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I don’t remember if I told you this or what, but my roommate, Stradlater, he’s got a date tonight. Whenever he’s got a date, he takes goddam forever to get ready. He’s quite handsome to begin with, I mean, what with being such a goddam athlete, it gives him a broad chest. You know, how some guys will be strong but they’ll look kind of slouchy? That’s not Stradlater. He’s got to get his shirts tailored special so they don’t pull along his arms and shoulders. I know ‘cause he told me once that he always used to tear his shirts along the seams on account of how muscular he is.
Anyway, he’s going out tonight with Jane Gallagher. I know her from way back, she lived down the street from me and her damn Doberman pinscher would always do his damn business in my yard. We used to play checkers, she’d keep her kings in the back row, no matter what. Didn’t do her any good. I guess she just liked the way they looked, all lined up like that.
My mother thought Jane had the hots for me. Well, she didn’t say it like that. Parents are never straight forward with things like that. She just said that she thought Jane was nice and that maybe I ought to ask her to the movies or something. The goddam movies, really. She was wrong though, we were just friends, is all. The other guys on the floor always talk about what girls they like and who they’d like to give the time, but I never really join in. It just doesn’t interest me, that sort of sexy stuff with girls, I mean.
I hadn’t thought about her in years until Stradlater brought her up. He doesn’t even know where she’s going. She used to say she wanted to go to B.M., back when we’d play checkers. She said she might go to Shipley, too.
Stradlater’s like that, he’ll never think to ask a girl about where she’s going or anything like that. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He’s just not the most sensitive guy. Once a conversation gets going, though, he’s a goddam prince. And he’s polite, too. He’ll hold the door or carry your books for you if it looks like you’ve got your hands full.
Anyway, about half an hour later he’s finally done shaving his goddam face and slicking his goddam hair, and he’s about to go. Jane’s waiting for him down in the lobby and I thought about going down to say hello, but I don’t want to hold them up any more than Stradlater did already. It’s snowing, though, and Pennsylvania isn’t exactly the tropics, so I lent Stradlater my scarf. I’d gotten it for my birthday. It’s knitted, dark blue yarn with these zig-zagging stripes all the way down, and it’s warm as anything. I’m nice like that. If I see a guy and he looks cold, I’ll give him the goddam coat off my back.
I wonder how the date’s going. Stradlater’s probably got Jane in the back of a car, putting the moves on her. He’s a charming bastard, charming as hell. Quite a reputation, if you know what I mean. But not in a bad way, he’s just charismatic or something. He’s someone you could trust, not one of the phonies that Pencey’s full of. Not like old Ackley.
Oh, I almost forgot. It’s my last night at Pencey. I’m flunking four subjects and not applying myself and all, according to the headmaster. Really, I’m supposed to stick around through the end of the week. We go on Christmas break after that, and I guess I just wouldn’t come back. I mean, I don’t see any point in sitting through classes that aren’t even going to count for anything, so I’m going to spend a few days in the city. I’ll go home after that and let my parents know I’ve been kicked out.
I never told Stradlater. Maybe I’ll write to him from New York.
If you’ve never been to New York City, count yourself lucky. It’s chock full of goddam phonies. On the train here I had a compartment to myself at first. Then at the Trenton stop this broad gets on and she won’t leave me alone. Wanted to know how old I was, where I was going to school, all that. She was all dressed up, fur lined coat and pantyhose and red on her lips like a fire truck. If my mother had been there she would have called her a tramp. I think she wanted me to give her the time, but I told her I wasn’t interested and I got off in New York.
Anyway, it’s my second night in the city. I’ve got myself a hotel room. It’s nice enough, and the window lets me look into other people’s rooms in the hotel across the street. It’s crazy. The phonies you meet on the street are phonies for a reason. When they think no one can see them, they don’t hide anymore. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.
Speaking of strange things, the elevator man in this hotel is a bastard, a goddam bastard. I was coming back from the bar last night and he asked if I was interested in a having a good time.
Now it’s not like I drink to get drunk. I have a terrific capacity, when I want to. Once, at the Whooton School, this other boy, Raymond Goldfarb, and I bought a pint of Scotch and drank it in the chapel one Saturday night, where nobody’d see us. He got stinking, but I hardly didn’t even show it. I just got very cool and nonchalant.
I guess the alcohol in the city is stronger or something, though, because I was feeling a little out of my head when I got into the elevator and the elevator button man wouldn’t leave me alone. He asked what room I was in and I told him twelve twenty-two, then he asked again if I was “innarested in a little tail t’night.” He listed off his prices and kept trying to swindle me into it, telling me he had the hottest broads who’d do anything. What a bastard. I guess he realized I wasn’t convinced ‘cause he asked if I wasn’t interested in girls and I said no actually I wasn’t and he just nodded and let me off the lift.
