Work Text:
Honestly, I think this assignment is pretty stupid.
Oh Captain, My Captain is great, actually, definitely the best teacher in the school, but, God, an anonymous penpal thing? You have to admit it’s ridiculous.
Of course, I’m still going all in. Expect magnificent poetry, my dear heart! If he wants us to practice love letters, then I will with no compunctions. See, look:
Roses are red, violets are blue, this letter describes my love that loves you!
Striking stuff.
In response to the prompt, my favorite color is green. This is so silly. Alright. It’s green because I like the trees and stuff. My friends and I hang out in the forest sometimes.
Maybe I shouldn’t mention that. How anonymous is this supposed to be? Tell you what, we should have a competition to see who can figure out the others identity first. This is some real superhero level stuff! How about it, Clark Kent? Or maybe the person writing me letters will be Superman, and the real honest you is Clark Kent. Let me know, I want the hint.
My heart burns for you,
X
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I know you think this assignment is silly (and quite honestly I agree with you— what is Keating thinking, really? There’s two boys in my class who have been dancing around each other and I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing is an elaborate design to get them together. Keating seems the type, doesn’t he?) but please do try to treat it seriously.
Green is a fine color. I like gray best. I’m really more the kind to blend in, honestly.
In response to the prompt, my favorite season is the summer. Everyone thinks I must like autumn best, though I don’t know why. But summer is great. I like the heat, and visiting my younger sister. Do you have any siblings?
I’m not sure if trying to figure out identities is a good idea, though I doubt I could stop you if I tried.
I will not be writing any poems to you, or about you, or in any combination of the two.
I am more of a Clark Kent in real life. I am probably also a Clark Kent in my letters. You do know that these letters aren’t imaginary, right? I’m the same person regardless of my form of communication. Don't take this as encouragement to figure out who I am.
Best,
I’m not sure what to sign my name with. I’m not doing a kiss like you did, though.
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Dearest most darling Clark,
You are the most boring person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. Well, second most. I know for a fact your favorite color can’t be gray. Nobody’s favorite color is gray. What is it really? And I better get a ‘why,’ if I had to do it then so do you, Clark.
I am definitely taking this as encouragement. I will know your name before the year is up, believe you me! Though it will be hard. Few people carry the spark and zest for life as I, while half the people in this bloody school do seem the gray type. I really will need to know your actual favorite color as soon as possible, then. For science.
I’m an only child, if it’s possible for you to believe, and as filthy rich as all of the kids in this godforsaken school. Do you find this place as despicable as I do? Hellton is right. What’s it like having a sister?
Summer is my favorite season, too. I like not being here. The sun is nice as well.
Prompt: I’m not one for books at all, really, so it’s hard to say what my favorite is. Keatings reading of Much Ado About Nothing was pretty good. I do have a favorite poem, but that information is classified until I receive some potentially embarrassing information about yourself in return.
Do you understand chemistry? This stoichiometry unit is really tripping me up, and my smart friends already think I’m pathetic as is.
All my adoration,
X
PS. Maybe X is a nickname, ever think of that?
PPS. Roses are red, peonies are pink, you seem uptight, but you’re alright I think.
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X,
You are truly ridiculous, do you know that?
If I had to pick a color besides gray, I suppose I would pick pink. When we were younger my sister would always ask to play with me, and I didn’t have many friends, so I’d entertain her with make believe games and all. She taught me how to braid hair, so I did hers fancy when we got the chance. Her favorite is one with pink ribbons.
That was sufficiently embarrassing, I think, to hear your favorite poem.
I think Welton is alright. I mean, the staff are almost all terrible, as are the things they teach us. I have an interesting news article about the effects of strict schooling on children if you’re interested. But I don’t think it’s so bad here. I mean, my friends all go here, and I never see them much over the summer months. We never really make the effort.
