Author's Note: That was a pretty fast update for me! And this chapter is even longer than the last one! Enjoy! And please fav, follow, and review! Also, I've posted an update schedule for this story on my profile, so feel free to check that if you want to know when the next chapter will be posted.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Everything in bold and italics comes directly from The Perks of Being a Wallflower book, and was thus written by Stephen Chbosky.
Patrick continued to read until they reached Charlie's letter about Christmas. After seeing how long the letter was, he passed it to Mary Elizabeth.
"What's the matter, are you incapable of reading something this long?" She teased him.
"No, my voice was just beginning to get hoarse," he told her. Mary Elizabeth gave him a smug look as she commenced to read the letter.
December 25, 1991
Dear friend,
I am sitting in my dad's old bedroom in Ohio. The family is still downstairs. I really don't feel very well. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm starting to get scared. I wish we were going back home tonight, but we always sleep over. I don't want to tell my mom about it because it would just make her worry. I would tell Sam and Patrick, but they didn't call yesterday.
"Oh no! We totally forgot to call Charlie," Sam remembered. Patrick looked down shamefully. "I wonder what was bothering him."
"Well, I'll keep reading and we'll probably find out," Mary Elizabeth told her.
And we left this morning after we opened presents. Maybe they called this afternoon. I hope they didn't call this afternoon because I wasn't there. I hope it's okay that I'm telling you this. I just don't 44 know what else to do. I always get sad when this happens, and I wish Michael were here. And I wish my Aunt Helen were here. I miss my Aunt Helen like this. Reading the book isn't helping either. I don't know. I'm just thinking too fast. Much too fast. It's like tonight.
At this Sam and Patrick just felt worse. They always used to think that Charlie was too sensitive, but after they found out he was in the hospital, they wished they had better tried to understand the triggers that made him so upset.
The family watched It's a Wonderful Life, which is a very beautiful movie.
"I love that movie!" Mary Elizabeth announced. Patrick and Sam looked at her, flabbergasted.
"You do?"
"Yes, why wouldn't I? It's timeless."
Sam and Patrick were still surprised. They would have never figured that Mary Elizabeth- who always acted so angry- was a fan of heart-warming Christmas classics.
"Well I guess you learn something new every day," said Patrick.
And all I could think was why didn't they make the movie about Uncle Billy? George Bailey was an important man in the town. Because of him, a whole bunch of people got to get out of the slums. He saved a town, and when his dad died, he was the only guy who could do it. He wanted to live an adventure, but he stayed behind and sacrificed his dreams for the better good of the community. And then when that made him sad, he was going to kill himself. He was going to die because his life insurance money would have taken care of his family. And then an angel comes down and shows him what life would be if he had never been born. How the whole town would have suffered. And how his wife would have been an "old maid." And my sister didn't even say anything about how that's such an old-fashioned thing, this year. Every other year she says something about how Mary was working for a living, and just because she's not married, it doesn't mean that she is worthless. But this year she didn't. I didn't know why. I thought it might be about that secret boy of hers. Or maybe it's what happened in the car on the way over to our grandma's house. I just wanted the movie to be about Uncle Billy because he drank a lot and was fat and lost the money in the first place. I wanted the angel to come down and show us how Uncle Billy's life had meaning. Then, I think I'd feel better.
"Charlie is really bumming me out," Mary Elizabeth hissed. "He's ruining my favorite Christmas movie."
"He's not purposely trying to ruin the movie, he's obviously feeling depressed. Just keep reading," Sam advised her.
"Who's depressed on Christmas anyway?" Mary Elizabeth muttered under her breath before continuing to read.
It started yesterday at home. I don't like my birthday. I don't like it at all.
"And who in their right mind doesn't like their own birthday?" Mary Elizabeth continued to mutter.
I went shopping with my mom and sister, and my mom was in a bad mood because of parking spaces and lines. And my sister was in a bad mood because she couldn't buy her secret boy a present and hide it from Mom. She would have to come back herself later. And I felt weird. Really weird, because as I was walking around all the stores, I didn't know what present my dad would like to receive from me. I knew what to buy or give Sam and Patrick, but I didn't know what I could buy or give or make for my own dad.
