isn't. Actually, I don't think anyone doesn't have any problems. I definitely still do. Life is not "grand" (I hate that word), but it's okay. You probably know what I'm talking about so I won't go on explaining.

Ever since I talked to the psychoanalysts about what I did as a sixteen-year-old I've been thinking – thinking a lot, actually. I can't really define what exactly I mean by "a lot," but it was more than I had been thinking before, that's for sure. Anyway, I didn't know what I was going to actually do once the psychoanalysts let me go. It's okay, though, since I was in there for quite a few years, which left me enough time to think about it. And I had been thinking – mostly about how I could help out kids. And I had been thinking about what Mr. Antolini told me, about how an immature man would die nobly for a cause and a mature man would live humbly for one or something like that. I don't remember exactly. I lost the paper that he gave me saying that. Actually, it's kind of ridiculous how easily I lose stuff in general. I'm not kidding. I have to be the clumsiest person on Earth. But at least I remembered the gist of what he was trying to say. At least, I think I do. As I was saying, I had been thinking about what I was going to do. And eventually I came to the conclusion that I'd be a teacher. Yeah, I know – a teacher. I don't know if I was smoking or what I was doing at the time, but for some reason that was the first thing that popped in my head.

Now, I'm not particularly fond of teachers, to tell you the truth. My experiences with them have been rather unpleasant. Most of them lie a whole bunch and some of them teach you crap that you're never ever going to use, and it annoys me a lot. I don't know how to define "a lot" in this instance, but if I had to I think I would say that would mean most of the time. So when I had been thinking about being a teacher, I thought that I'd be one of those teachers who actually teaches something, instead of just complaining about how all kids are snotty brats. I mean, it's inevitable that I would be annoyed by at least one kid, but I'm not going to say all kids are terrible or something like that. I mean it. In fact, I never have, the whole time I've been an actual teacher.

Oh yeah, that's right. The idea may've sounded crazy but I still went with it. Yeah, I'm a fourth grade English teacher now. I guess it's fitting since the only class I didn't flunk was English. I always liked English, anyway. No kidding. I just never liked Oral Expression back in the day. I took away the whole "Digression!" thing, by the way. I mean, Mr. Antolini had a point, that it was important to stay on topic and all, but I thought it was rather pointless to keep it. I just had an instinct about it. I mean, the only times you really need to stay on topic are in meetings and in essays or something. In every day conversation, you probably switch the topic about thirty times before you go right back to the old one. And plus, that wasn't what English was about. Actually, I don't even know if I understand what English is about myself. I mean, when you hear English, you think, Oh, I'm going to learn how to speak and write in English, and then be done with it. Sometimes kids wish it would be that simple, because then you wouldn't have to think so deeply into the world and stuff like that. But really, English has been all about understanding the world using language. I can't really explain it. You just have to know those things. If you're in an English class, you should already understand what I'm talking about.

Anyway, after the whole thinking about being a teacher thing, the psychoanalysts let me go. By then I knew exactly what I was going to do, and yet I felt so damn nervous and all. You know how you prepare everything in your head, but when you actually get around to doing it, you feel all sweaty and nervous and stuff and you can't get around to it? Yeah, that's what I mean. Whenever I mention that to someone, they instantly think improv in acting or something like that. But it doesn't just apply to acting – it applies to everything. I mean, when you're writing an essay for instance, you prepare this whole outline and then when you take the essay test the next day, you get self-conscious about your grade and tend to mess things up somewhere along the way, whether it be awkward wording or something like that. That happened to me all the time. I think it still happens to me. Whenever I'm preparing a class, I know that I'm going to get nervous. In fact, I think everyone gets a little nervous before they do stuff like that. What makes the difference between an experienced actor or teacher or whatever is not, well, not being nervous, but covering the nervousness. At least, I think. I'm not really an expert teacher, honestly. I think my students know it, too. People can just tell that sort of thing.