I’m trying not to take offense to your not liking books. Have you tried reading them aloud or listening to them? That helps some people with comprehension. I guess you could just not like books, but then, I don’t know if I could forgive that. My favorite book is the Hobbit. It’s this adventure fantasy novel, very short, very lovely. You seem the type to enjoy it. It has a dragon, you know.
In response to the prompt: I love summer storms. I know you mentioned you like the sun, so I expect you disagree, but when the sky breaks open out of nowhere and it pours rain and it’s still warm out, that is the best weather, no question. My parents hate it, they always worry I’ll get sick, but whenever it happens I just have to leave the house and take a walk in it. Do you know what I mean?
I’m sure your friends don’t think your stupid. You seem quite smart to me. But yes, I do understand the stoichiometry unit. I’ll leave you my notes in the envelope as well this time. Don’t expect this all the time! But my friends never ask for my notes because usually I’m pretty strict on organization, so I don’t really have a need to keep them. Don’t let this go to your head or anything.
Best,
Your Penpal
PS. Your poetry needs work.
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O Penpal mine,
Thanks for the notes!
The story about your sister was admittedly embarrassing, but mostly it was sweet. A deal is a deal, though. My favorite poem is Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand by Walt Whitman. Don’t read into it, I just like the rhythm and all. It’s only fair that you tell me your favorite poem now, you know.
I didn’t know books could have dragons! That seems silly to say but it’s true. The Hobbit sounds like it could actually be pretty good. Funny name, though, although frankly that adds to the appeal.
I like sunny weather, like I said. No clouds, just sky. Maybe you’re less boring than I thought, though. I thought I knew who you were for a moment, only he would never be the type to run out in the rain. You’re pretty interesting, Clark.
You really went on about the notes for a while, huh? It’s definitely going to my head. My ego is inflating as I write. I feel very special, Clark. Really, though, thanks. They helped.
Prompt: I always wished I could juggle. It’s a small thing, but honestly it just looks so fun. When I was younger I used to dream about running away from home and joining a traveling circus. Now, of course, I know better. Why be the juggler when I could swallow swords, or fire, or swords on fire?
Awaiting your next letter in agony,
X
PS. Suppose I’ll just have to practice, then. Roses are red, cactus are green, what's the strangest thing you’ve ever seen? Less of a poem, really. I am curious, though.
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X,
I’m glad the notes helped.
I’m really not that interesting. Even my friends say so, and they’ve got the most reason to lie, haven’t they?
Let me know if you want to borrow my copy of the book. I could figure something out.
Please don’t try to swallow swords, fire, or any combination thereof. In fact, please don’t run away to the circus at all. I find myself not minding your company, at least. I think I’d like to play an instrument. I’ve always wanted to, only we couldn’t so much afford lessons when I was younger, and now that we can it seems too late. I think I’d choose clarinet, or piano. Don’t tell anyone, but the violin is the best, I think. I just don’t want to learn it. I don’t think I could do the instrument justice, no matter how much I’d practice.
Prompt: I’d quite like to be a lawyer when I’m older. I love rules, and I’m decent at arguing, and it’s nice to think I could help people. Of course, the money would be very very nice. When I was younger I wanted to be a painter. That’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone that, either.
I read the poem you mentioned and quite like it. I won’t read into it if you don’t want me to. Let me know if you change your mind on that front.
I did just say I believed in the justice system, so alright. My favorite poem is “anyone lived in a pretty how town” by E. E. Cummings.
Best.
PS. When I was ten years old my family went to this tiny town on the Gulf of Maine to visit my great aunt before she died. Mostly we all talked about adult things in her house and I was terribly bored, only one day my parents and sister had to go out for an errand or something and it was just me and my great aunt. She wasn’t supposed to get out of bed for anything, but I barely knew that at that age, so she asked if I wanted to go to the beach with her and I said yes. She was wearing this purple sundress even though it was freezing by the water. We were walking along the beach, I forget what we’d been talking about, but then we saw this old man— I say old, but I was young. He was probably in his 40s, maybe— crouched and rocking back and forth on the ground. I thought he was dangerous and wanted to walk past but my aunt walked right up to him, and they talked for a moment, and then he got up and walked away, as fine as can be. When I asked her what they talked about, she said that he was grieving his late wife, and that she had told him she was a witch, and that his wife had spoken to her from behind the grave and wanted her husband to continue living a joyful life. And that was all he needed to hear to stand up and keep going, I suppose. I’m sure he was still sad, of course, even then I knew that. But god, I was so sure that she really was a witch. It just seemed impossible that a normal person could be so wise.