"Don't feel bad Charlie," Patrick said, even though Charlie wasn't actually there with them. "I think all teenagers know their friends better than their dad." Sam and Mary Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
My brother likes posters of girls and beer cans. My sister likes a haircut gift certificate. My mom likes old movies and plants. My dad only likes golf, and that is not a winter sport except for in Florida, and we don't live there. And he doesn't play baseball anymore. He doesn't like to be even reminded unless he tells the stories. I just wanted to know what to buy my dad because I love him. And I don't know him. And he doesn't like to talk about things like that.
"Well, why don't you chip in with your sister and buy him that sweater?"
"I don't want to. I want to buy him something. What kind of music does he like?"
My dad doesn't listen to music a lot anymore, and the stuff he likes, he has.
"What kind of books does he like to read?"
My dad doesn't read books too much anymore because he listens to books on cassette tapes on the way to work, and he gets them free from the library.
What kind of movies? What kind of anything?
"I would have just chipped in for the sweater," Patrick informed the girls.
My sister decided to buy the sweater on her own. And she started to get mad at me because she needed time to come back to the store to buy that present for her secret boyfriend.
Mary Elizabeth rolled her eyes at this.
"Just buy him some golf balls, Charlie. Jesus."
"But that's a summer sport."
"Mom. Would you make him buy something?"
"Charlie. Calm down. It's okay."
I felt so sad. I didn't know what was going on. Mom was trying to be really nice because when I get like this, she is the one that tries real hard to keep things calm.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
"No. Don't be sorry. You want to get a nice present for your father. That's a good thing."
"Charlie's mom is so nice," Sam smiled fondly.
"Mom!" My sister was really getting mad.
"Charlie's sister can be kind of a bitch." Patrick deadpanned. Mary Elizabeth gave him a look that told him she agreed.
My mom didn't even look at my sister.
"Charlie, you can buy your father whatever you want. I know he'll love it. Now, calm down. It's okay."
My mom took me to four different stores. Each one my sister just sat in the nearest chair and groaned.
Patrick chuckled at this.
I finally found the perfect store. It was a movie place. And I found a videocassette of the last episode of M.A.S.H. without the commercials. And I felt a lot better. Then, I started telling Mom about how we all watched it together.
"She knows, Charlie. She was there. Let's go. Duh."
My mom told my sister to mind her own business, and she listened to me tell the story that she already knew, leaving out the part about my dad crying because that was our little secret. My mom even told me how I tell stories very well.
All of them grinned at this. Charlie really was an amazing story teller. The way he put words together was truly remarkable. He didn't waste time over-describing places or situations. He wrote about people, and, somehow, he always managed to effortlessly capture the feelings interwoven into a moment.
I love my mom. And this time, I told her I loved her. And she told me she loved me, too. And things were okay for a little while.
We were sitting at the dinner table, waiting for my dad to come home with my brother from the airport. He was really late, and my mom started to worry because it was snowing really hard outside. And she kept my sister at home because she needed help with dinner. She wanted it to be extra special for my brother and for me because he was coming home, and it was my birthday. But my sister just wanted to buy her boyfriend a present. She was in a really bad mood. She was being like those bratty girls in movies from the 1980's, and my mom kept saying "Young lady" after every sentence.
"What a bitch," said Mary Elizabeth.
Sam agreed with her. She could never imagine being so rude to Patrick, especially on his birthday- and all over a stupid guy!
"Oh, Mary Elizabeth you're such a hypocrite!" Patrick suddenly scolded.
"What do you mean by that," she questioned in response, quickly becoming defensive.
"You act bitchy all the time," he explained. "You can really be an asshole when you want to be."
"Patrick!" Sam cautioned. "Mary Elizabeth is our friend, stop being such a jerk to her. She was just stating her opinion."
Patrick sighed at this.
"You're right Sam. Mary Elizabeth, I'm sorry. It's just… I kind of feel bad for Charlie's sister. I know what it's like to start to lose yourself over a guy."
"It's fine," replied Mary Elizabeth. She was still feeling a little offended, but she knew Brad was still a sensitive subject for Patrick. Not wanting to talk about it further, she continued reading.
My dad finally called and said that because of the snow, my brother's plane was going to be very late. I just heard my mom's side of the discussion.
