Dear Friend,
I am sorry I haven't had much time to write. I have been participating, which is a lot harder without Sam and Patrick around. I have a new friend of sorts. His name is Jason. He is very strange and reminds me of Bob. He loves Pink Floyd and gold wristwatches, and only reads books if he hears someone say that it isn't worth the effort. All thesame, I really like Jason. But he is definitely no Sam. Which is why I was so happily surprised when she knocked on my door yesterday! She came home from University for the weekend, and since Patrick won't be in until tomorrow, she came straight to see me after unpacking! I have been writing Sam a lot. I think she has taken your place. I hope this doesn't offend you. But I had to write you, because I couldn't write to Sam about this. After I got out of the hospital, I had some trouble. A lot of trouble, with myself, and with my participating, and moving on from all the sadness I hadn't realized I was carrying around. I wanted to be with Sam, in a terribly painful way. But I just couldn't get what I had discovered about my aunt Helen out of my head. Well, not long enough to think about Sam that way, at any rate. So when she came over, I wasn't sure how to react. We got in her truck, and the smell made me think of our mix tapes and Patrick and the tunnel downtown and driving through the rain. Sam said that it made her think of my typewriter, the Christmas party, and Bob's house when I sat in her passenger seat. We drove to the Big Boy, but neither of us were really hungry. We went inside for a minute, then decided to drive around. We thought about going to see Bob, but decided to wait for Patrick.
The thing I can't write to Sam about is something she knows. You see, after driving a while without really going anywhere, she pulled up in her driveway. It was dark now, and she told me in a whisper that her parents were out. Then, she invited me in. I followed her into her room, and felt a painful jerk in my heart. Her room looked just like it had that night, only there was more dust on everything. It was as though life wanted me to move on, and it was waiting for us to finish what had started, so that I could move on. Sam pulled me over to the bed and we sat down.
I don't know how to explain this tastefully and without being disrespectful, so skipping over the details, Sam and I had sex. It was honestly nothing like you see in the movies. It didn't feel as good as masturbation, or as dramatic as I expected. It was just very real and sweet and lovely and scary. But I cant stop having dreams about it. Sam is here for two more days, and I don't have any idea what I'm going to do when she leaves. It's all very confusing and painful to think about. But I have to go now, because Patrick is on his way over.
Love always,
Charlie