PPS (even though that’s really not how post scripts work). What's the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?
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Dearest Dear,
Your great aunt sounds amazing. I want to be like that when I’m grown. A witch, I mean, not wise— only joking. Really, she seems great.
No need to worry about the book, I stole a copy from my roommate (shh, don’t tell!). Also, I think you would be a splendid violinist, and an even better painter. Then, maybe I’m just saying that. You could always draw me something in your letter so I could say it again in full confidence.
I’ll probably be a banker or some such when I’m older, not that I’m looking forward to it. I’ve always found the way that we choose jobs and focus our lives around them to be quite depressing, honestly. Who cares about profession! When I get older I want to be in love, how about that?
I like the poem you sent me.
Prompt: I think butterflies are the most beautiful animals, but dogs are my favorite. Less fragile, yeah?
I burn for you and whatnot,
X
PS. There was this man who always fed the crows and such at the park. Same spot, same time, every day. One day I saw a bird drop something in his hand from their beak, and I was curious, so I went to ask about it. He said it was a gift because he always fed them, and gave it to me. It was a marble, I’ve still got it. It’s my good luck charm.
PPS. Roses are red, violets are blue, my words may sound strange, but they’re half the time true
PPPS. That being said, I’d never lie to you, Clark. Pinky promise!
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X,
I’ve never doubted your honesty for a second, just your sincerity. I’m mostly joking.
The man sounds lovely. The interaction sounds… strange, for sure.
What’s your roommate like? I’m glad you found a copy of the book. Let me know how you like it.
Birds are both the most beautiful and the best animals. My mom used to call me Robin, since whenever I went outside as a toddler I’d chase them around and try to do birdsong. Embarrassing, right?
You made me prove myself for the poem. Don’t expect a drawing so easily, now.
Prompt: I actually hate tea with a burning passion. I’ve just never found one I like. Coffee is good, though— I take it with a horrendous amount of sugar and milk usually, but black suits me just as fine.
Best,
Your penpal
PS. What was that final poem about? Feel free to ignore.
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Robin,
I just can’t figure you out.
Who you are, obviously, as in your name and if I know you and which of Keating’s class periods you’re in. But also you’re just so peculiar. This is a compliment and lament in equal parts, to be clear.
My parents and I have differences of opinion very frequently. That’s all I was referring to. Sometimes it’s easier to smudge the truth than to go through the hassle of explanation and punishment. Your mom sounds great, though.
This will ruin my reputation if it gets out, so hush up about it, but actually I quite like tea. Coffee tastes like scorched dirt, even sweetened beyond belief. I don’t know how you manage to enjoy it.
The story wasn’t embarrassing at all, Robin. I thought it was sweet.
Prompt: pen over pencil, always. No room for regrets.
That’s fair, the thing about equivalent exchange. I really do want to see a drawing, honestly. What’s something embarrassing about me? This is difficult because I don’t have much shame.
Oh. Alright, I’ve got something.
Over the summer I was in this sort of quasi-relationship with someone— more of a friendship with additional kissing, if you must know. Well, we were hanging out watching television at my house, because as awful as my parents may be, they remain less despicable than others. Anyway, we were doing that, and I tried to do that suave move of stretching my arm across their shoulders, only I timed it terribly wrong, and they sneezed, and I ended up hitting them hard in the face. We laughed about it of course, since we’re best friends, but God. Truly a terrible moment.