"But it's Charlie's birthday dinner ... I don't expect you to do anything about it ... did he miss it? I'm just asking ... I didn't say it was your fault ... no ... I can't keep it warm ... it'll be dry ... what ... but it's his favorite ... well, what am I supposed to feed them ... of course they're hungry ... you're already an hour late ... well, you could have called ..."
I don't know how long my mom was on the phone because I couldn't stay at the table and listen. I went into my room and read. I wasn't hungry anymore anyway. I just wanted to be in a quiet place. After a little while, my mom came into the room. She said that dad had just called again, and they should be home in thirty minutes. She asked me if anything was wrong, and I knew that she didn't mean my sister, and I knew that she didn't mean she and Dad fighting on the phone 46 because that stuff just happens sometimes. She just noticed that I looked very sad today, and she didn't think it was my friends leaving because I looked okay yesterday when I came back from sledding.
"Is it your aunt Helen?"
Sam, Patrick, and Mary Elizabeth all looked at each other darkly at this mention of Charlie's aunt.
It was the way she said it that started me feeling.
"Please, don't do this to yourself, Charlie."
But I did do it to myself. Like I do every year on my birthday.
"I'm sorry."
My mom wouldn't let me talk about it. She knows that I stop listening and start to really breathe fast. She covered my mouth and wiped at my eyes.
Sam was glad that Charlie had his mom during moments like this. She was one of the only people who knew how help him when he was threatened to be consumed by the dark places in his head.
I calmed down enough to make it downstairs. And I calmed down enough to be glad when my brother came home. And when we ate dinner, it wasn't too dry. Then, we went outside to put up luminaria, which is an activity where all our neighbors fill brown paper bags with sand and line the street with them. Then, we stick a candle in the sand of each bag, and when we light the candles, it turns the street into a "landing strip" for Santa Claus. I love putting luminaria up every year because it is very beautiful and a tradition and a good distraction from my birthday.
Patrick felt terrible hearing this. Charlie deserved to be happy on his birthday - like everyone else – but instead it became a day that he needed distractions to get through.
My family gave me some really nice birthday presents. My sister was still mad at me, but she got me a Smiths record anyway. And my brother got me a poster signed by the whole football team. My dad gave me some records that my sister told him to buy. And my mom gave me some of the books she loved when she was a kid. One of them was The Catcher in the Rye.
I started reading my mom's copy from the place I left off with Bill's copy. And it made me not think about my birthday. All I thought was that I am going to take my driver's test sometime soon enough. That was a pretty good thing to think about. And then I thought about my driver's education class this past semester.
Mr. Smith, who is kind of short and smells funny, wouldn't let any of us turn on the radio as we rode around. There were also two sophomores, one boy and one girl. They used to secretly touch each other's legs in the backseat when it was my turn. Then, there was me. I wish I had a lot of stories about driver's education class. Sure, there were these movies about death on the highway. And sure there were police officers coming to talk to us. And sure it was fun to get my learner's permit, but Mom and Dad said they didn't want me driving until I absolutely had to because insurance is so expensive. And I could never ask Sam to drive her pickup truck. I just couldn't.
"Would you let Charlie drive your pickup truck if he asked?" Patrick questioned, curious.
"I don't know," Sam tentatively replied. She was very protective of her truck. "I guess it would depend where he wanted to drive it. If he just wanted to take it for a spin around the block, I guess that would be okay. But nobody drives my truck on the highway except for me."
Patrick nodded in response.
These kind of things kept me calm the night of my birthday.
The next morning Christmas started out nice. Dad liked his copy of M.A.S.H. a lot, which made me so happy, especially when he told his own story about that night we watched it. He left out the part about him crying, but he winked at me, so I knew he remembered.
"I'm so glad for Charlie that his dad loved the present," Sam expressed.
Even the two-hour drive to Ohio was actually okay for the first half hour, even though I had to sit on the hump in the backseat, because my dad kept asking questions about college, and my brother kept talking.
"God, I hate the hump," Patrick announced.
He is dating one of those cheerleader girls who does flips during college football games. Her name is Kelly. My dad was very interested in that. My sister made some remark about how cheerleading is stupid and sexist, and my brother told her to shut up. Kelly was majoring in philosophy. I asked my brother if Kelly was unconventionally beautiful.
"No, she's hot beautiful."
Mary Elizabeth groaned at this.