You’d figure that was the end of it, right? I did, so I had gone back to my room and smoked about two and a half cigarettes and debated about whether I should call Phoebe or Stradlater. He probably phoned the goddam police on account of my having left without saying anything. I never did find out how his date went.
Anyway about twenty minutes later there’s a knock on the door. I open it and there’s this guy standing there. He looked about my age and he had longish blond hair down about to his shoulders. He was kind of sexy-looking, not in an athletic way like Stradlater but in a slim, sly way like you’d think girls would be.
He asked if I was the guy Maurice said and I asked Maurice who? He said Maurice said I wanted some company for the night. It was the goddam elevator man! He’d set it up for a guy prostitute, the bastard!
Anyway the guy was there already and I would have felt bad sending him away over a misunderstanding so I invited him in. I was putting out my cigarette and trying to explain how everything had gotten mixed up and how I hadn’t intended for any company tonight, let alone from a man, but by the time I’d turned around he’d taken off his goddam shirt and was working on his belt next.
He asked why I’d gone so goddam pale and I said I’d gone so goddam pale because I hadn’t wanted a goddam prostitute to begin with and goddam Maurice had set me up.
To tell you the truth, I’m a virgin. It’s not that girls don’t like me, they do. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lose my virginity and all, but I’ve never got around to it yet. I’m perfectly fine holding hands with a girl or going to see a film, but I’d rather talk about the goddam weather than kiss her.
Before I ended up staring at a guy’s naked torso, I’d never thought I might be queer. It’s just, queer is something other people are, not me. I’ve had guys come on to me before, that kind of thing happened to me about twenty times growing up, but I never considered it before. Sure, I think some guys are sexy, you’re a phony if you say you’ve never noticed. If a guy’s sharp, he’s sharp. You know how there are just some guys who are goddam attractive? It doesn’t make a guy queer if he notices, right?
In a situation like that sometimes you just don’t know what to do, so I asked if he wanted to sit down and I offered him a cigarette. He said he didn’t smoke but that I still had to pay even if all I did was talk. I told him I could pay and I asked his name. He told me his name’s Sonny. That slayed me. You ever hear of a male prostitute named Sonny?
He put his hand on my thigh and asked again if I wanted to have sex. I didn’t, is the thing, so I just started telling him all about Pencey and how it was full of phonies and bastards but how I’d shared a room with Stradlater, who wasn’t either of those things, but I’d flunked out and how he’d gone on a date with a girl I used to know and I didn’t even know how it’d gone and I’d never actually told anyone but my old teacher Mr. Spencer that I was leaving.
At first Sonny just smoked and looked bored, but by the time I’d finished he’d leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his cigarette forgotten in the ashtray.
He asked if Stradlater knew I had the hots for him. What a load of shit! But Sonny ignored me and said that I should write Stradlater a letter and tell him about how I’d be kicked out of Pencey and invite him over for the holidays and how I missed him and a whole load of crap like that.
I scoffed. What kind of pansy writes a letter like that to his goddam roommate? But Sonny just shrugged and stood up. He put his shirt back on and said if I wasn’t going to listen to his advice he would just leave. Well I wasn’t going to keep him around anymore, so I paid him (a five, like Maurice had said) and he left pretty quick after that.
There wasn’t much point to me staying up anymore so I put out my cigarette and tried to get to sleep. My goddam mind wouldn’t let me alone, though, so eventually I got up and thought I’d at least try Sonny’s idea, just because I didn’t want Stradlater to worry about me.
I had paper in my suitcase so I took it out and sat down at my desk. Out the window was a sliver of vision that wasn’t blocked by the hotel across the street. I could see the outstretched arm of the Statue of Liberty holding that golden torch up, though the statue itself was out of sight.
I’m not much of a letter writer. Jane and I said we’d write while we were both at school but I’d always forget to reply for weeks and then when I finally sat down to write her back, I’d over-think everything I wanted to say, even if it was just telling her about the goddam football game. The letter to Stradlater was a little easier, though.
Hey buddy, I hope Pencey’s not too bad. Sorry I never told you I was leaving, I didn’t want to put a damper on your date with Jane. I hope that went well for you. They kicked me out on account of my flunking out of four subjects, but I figured I’d leave sooner rather than later. It’s too bad you’ll have to write your own essays now that I’m gone. I never minded helping you with those, so you know.
I’ve just realized how much I’m going to miss your crummy whistling now. Maybe I could come visit sometime, you think I could stay in your room? That is, if they don’t get you a new roommate real quick. You’re a really good guy, you know that?
I’m staying in New York for a few days, but I’ll be home over Christmas break. You should come out and stay for a while, my little sister would love to meet you. She’s just about the cutest goddam thing. Not to mention my brother, D.B., he’ll be visiting from Hollywood. He could tell you all about the goddam movies you always go to see.
Anyway, I just wanted to write and let you know I hadn’t died or anything. Good luck at Pencey, and tell Jane I said hello.
--Holden Caulfield