My roommate is obnoxious. Mostly he’s just boring and uptight and all that, though he gets real mean if I push him, which I admittedly do often. It’s fun. He keeps his side of the room neat, though, at least, and didn’t seem to mind much when he saw me reading his copy of the Hobbit. It’s very good, by the way. It’s hard for me to get through it, I’m not the smartest you know, but I like it.
With love's light wings as Shakespeare so eloquently said,
X
PS. I really am looking forward to your drawing. No pressure. Feel free to tell me off.
PPS. Roses are red, the sky is azure, if hate be a blight then your affection the cure
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X,
I won’t lie, I laughed at your story. That was plenty enough. Your drawing’s on another page.
I’m really not so peculiar, you know. My favorite color is gray. I’m only saying.
I liked your poem this time. You’re improving writing them, or maybe you were always secretly good and only pretending. I don’t mind either way.
Prompt: the happiest I’ve ever been was when my sister turned nine. I gave her a book she asked for, and she just wanted me to read it to her, instead of herself. Anyway, of course I did, and then she just fell asleep partway through. I don’t know, I felt appreciated. Sort of stupid that it’s another memory of my kid sister, and not friends my own age.
I’m glad you liked the book. Best of luck with your roommate. He sounds… difficult.
Question— are you any good at keeping secrets? I’m having trouble with one. It’s my own, so… any advice?
Best,
Your penpal
PS. How did you do on the stoichiometry unit quiz? I bet anything that you killed it.
**attached, two loose leaf pencil drawings, perforated on the side as though carefully torn form a sketch book. The first depicts a tower of books, a fruit bowl, and a hand. The second is a portrait of a boy with dark hair, looking away.**
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Robin,
Listen, I know I said we were doing the whole competition thing, only I’ve got to tell you that the boy you drew is me, and I’ve never actually seen anything so wonderful in all my life. You didn’t tell me you were so good! You’re really very good. You could be an artist if you wanted, I honestly believe it.
I think your story was sweet. Your stories are always nice, Clark. Don’t worry so much. You’re fine.
I’m okay at secrets. I mean, I did tell you who I am just now, so there is that, but there’s plenty people don’t know. Mostly, I choose not to keep secrets because I just don’t care. When I really have to, then I’m good at it. The trick is to not talk about related stuff. If I was hiding a stray cat from my mother (completely unrealistic, of course, as I would never do such a thing) then I would be certain to steer clear from such conversation topics as: pets, good names for cats, the neighbor’s missing Maine coon.
Prompt: I much prefer being too warm to too cold. I’ve already said my favorite season and weather, haven’t I? The cold always feels empty.
You really are an artist, you know. Pinky promise, I'm not lying. You’re good.
With the fiery passion of a thousand suns,
The incredible Charlie Dalton
PS. I look beautiful when you draw me.
PPS. Does this mean you’ll tell me who you are? Something about equivalent exchanges, I believe.
PPPS. Roses are red, the moon slowly wanes, I think of your letters to the sound of the rain.
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Charlie,
I know this is horrible of me, because I can be quite horrible sometimes, but if I'm honest I already knew who you were, right since the beginning. You write just how you talk, you know.
You keep saying it’s only fair to be all transactional about my identity, which is true, only I really really just don’t want to. You don’t like me, Charlie. Like, actually, off paper. I’ll live with it, I’d just rather not rub salt in the wound. Sorry.
I'm glad you liked the drawings. I really liked your poem.
I prefer too cold to too warm. I like drinking tea under a blanket and slowly warming up. It’s relaxing.
Prompt: I like books over radio. Music is nice and I do love it, but I also really love reading. Call me a loser if you must.
Best,
Your penpal
PS. You look beautiful when I draw you because I think you are beautiful.
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Dear mysterious someone,
I can wait. I’d rather you tell me who you are when you’re ready. Of course, I’d also really like if you were ready soon. Not that I’m pressuring you. Take your time. But I’d like to know you.
I’m sure I don’t dislike you. I don’t think I could, honestly.
I like radio more than books, usually, except the one you recommended me was very good. I’ll make a single exception.
