Obviously this isn't posted the same night I wrote it William, but read this and bear in mind I'm in a happier mood. I can't disregard this letter because... well because it's too damn long to throw away. This is your punishment. To read a lengthy letter. I didn't have enough time to write a short one.
Dear Cruddy,
We both said some things we didn't mean. Joey came to see me tonight, and I know you can't see the link between our argument and this, but I do. It got me thinking, so I decided to write to you again. Joey's picking Dawson and I don't know if it's because I'm tired of being alone or she's suddenly gotten really hot but... I think I have a crush on her. It... it won't go away, well it's... it's all the snail's fault really!
No. I'm not high.
She went to see her father tonight. I took her, she got kind of emotional. That good kind of sadness, I think. She was real quiet the entire ride home, but before going over to Dawson's (I'm guessing) she stopped by mine. I'd already brought her back to her place, I was only home an hour myself when she dropped by. Maybe she felt she had things to say to me to make up for the lack of conversation in my Pop's car, who knows?
I think she was a bit offended when she came up to my room to be honest. She said something about my dad asking my ma if the deadbeat was around, someone at the door for him, and my mom told him she hadn't seen me for days. I live with them, it's not like I'm a recluse! And see Joey being Joey knew I wasn't hanging round the group as often as normal... one of my phases again I suppose, like after the detention, well, I didn't really go to the Leery place much after the whole beauty pageant thing. So that's why she asked me how they didn't notice I was around.
They sent her up to my bedroom anyway. It was quite embarrassing actually because I'd fallen asleep on the bed, I wasn't in bed, I was just... I'd been reading. I'd have preferred if I didn't fall asleep reading a playboy with my zipper down but when it comes to me she probably expects as much. But I wasn't... I was mid-changing when I picked up the magazine... oh God. Apparently I'd only kept her five minutes when I woke, and she was smiling and looking about the place curiously, but it was one of those pity-smiles. Like she felt sorry for me or something. I don't see why, my room ain't that messy.
We talked some. She was sitting with her feet up on my bed. It's late right now. I'm really tired. I'll blink my eyes slowly, shake myself awake and try to continue my little story here in case I lose my bottle in the morning and refuse to write to you again. You know how it goes. I don't want another three odd months between us, Will.
So anyway, we talked about our dads. We've never done that before. She asked what it was like having a do-gooder as an old man and I couldn't answer her. I just put my head down, but for the life of me I could not answer her. I don't know why. Man, it was like... it was like I couldn't form proper sentences from my own mouth even though I was screaming what I wanted to articulate inside my head. Whilst she found the night wholly liberating it was like there was some new barrier going up for me; and I just...
She decided that she'd found peace with hers, and from what I can remember, despite his faults, Mr. Potter was an alright guy. He wasn't that good to their mom but he tried to right his wrongs with his daughters. Mines barely acknowledges me let alone the issues surrounding me. Saying that, he creates most of the issues surrounding me. Ha... huh.
I don't know what she meant, but she thanked me for my "serenity." Probably because she's way too neurotic the whole time. Or maybe because when it comes to the less than stellar home life, and she turns to Dawson, he pretends to relate even though he has it so sweet and he hasn't a clue why. Fair enough his parents are going through a little rough patch at the minute, but he didn't have to grow up with it. He's always pretended to relate, so much so that I swear he almost gets off on his parents' new marital woes, it's weird.
I think a whole ten minutes passed us by without talking and she got a bit nervous, it was like the car ride home but this time she had the option to run without demanding I hit the brakes and strand her out on some highway because prior to tonight or the Miss Windjammer thing or a recent biology experiment - uh - her being stranded, I'm pretty sure, would definitely be more appealing than enduring a conversation with yours truly.
I cleared my throat, but I don't even think I managed two words to her the entire time she sat up with me. When we were talking about our fathers, like I said, she'd ask questions, I'd keep my head down, silent, then she'd tell me how it was for her. She hasn't had regular contact with Mr. Potter in God knows how long and I live with mines and do you know what conclusion I've come to? I don't know the man. I think she's depressed me because my brain was able to function perfectly and manage words prior to her being in my house.
Or maybe it was just that. She was in my house. People aren't meant to visit me. It's just not the done deal. She gets a glimpse into the hell that is my life, pushes it to the deepest recesses of her mind thereafter but our friendship - if you can call it a friendship, even at best - will forever be plagued with that pity-smile. I know she knows. I seen it in her eyes. She touched my hand and I stiffened. I don't mean the crush thing, God no! The same thing Doug's now pretending that he doesn't know.
It's an odd thing when your sworn enemy pities you. It's an odd thing when she doesn't shine smugly with the knowledge that when she ain't kicking your ass, someone else is beating you after his night cap in the late evening. It's an even odder thing when... she kind of cares.
Night,
Pace.