But anyway, through all the nervousness, I managed. I moved out and Phoebe for whatever reason moved in with me, and I got a job as a fourth grade English teacher. Ol' Phoebe was out of fourth grade by then, though, so I didn't get to teach her. Not that it really mattered, of course. We still work on English related stuff together anyway, even though I'm not her teacher. I help her out with her homework and to get things done. It works, and I get a kick out of Phoebe answering all the questions and then boasting about how she didn't need my help. She kills me sometimes. She really does.

Around the time I had been training to be a teacher and stuff, I had been hearing about what happened to everyone I knew. I never actually heard of Mr. Antolini again, even though he's a teacher, too, for all I know. Not that it really mattered. Just thinking about him made me nervous – you would be, too, if something perverted like that happened to you with a teacher you thought you trusted. Then there was Mr. Spencer. I actually attended his funeral. It was only a matter of time he was going to kick the bucket; he was pretty old, anyway. Didn't prevent me from being sad, though. Death really makes me sad, even if the person lived a happy life beforehand or some other crap like that. Like, the whole thing about that young kid who smiled while she died or something because she saved her family or stuff – that stuff really exhausts the hell out of me. I'm not kidding. It's sad and yet so unrealistic. I don't understand why anyone would be smiling while they die or something. I don't understand why somebody would try to kill themselves, either. I guess I wouldn't understand that sort of thing since I never did anything like that. I'm certainly still alive, and I would never try to kill myself. Well, I did feel like I could just curl up and die, but I'm past that now. I wouldn't want to do that to Phoebe, after all.

As for the kids at Pencey, I think Stradlater got arrested. Don't ask me why. I don't even know. Somehow I instinctively knew he was going to get in trouble some day, though. I'm surprised I haven't. I would think I would have gotten in trouble, too, but the closest to that was running into those psychoanalysts, my parents turning me in or something. And I really didn't mind, actually. I like the psychoanalysts. They were really nice. I just hated how they tried to comfort me and all, though. As much as I've tried to avoid using the word "phonies" to describe anyone anymore, those guys were real phonies. Oh, that was an oxymoron. Well, I guess they were just phonies. Anyway, as I was saying, Stradlater was probably stealing a car or something to bang some girl in and maybe that's why he got arrested. I don't know. I don't really think about it much – though I do admit I kind of miss him.

Thinking of oxymorons and stuff reminds me of my brother, D.B. He's still up in Hollywood, but at least he isn't being the phony I knew him as. He's submitting works a lot lately. There really isn't much to say about him, considering he hasn't really changed much – except he did submit something relating to Allie (only I knew it, though) and I really liked it. Maybe I was too hard on him. I don't know – it's kind of late for that, anyway.

Then Ackley. I think he's married. I don't know. He went on in some sort of football team. He's really good at it, that Ackley. I really don't like football, though. I guess it's the yellow in me. A bunch of people tackling each other to get just some ball seems wrong to me. But Ackley really loves it for sure. I haven't really kept in contact with him, but knowing him, that's exactly how he'd feel. At least, I think. Maybe he changed just as much as I did and he's actually only in there for the money or because his parents told him to. Whatever the case, though, he's still really good at it.

Speaking of Ackley, though, I wonder what it's like being married. It's funny, actually. The two girls I keep in contact with I never actually tried to marry. Sally Hayes, that one girl I had been talking about who wanted me over to help her with the Christmas tree or whatever, still lives with her mom, so that's out. I mean, I don't hate her mom – far from it – but I just think Sally would be more focused on her than on me if I even attempted to neck her or something. Not that it really mattered, of course. Sally was a bit of a phony. I know, I know; I said I didn't want to use that word, but really, that's the only way I can describe her. She's still all into faking that she likes some sort of show that no one really likes anyway and she's only there because her mom is. I don't even go to those shows. I mean, if someone asks me to those shows, I would recommend a different one instead. Or I just wouldn't go. I know it might seem rude, but why should I pretend to like something I don't? I don't mean to go on yelling that the movie sucks or something, because I never do that. I just mean it's stupid to lie about it. If you don't like it then you don't like it.