I dislike the prompt today and am making my own. Do you believe in magic?
You’re not a loser. You are, however, a nerd. I’m so sorry for this harsh truth.
With a smoldering soul that burns for you,
Charlie
PS. It’s strange that I’m signing my name now.
PPS. I don’t know why to say about the beautiful thing except that it’s very true and that I’m very flattered
PPPS. I know I don’t know why you look like, but I still think you’re beautiful
PPPPS. Roses are red, orchids are pink, I can’t help but imagine your words taste like ink
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Charlie,
I do not believe in magic. Do you believe in miracles?
When do you think Todd and Neil will sort themselves out? Only, I’m absolutely certain this is why Mr. Keating assigned this project in the first place, and it’s been so long now, and they’re still exchanging shy little smiles and giggles. I swear, one of these days I’ll give up entirely and lock them in their room together and not let them out until they’ve actually talked it over. But I digress.
Prompt: I know it’s selfish, but I’d rather someone know the best of me before the worst of me. I think that must be why you like me so much like this. Off paper, I always manage to lead with the wrong foot. It’s so easy to censor yourself like this, isn’t it?
Best,
Your penpal
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Sweetest darling of questionable name,
I do not believe in miracles. Do you believe in true love?
I know what you mean about Todd and Neil. It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Trust me when I say so. I’m friends with the both of them and it gets somewhat unbearable at times, the not talking about it.
Maybe off paper you’re rougher at the edges. But regardless, I know you now and would like you whoever you turn out to be.
I would like to lead with my worst. Let them see what they’re getting, that’s what I say.
Prompt: probably the entirely false and untrue story of my neighbors cat got you confused, but I’m a dog person. I love how excited they always are! I wanted a pet dog so badly when I was younger.
With great care,
Charlie
PS. Roses are red, violets are blue, try as I might I think only of you.
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Charlie,
I’m sure I can imagine somewhat, with Todd and Neil.
I like cats more than dogs. They’re low-key, which I like. Dogs are nice though. I could imagine getting a dog as a pet one day, if someone else wanted one.
Prompt: my favorite subject is math or Latin. I like that the rules never change.
Best,
Your penpal
PS. Try as I might, I can never tell when you’re being serious.
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My sweetest penpal,
I noticed you said nothing on the matter of love. I sometimes find that the lack of an answer is an answer of it’s own. Do you find the same thing?
I am almost never sincere and I am almost always serious. Or maybe it’s the other way around? Here, I’ll say it like this.
The world is pointless, in the best way possible. Eventually I will die, and so as long as I am living I will do everything I can to be happy. This usually means I am carelessly honest.
I hate math and I hate Latin. Really I hate every subject at this damned school, except English, and even that’s only because of Keating. Every other year has been truly despicable. Are you one of those types who enjoys school? I find it altogether too confining. It’s more of that running-to-the-circus thing from before, I suppose.
Prompt: they’re socks! Who cares if you store them in pairs? They’re all just going on your feet anyway.
Say, I really don’t mean to pry, Robin (that’s a lie actually. I do mean to pry, I just don’t mean to make you uncomfortable), it’s just that I really could do with a hint, even, just a riddle or something, about who you are. Or, who you are outside the written word. Is it strange that I feel like I already know who you are, just from these letters? Your soul, I mean. I feel like I know your soul, and I really would appreciate a name to match.
The hall floors were too cold this morning, and that made me think of you. Maybe this is a whole lot of nothing, but it sort of feels like it’s not. Do you understand that?
I feel like I did warn you I could be a little intense. Sorry, I guess.
My lonely heartbeat aches,
Charlie
PS. If anything in this letter is terrible, please just ignore it. Like Midsummer's Night Dream (my friend is in that play right now. Shh, don’t tell). If we have offended, etc.
PPS. That being said, when has ‘too much’ stopped me from adding more?
PPPS. Roses are red, with soft petaled form, I’d like to run with you in warm summer storms.
