Dear Friend,
I am very excited, and I'd like to tell you why. First, I want you to know it's the good kind of excited, where everything around you is warm and you just want to smile and move and be places. I'm very excited because I just talked to Patrick on the phone. He's still up at college, and when he first called me he sounded kind of sad. When I asked him why he said,
"Sam and I had plans this weekend. I was going to drive up to Penn State and visit. But my communist professor decided to give us this dreadful paper. Dreadful, Charlie! Dreadful! How often do I use that word?"
"Not often." I told him, being honest.
"Exactly! And its due Monday. Not next Monday, but this Monday, as in two days from now, Monday. That Monday, Charlie." He really did say Monday that many times, but I think he was trying to be funny. But it was the funny where you're actually sad and the funny is just on top of it. I tried to make him feel better.
"How long does it have to be?"
"Too long."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"Too long."
I got a feeling he didn't really want to talk about it, so I stopped asking. We were quiet and I thought maybe I'd lost connection because Patrick is never quiet for so long when we talk on the phone. He likes to talk fast and a lot and one time he told me he was trying to "race my brain" for who could be faster. But when he did start talking he said something that made my stomach hurt in this really sad kind of way.
"You know, Charlie, Sam hasn't been doing so well up at Penn State. Yeah, her grades are good and she's got some friends, but I know my sister and I know when she's not saying something. And I was really looking forward to going up there this weekend. And I know what you're thinking: Why don't I just blow off the paper and go up to see her anyway?" Incidentally, that wasn't what I was thinking. "But the paper is about a book and I haven't even started it yet so I got to read five hundred pages of communism and then right a paper about it all in two days." He stopped talking to make a large, frustrated sound. "Where is justice?"
This wasn't the part that made me excited. Actually, when Patrick hung up the phone a few minutes later I was feeling very bad, because I didn't like that Sam was feeling so bad and that Patrick couldn't make her feel better. But what was making me feel worse, and I feel bad saying it like that because it sounds selfish, but what really had me feeling sick was that last time Sam wrote me she said she was doing really well, and I didn't like to think that Sam was lying to me, even if it was to make me feel better. The way you tell a kid about Santa Clause. But the thing about Santa Clause is that after you know he's really your parents I think its better. Because you know your parents and them getting you presents is better than a stranger who doesn't know you at all and who you've never seen getting you presents once a year.
But while I was trying to figure out why Sam would tell me she was doing great when Patrick said she wasn't, and he really does know her better than anybody, Patrick called me back. He said he was just "struck with glorious inspiration" and the way he said it I could picture him waving his hands around a lot.
"Why don't you drive up?"
"To help you write your paper?"
"No! To meet Sam for the weekend."
"I don't know."
"Of course you do, Charlie. Listen, it's brilliant. I'll call her and say I can't come up, she'll be devastated, because naturally who wouldn't be? It's me we're talking about. And then you'll show up at her door with chocolates and a dozen roses—"
I interrupted him then, which I don't do a lot. I said,
"Chocolates and roses?"
"I don't know, you're the writer, you come up with something sappy and romantic. Anyway, point is, you show up and BAM! It'll almost be as good as me." The way he said "almost" I knew he was making a joke. But I didn't say anything, because a part of me really thought that maybe I wouldn't be almost as good as Patrick. When he asked me if I was still there and I said I was and told him what I was worried about, he told me I was talking crazy and that I should go. I said I had to ask my parents. He said,
"I'll wait."
So I put down the phone and went and asked my mom and dad, who were watching an old black and white movie on TV that I had seen before, and I think maybe the film was something romantic because they both said yes right away, as long as I paid for gas. So I went back and told Patrick and he said,
"Great! I'll set the stage for you. You get on the road. And when you get there I want a play-by-play of how it goes down. Got it?"
"Okay."
"That's our boy!"
And I would have asked him what he meant by that, but he had already hung up. I guess he was really excited about his big plan to surprise Sam. I just felt nervous, but I didn't want to let Patrick or Sam down so I got in my car which already had plenty of gas in it and I drove up. It took a long time, and I had to stop to read a map my mom had me put in the glove box when I first learned to drive. This was the first time I had to use it so it was a little confusing, but also exciting. I should have mentioned that it was petty early when Patrick called, and now I'm sitting in a parking lot here and the sun is starting to turn the whole sky this really bright orange that reminds me of the hand colored "Autumn Leaves" tape my sister gave me and then took back last year. (She's since then given it back again, though. In case you were wondering. It was while I was in the hospital.)
I'm very excited to see Sam now. I didn't get her any chocolates or roses, but Patrick told me her room number and I'm going to go up there now. I'll finish writing this letter when I get back, but I've just been waiting a little while because Patrick told me her class schedule and what time Sam usually calls him so I'm waiting until then to go up to the dorm. I'm very excited. So excited I'm having a little trouble holding the pen. I think I should go now.
Love Always,
Charlie