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Dear Anthony,

The Christmas holidays are in full swing, and I'm sure you're having a great time at your house- wherever it is- with all your friends and your parents. I don't know your address or anything, but I'm so used to writing to you every day that I couldn't help it. I have to tell you something, anything, even though you won't be reading it.

I'm not going to send this letter to you, so I guess I can say just about whatever I want.

I don't hate you. I don't like it when you talk about feeling guilty or about me hating you because I didn't mean for this project to turn out this way, I mean, with me actually wanting to be friends with you. But I do. My only problem is that I'm such an asshole that I can't control what I write sometimes. I get mad, and I take my anger out on you, and then I get even madder because you never really blow up at me.

Why don't you? I don't get it. I know you probably keep writing just for the grade, because you want to do well in your class and everything, but that doesn't mean you have to be nice to me all the time. Like when you sent me that stress ball, I suddenly felt so guilty, but I couldn't write to you and say that I'm sorry for being a bastard because… I don't know. I couldn't do it.

So I'll tell you now. I'm sorry. I mean for being an asshole. You know what I'm talking about. I want to be friends and I hate myself because I'm so messed up that I won't even send this letter. I don't know what I'm going to do.

Sincerely,

Gerard

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Dear Anthony,

Another letter that I won't send. I just want someone to talk to, but there isn't anyone, so I'm writing another letter that will end up in the trash bin later on.

So… what's going on where you live right now? Are you having fun? Do you even remember that you have a pen pal? A pen pal who's a psychopath and doesn't know how to say what he means?

The house is really quiet right now. My mom and stepdad are out visiting my aunt, and so I'm all alone because I didn't want to go with them. My aunt hates my guts (and I reciprocate the feeling.) You see, there was this one time a couple of months or so ago when my mom was busy but she needed to pay a visit to her sister, so she sent me instead.

Aunt Patricia is a stuffy old witch. It is unbelievably boring at her house, and I was so miserable that time that I started being all sarcastic and making rude gestures. Of course, Aunt P. flared up like the demon she is and we starting quarreling, and eventually- somehow- we got onto some weird subject- I can't remember exactly what- and I ended up telling her I was gay.

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at me as if I was some sort of monster. And then she said, "You can't possibly…"

I answered, "Yes, you old bat, I am. Have you got a problem with it?"

"Child, homosexuality is wrong!" she yelled at me. Yes, she actually yelled, and those were her exact words. "This is only a phase you're going through because you haven't found the right girl yet. You're young. This will pass. Enough of this nonsense."

So I told her, "Are you seriously that much of a stuck-up bitch? You're going to have a heart attack because you think I go around having sex with boys? Would it not be wrong if I went around having sex with girls, instead?"

"ENOUGH!" she shouted. "You will not TALK of such THINGS while you are IN MY HOUSE. Children should not be brought up with such DISGUSTING and VILE ideas-"

I interrupted her just then and, well, most of what I said was really dirty and I sort of cussed her out. But then I got interrupted halfway through by my stepdad, who had come to pick me up.

He hauled me out to the car (I was really mad, so I was sort of kicking and struggling to get another piece of my aunt) and then went back inside to talk to Aunt P. So I just sat out in the car and cooled off a little, and braced myself for whatever my stepfather would have to say to me. He hadn't known I was gay before that, and I think he was pretty surprised to walk in and find me shouting like that after all the time I'd spent brooding silently.

After awhile, he came out and drove the car out of her driveway, with a calm, triumphant sort of air as if he'd just delivered the mail. He didn't say anything to me, so I said, "So?"

And he said, "So?"

I told him, "Don't you mind?"

He answered, "No."

So we drove home, and he didn't even tell my mom about what had happened, he just mentioned that Aunt P. was in a bad mood lately and that it looked like rain outside.

And ever since then, I've thought my stepfather is a pretty cool guy.

This is the longest letter I've written yet, and I'm not even going to send it, so I'm wondering if I'm wasting my time. You'll be happy to know (but then again, you won't know, because you'll never read this) that I haven't had any 'violent eruptions' ever since school let out for the holidays. I guess those stress balls do wonders… I can't think of any other explanations.

Sincerely,

Gerard


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My god, where have I been? I have lots written, Internet cut though crazies. I'm getting back into this story, after a big burst of writers block and stuff. So how're you all? Good? That's great. I'll be getting a lot up soon. School will start back up soon enough, and the letters will be back. Gotta go for now though...

--Sam

P.S. Rates, reviews, and strawberry crush soda make Sam smile!