"Typical man," she snarled.
And my sister started talking about how the way a woman looks is not the most important thing. I agreed, but then my brother started saying how my sister was just a "bitchy dyke." Then, my mom told my brother to not use such language in front of me, which was strange considering I am probably the only one in the family with a friend who is gay.
"That's me!" Patrick declared happily.
"We know, stop interrupting," responded Mary Elizabeth.
Maybe not, but one who actually talks about it. I'm not sure. Regardless, my dad asked how my brother and Kelly met.
My brother and Kelly met at a restaurant called Ye Olde College Inn or something like that at Penn State. They supposedly have this famous dessert called "grilled stickies." Anyway, Kelly was with her sorority sisters, and they started to leave, and she dropped her book right in front of my brother, and she kept walking. My brother said that although Kelly denies this, he's sure that she dropped the book on purpose. The leaves were in full bloom when he caught up with her in front of the video arcade. That's how he described it anyway. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing old video games like Donkey Kong and feeling nostalgic, which as a general statement, I found sad and sweet. I asked my brother if Kelly drank cocoa.
"Are you high?"
The trio once again laughed at this.
"I guess Charlie and his brother don't talk to each other much, because he doesn't realize that, high or not, Charlie always says things like that," Sam reasoned.
And again my mom asked my brother not to use such language in front of me, which was strange again because I think I'm the only person in my family who's ever been high. Maybe also my brother. I'm not sure. Definitely not my sister. Then again, maybe my whole family has been high, and we just don't tell each other these things.
"I think most people all get high at some point in their lives," Patrick decided.
My sister spent the next ten minutes denouncing the Greek system of sororities and fraternities. She kept telling stories of "hazing" and how kids have died before. She then told this one story about how she heard there was a sorority that made the new girls stand in their underwear while they circled their "fat" in red magic markers.
"I know you don't really like Charlie's sister, but you two seems to share a lot of the same views," said Patrick, looking at Mary Elizabeth. She scoffed at this. "No, I'm being serious. I think you guys would have a lot to talk about if you ever met up," he continued.
"Except that I'm not a skank," Mary Elizabeth retorted.
"Whatever," he told her. "Just keep reading."
My brother had had enough of my sister at that point.
"Bullshit!"
I still can't believe that my brother swore in the car, and my dad or mom didn't say anything. I guess because he's in college now, it's all right. My sister didn't care about the word. She just kept going.
"It's not bullshit. I heard it."
"Watch your mouth, young lady," my dad said from the front seat.
"Oh, yeah? Where did you hear it?" my brother asked.
"I heard it on National Public Radio," my sister said.
"Oh, Jesus." My brother has a very full laugh.
"Well, I did."
My mom and dad looked like they were watching a tennis match through the windshield because they just kept shaking their heads. They didn't say anything. They didn't look back. I should point out, though, that my dad slowly started turning the Christmas music on the radio to a deafening volume.
"That's not a good sign," thought Sam.
"You are so full of shit. How would you know anything anyway? You haven't been to college. Kelly didn't go through anything like that."
"Oh, yeah ... like she'd tell you."
"Yeah ... she would. We don't keep secrets."
"Oh, you're such a sensitive new age guy."
I wanted them to stop fighting because I was starting to get upset, so I asked another question.
"Do you talk about books and issues?"
"Thank you for asking, Charlie. Yes. As a matter of fact we do. Kelly's favorite book just happens to be Walden by Henry David Thoreau. And Kelly just happened to say that the transcendental movement is a close parallel to this day and age."
"Oooo. Big words." My sister rolls her eyes better than anyone.
"I guess that means Charlie's never seen you roll your eyes before, huh Mary Elizabeth," Patrick giggled. This resulted in a glare from Mary Elizabeth. "Sorry! I just came to me! I couldn't help it!" He defended himself, doing his best to suppress his amused grin.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was anyone talking to you? I happen to be telling my younger brother about my girlfriend. Kelly says that she hopes a good Democratic candidate will challenge George Bush. Kelly says that her hope is that the E.R.A. might finally pass if that happens. That's right. The E.R.A. that you always squawk about. Even cheerleaders think about those things. And they can actually have fun in the meantime."
My sister folded her arms in front of her and started whistling. My brother was too much on a roll to stop, though. I noticed that my dad's neck was getting very red.