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Dear Charlie,
Please don’t apologize for being too much. I swear, Charlie, you’re never too much. You’re perfect.
Socks should obviously be stored in pairs. I’d hate not to match, and anyway, an extra three seconds with the laundry is hardly a major inconvenience.
The prompt today is to share your favorite poem, only we’ve already done that, so I feel a bit directionless. Mr Keating said if we’ve already shared that, we really don’t need to prompts at all anymore, which I’m not so sure how I feel about.
Have you noticed most of the class seems bored out of their minds by this assignment? Call me oblivious, but I only just caught on. I think the only other pair still excited to get their letters are Neil and Todd. Not that that’s a comparison I meant to draw. Don’t read into it. Augh. Ignore me.
I do like school. I know, strange. I like structure, though, and interacting with my peers may range from insufferable to enjoyable, but the range itself can be nice. Summer is beautiful but dull. Well, sometimes. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, really.
Sorry, I think I’m a little flustered by your last letter. Has anyone told you that you tend to fixate? Well, it’s somewhat overwhelming having all that energy focused on me, especially in a positive light.
Technically, I’ve already given you hints. I draw. You don’t like me in-person. I’ve got a sister. The most helpful hints I’ve said aren’t things I’m going to rehash— can’t make it too easy, right?
I know this is frustrating for you, the not knowing. I swear I’m not just being coy. I’m just very very worried that you will not want to write to me or keep saying the things you say to me once you know who I am. Or, my name, at least. I agree, I think you know me .
I think of you sometimes too, Charlie. Often, actually.
Best,
Your penpal
PS. Maybe you were kidding about the rain thing, but if you weren’t, well. I wouldn’t mind that.
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Subject of this letter and my affections,
I’m secretly relieved that we don’t need to answer the prompts anymore. Don’t worry, Robin, I like talking to you. I’d just rather hear your complicated feelings towards me than your thoughts on folding socks. Don’t get me wrong— I’m very happy to hear the sock stuff too. It’s information about you, I like it all. Anyway.
Speaking of your complicated feelings, I’m afraid it’s too late; I have very much noticed the comparison you made between us two and the class’ resident lovebirds. Don’t worry, I’m flattered. And a bit smug, admittedly. Then, when am I not smug?
Not knowing who you are is okay, Robin. Honest. I know I bug you about it constantly, but that’s due to a combination of dreadful curiosity and a very weighty desire to hug you or some such. More important is you, yeah? Take your time.
I was not kidding about the rain thing.
I’m in a very good mood today, actually. A friend told us his parents are getting divorced, and he’ll be living with his mom soon enough. Well, boarding school, but you understand— probably better than I do, honestly. Anyway, his dad is real piece of work, so we’re all sort of celebrating. Good riddance! This is a burden off his back, as he’s been hiding some stuff from him, and when he’s happy we all are. It’s a very good day. Warm, sunny. Maybe it’ll storm later, and we can share in our joy.
With care,
Charlie
PS. Roses are red, violets are blue, I can’t think of a poem because the poem is you.
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Dear Charlie,
I have been thinking, a lot.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you’ll realize who I am in the midst of an argument and it will be just so terrible, or otherwise someone will mention who I am on accident and you’ll be so upset at my having not told you. Only, life isn’t a movie, I guess. It’s very nice, to be able to tell you who I am when I’m comfortable to do so. I really like that.
I’m not ready yet, but soon. Very soon. Promise.
Don’t laugh at this next part. My sister and family sent me a letter very recently, and I may have mentioned you once or twice in my last correspondence to them, and so I have been forced to swear to pass on a message. My sister said I couldn’t open it, but she did tell me what it was. I hope you like pictures of dinosaurs.
Yours,
Your penpal
PS. Who said my feelings are complicated? This is maybe the easiest feeling to understand. Or recognize. Or feel. Oh, gosh. What I had meant to say was that caring about you is very easy, Charlie.
PPS. I still like your poem. I always like your poems. Shh, that’s a secret, don’t tell.