Then there's also Jane Gallagher. Oh, Jane Gallagher… she went on to be a policewoman. Actually, I had been betting she would do something like that. Anyway, I guess she would be the closest to a girlfriend I would ever get to. She's always so busy, fighting crime and all, so I don't get to see her much. But it's nice to visit her every once and a while. I sometimes even bring Phoebe along with me just for kicks. I really miss Jane. Just a week ago she had gone off to another state because they needed her there – I don't know what for, but you bet she went there as quick as possible. Sometimes I try to call her by her work phone there, but most of the time she's busy working on crime files or something like that. I wouldn't know since I'm not a police officer. She probably has a lot of fun doing that, though. Last time I talked to her, she babbled on about this one time this guy had robbed a bank and she snared him really easily. That killed me. She also doesn't keep her kings in the back row anymore in checkers. I don't know why I found that important to say, but it seems pretty important to me for some reason. I don't know.

Speaking of important events to me, there was this one time I had been taking Phoebe along to meet my class. I had her sit in the front where I was teaching, and she giggled about the cute fourth graders. Typical ol' Phoebe. Once I started teaching, I heard a loud cracking noise, and when I turned around, I saw this little kid playing with his pencil and he broke it. And then he was about to cry. I hate it when little kids cry. It makes me depressed as hell. Anyway, then Phoebe came to the rescue. What she did was, she grabbed the pencil and twirled in the air (as show-offy as possible; I love that kid!) and then she put it in the pencil sharpener. When she gave it back to the kid he was staring at her with wide eyes, like as if she was a goddess or something. That seriously killed me. I'm not kidding. I had to stifle my laughter.

I like to think that mine and Phoebe's time with the kids is making an impact on them. I can't explain why I like to think that, but I really do. I like to imagine that those kids go back to their parents saying how amazing of a teacher Mr. Caulfield is. Or that his little sister is an amazing influence. Or maybe that their teacher taught something valuable that they're actually going to use in the future. I can't explain it. It just gives me joy thinking about it, when I can redirect a kid from becoming a jerk, or learning life skills that can help them save others or something, or themselves. When kids are rats, they stay rats their whole lives. So I thought that I'd prevent them from being rats in the first place. I don't know, I just feel like it's my duty or something. I think Phoebe knows it, too. She helps me as much as possible. Or at least, it seems that way.

For some reason it reminds me of Allie. Allie was my younger brother, and he died of leukemia. Before whenever I thought about him, I felt really depressed. But now thinking about him, I feel happy. Do you want to know why? It seems like as if he has made me a better person. It took his death and years afterward to realize it, but I think I understand things better now thanks to him. He was always laughing and joyful and always looked on the bright side of everything, and he never complained about phonies or anything. And I'm sure there were plenty of things that happened to him that brought him down, plenty of kids that were mean to him… he even died, for Chrissake, but even near death he never let it get him down – or at least, not in the way I let myself get down. I decided a while ago that I would keep thinking about him. It sounds sappy, but thinking about him helps me along. I can't really explain it. If you had some loved one like that die for you, you would understand, I think.

As I said before, life is okay. I'm making it across, I'm helping kids – it's nice, now. It's not perfect, but maybe I'm going about it the wrong way. Some people would kill to get a life like mine. I don't honestly see why, but I guess that's because I'm in this life. I've learned to enjoy things more, especially since, at any time, I could lose them. I guess I should be happy to announce that, Hey, I'm Holden Caulfield. I'm twenty-six years old, and I'm a fourth grade English teacher – have been for three years – and then be done with it. Because saying that I'm depressed is wrong, because I'm not – I'm very happy, and I hope to stay that way for a while.