"Uh-oh, their dad's getting pissed. They better stop arguing soon," thought Sam.
"But there's another difference between you and her. You see ... Kelly believes in women's rights so much that she would never let a guy hit her. I guess I can't say that about you."
"Oh God, that crossed a line," Sam said aloud.
"This is going to be bad," Patrick agreed with her.
I swear to God, we almost died. My dad hit those brakes so hard that my brother almost flew over the seat. When the smell from the tires started to fade, my dad took a deep breath and turned around. First, he turned to my brother. He didn't say a word. He just stared.
My brother looked at my dad like a deer caught by my cousins. After a long two seconds, my brother turned to my sister. I think he felt bad about it because of how the words came out.
"I'm sorry. Okay? I mean it. Come-on. Stop crying."
My sister was crying so hard, it was scary. Then, my dad turned to my sister. Again, he didn't say a word. He just snapped his fingers to distract her from crying. She looked at him. She was confused at first because he wasn't giving her a warm look. But then, she looked down and shrugged and turned to my brother.
"I'm sorry I said what I said about Kelly. She sounds nice."
Then, my dad turned to my mom. And my mom turned to us.
"Your father and I don't want any more fighting. Especially in the family's house. Understood?"
My mom and dad make a real team sometimes. It's amazing to watch. My brother and sister both nodded and looked down. Then, my dad turned to me.
"Charlie?"
"Yes, sir?"
It is important to say "sir" at these moments. And if they ever call you by your first-middle-last name, you better watch out. I'm telling you.
"Charlie, I would like you to drive the rest of the way to my mother's house."
Everyone in the car knew that this was probably the worst idea my dad ever had in his whole life. But no one argued. He got out of the car in the middle of the road. He got in the backseat between my brother and sister. I climbed in the front seat, stalled the car twice, and put on my seat belt. I drove the rest of the way. I haven't sweat that much since I played sports, and it was cold out.
My dad's family is kind of like my mom's family. My brother once said it was like the same cousins with different names. The big difference is my grandma. I love my grandma. Everyone loves my grandma. She was waiting for us in the driveway as she always did. She always knew when someone was coming.
"Is Charlie driving now?"
"He turned sixteen yesterday."
"Oh."
My grandma is very old, and she doesn't remember things a lot, but she bakes the most delicious cookies. When I was very little, we had my mom's mom, who always had candy, and my dad's mom, who always had cookies. My mom told me that when I was little, I called them "Candy Grandma" and "Cookies Grandma." I also called pizza crust "pizza bones." I don't know why I'm telling you this.
"That's cute," said Sam.
It's like my very first memory, which I guess is the first time I was aware that I was alive. My mom and my Aunt Helen took me to the zoo. I think I was three. I don't remember that part. Anyway, we were watching these two cows. A mother cow and its baby calf. And they didn't have a lot of room to walk around. Anyway, the baby calf was standing right underneath its mother, just kind of walking around, and the mother cow took a "dump" on the baby calf 's head.
Patrick snorted at this, and Mary Elizabeth tried her best to hide her amused smile.
I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen in the whole world, and I laughed about it for three hours. At first, my mom and Aunt Helen kind of laughed, too, because they were happy that I was laughing. Supposedly, I didn't talk hardly at all when I was a little kid, and whenever I seemed normal, they were happy. But into the third hour, they were trying to make me stop laughing, but it only made me laugh harder. I don't think it was really three hours, but it seemed like a long time. I still think about it every now and then. It seems like a rather "auspicious" beginning.
After hugs and handshakes, we went into my grandma's house, and the whole dad-side-of-the family was there. Great Uncle Phil with his fake teeth and my aunt Rebecca, who is my dad's sister. Mom told us that Aunt Rebecca just got divorced again, so we shouldn't mention anything. All I could think about was the cookies, but Grandma didn't make them this year because of her bad hip.
We all sat down and watched television instead, and my cousins and my brother talked about football. And my Great Uncle Phil drank. And we ate dinner. And I had to sit at the little kids' table because there are more cousins on my dad's side of the family.
"16 and sitting at the kids table, that's brutal," voiced Mary Elizabeth. "If I were Charlie, I would have refused."
Little kids talk about the strangest things. They really do.