PPPS. I’ve just realized my sign-off doesn’t make sense, but I’d feel weird scratching it out now. Just thought I’d say.
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My dear penpal,
I’m flabbergasted a bit. I’ve never been anyone to write home about. I love the dinosaurs an amazing amount. Give your sister my utmost thanks.
Simple feelings can be the very best ones, I’ve found. I think I understand what you’re saying, Robin. I care about you too, and it is like breathing. That’s scary, a little. Is that scary to you?
Hey, I’ve gotten a drawing from your kid sister. May I formally request one from you? Another one, that is. This is a genuine question, which is to say that I really would like a drawing from you, and also that I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask for that. Let me know!
This winter is a good winter. I’m freezing every night and sneezing every morning and it’s wonderful. It’s probably all due to good company.
Speaking of, I know I mentioned him in passing before— my roommate has been acting different. I don’t know, he seems happier, less angry. He smiled at me when I asked if I could borrow his textbook, it was a trip. It wasn’t a bad smile, surprisingly. Don’t worry, though, Robin— you’re the only one for me! I’m only saying that the shift is nice. I could see us becoming something close to friends, someplace in the future (or is that ‘sometime’?).
Neil and Todd, I believe, are still inching their way towards romance. I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s cavity-inducingly sweet, but also painful. Ages ago you mentioned locking them in a room together, and that idea is looking better and better, quite frankly. Maybe at Neil’s show they’ll sort themselves.
I hope your day is very very good.
With care and affection and all of those warm fuzzy feelings,
Charlie
PS. Don’t worry about the sign off. I think it’s sweet.
PPS. Roses are red, lavender purple, people are brief but legacy is immortal.
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My dearest penpal,
I’m a little concerned to not get a letter from you, but don’t beat yourself up about it. I figure either you're sick or something, or you're thinking hard about something, or… I don’t know. But I trust you.
I’ll keep this letter brief. I hope to hear from you soon.
With great care,
Charlie
PS. No poem this time. I’m all poem-ed out. Does this mean you’ll have to include a poem in your next letter to even it out?
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Charlie,
Sorry I missed a letter. You’re right, I was thinking. And I decided that I’d like to tell you who I am. Or, my name, I suppose. We’ve covered this.
Okay. Bear with me here, I’m nervous.
I like the letters because I’m impulsive. They give me a chance to think before I speak (or, well, write) and that means on the whole I’m so much kinder. I like being kind. I like the letters.
Please don’t be mad I didn’t say anything sooner. I’ve been terrified, actually, of losing you, these letters, which started out being ‘as close as I can get’ and then quickly became something wonderful in their own right, another thing I was scared to lose.
But you’ve been so wonderful, Charlie, saying that you trust me and that you’ll give me a second or third chance, and that you know me, because you’re right, I really think you do.
Okay. Right. My name.
God, this is very difficult. How did you do this so easily? I think I’m stalling for time.
I’m Richard Cameron, your quasi-enemy/quasi-friend and roommate, and I’m also your penpal, and also I’m almost in love with you. As in, I think I could be very soon, if you don’t cut it out with the whole ‘being yourself’ thing.
Okay. Okay. I’m sorry again that I didn’t tell you sooner. Thank you for waiting for me. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it, or if you want to ignore it, or if you don’t want to talk to or write me ever again, though fair warning that that may break my heart a little. No, it definitely will. But I’d understand.
Right. Right, okay. That’s that done with.
Yours,
Cameron
PS. Roses are red, violets are blue, however this goes, I trust you.
PPS. Here’s that drawing you asked for.
**attached is a sheet of loose leaf paper, kept carefully smooth, torn at the edges as though from a notebook or a larger piece of paper. On it is a pencil drawing of a dark haired boy staring out the window to a snow-covered lawn. He is holding a steaming mug. An arrow points towards it, labeled ‘tea, not coffee (I won’t tell).’**
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Cameron,
You kiss very well.
Yours,
Charlie