After dinner is when we watched It's a Wonderful Life, and I started feeling more and more sad. As I was walking up the stairs to my dad's old room, and I was looking at the old photographs, I started thinking that there was a time when these weren't memories. That someone actually took that photograph, and the people in the photograph had just eaten lunch or something.
My grandma's first husband died in Korea. My dad and my aunt Rebecca were very young. And my grandma moved with her two kids to live with her brother, my great uncle Phil.
Finally, after a few years, my grandma was feeling very sad because she had these two little kids, and she was tired from waitressing all the time. So, one day, she was working at this diner where she worked, and this truck driver asked her on a date. My grandma was very very pretty in that old photograph kind of way. They dated for a while. And finally they got married. He turned out to be a terrible person. He hit my dad all the time. And he hit my aunt Rebecca all the time. And he really hit my grandma. All the time. And my grandma really couldn't do anything about it, I guess, because it went on for seven years.
It ended finally when my great uncle Phil saw bruises on my aunt Rebecca and finally got the truth out of my grandma. Then, he got a few of his friends together from the factory. And they found my grandma's second husband in a bar. And they beat him up really bad. My great uncle Phil loves to tell the story when my grandma isn't around. The story keeps changing, but the main point is still the same. The guy died four days later in the hospital.
I still don't know how my great uncle Phil missed going to jail for doing what he did.
"Seriously," Patrick wondered. "How the fuck did he get away with that? He legitimately murdered someone!"
Sam and Mary Elizabeth shrugged in response.
"It sounds like he deserved it," Mary Elizabeth stated.
I asked my dad once, and he said that the people that lived around his neighborhood understood that some things had nothing to do with the police. He said that if someone touched your sister or your mother, they paid the price, and everyone looked the other way.
It's just too bad that it went on for seven years because my aunt Rebecca went through the same kind of husbands. My aunt Rebecca had it different, though, because neighborhoods change. My great uncle Phil was too old, and my dad left his hometown. She had to get restraining orders instead.
"That's so sad," Sam whispered.
I think about what my three cousins, who are Aunt Rebecca's children, will turn out like. One girl and two boys. I get sad, too, because I think that the one girl will probably end up like my aunt Rebecca, and the one boy will probably end up like his dad. The other boy might end up like my dad because he can really play sports, and he had a different dad than his brother or sister. My dad talks to him a lot and teaches him how to throw and hit a baseball. I used to get jealous about this when I was a little kid, but I don't anymore. Because my brother said that my cousin is the only one in his family who has a chance. He needs my dad. I guess I understand that now.
My dad's old room is very much the way he left it, except more faded. There is a globe on a desk that has been spun a lot. And there are old posters of baseball players. And old press clippings of my dad winning the big game when he was a sophomore. I don't know why, but I really understood why my dad had to leave this house. When he knew my grandma would never find another man because she was through trusting and would never look for anything else because she didn't know how. And when he saw his sister start bringing home younger versions of their stepfather to date. He just couldn't stay.
I laid down on his old bed, and I looked through the window at this tree that was probably a lot shorter when my dad looked at it. And I could feel what he felt on the night when he realized that if he didn't leave, it would never be his life. It would be theirs. At least that's how he's put it. Maybe that's why my dad's side of the family watches the same movie every year. It makes sense enough. I should probably mention that my dad never cries at the ending.
I don't know if my grandma or Aunt Rebecca will ever really forgive my dad for leaving them. Only my great uncle Phil understood that part. It's always strange to see how my dad changes around his mom and sister. He feels bad all the time, and his sister and he always take a walk alone together. One time, I looked out the window, and I saw my dad giving her money.
I wonder what my aunt Rebecca says in the car on the way home. I wonder what her children think. I wonder if they talk about us. I wonder if they look at my family and wonder who has a chance to make it. I bet they do.
Love always,
Charlie
All of them felt thoroughly depressed after Mary Elizabeth finished reading the letter. They all had family members like Charlie's aunt Rebecca. Family members who were a lot worse off than they were. Family members that made them feel guilty whenever they saw them.
"Who wants to read the next one?" Mary Elizabeth asked, her voice cutting through the silence that had filled the room.
"I will," Sam volunteered. "I haven't read for a while." And she proceeded to read the next letter.