Colter

My apologies for the time expired between correspondences. Holidays and such have taken my time in bulk. Do you think any less of me?

When class ended that day I went to Awol apprehensively and squeaked:

“Don’t you want that poem?” I almost turned away and ran, but he turned back unexpectedly.

“You’re quieter than you look.” He’d stopped moving and looked curiously at me. I hesitated, cleared my throat, and asked again:

“Don’t you want your poem? I mean I’m nobody, but it was really beyond anything and you just tossed it. Shouldn’t you get it so you can save it?” He smirked a bit, not at me, but because he was happy to respond.

“I have it memorized,” plainly put and without gloating.

 “Oh,” I turned my head. I felt stupid because I almost blushed.

“You shouldn’t pay so much attention.”

“Sorry.” I thought I had wronged him.

“For what; noticing me or being noticed?” He was quick. I wanted to respond better, but you always think better post moment.

“No it was just good. I couldn’t,” ever do what you did: Write what you did or have the cock to stand, being known as you are, and read in front of so many judgmental eyes.

“Calm down kid, its just life, it’s only the first step, and for your sake, please close your mouth. I’ve never seen someone in such flagrant awe when speaking to me. At most, I think you are trying to speak to me.” He hit me with an open palm on the side of my arm. The grin on him was amazingly scary. Was he that happy with the moment? I was nearly requiring a change of underwear. “What if you had six weeks to live Colter, would you be this scared to talk to me?” Fuck! At least I think that was what was going on in my head after he asked. I mean...Fuck! What a question. Awol wasn’t just anybody, but I didn’t know why, concretely, at the time.

“I don’t think I’d be at school, I guess.” I was trying too hard to answer him and not the question. I feel, often that being the case.

“I see you’re gonna need some time to answer. I hope it doesn’t take five weeks and six days,” he waited, I shivered. “OK Rodin, we’ll reconvene later then.” He hit me again on the other arm, turned, and walked away. I couldn’t even give him a: ‘I’m pretending to be cool’ goodbye.

Natalie, my sister, was away at college so it was Mom, Dad, and I at the house. Contended with spending my nights in my room listening to music or reading I found nothing fancy about me back then, just liked it simple. That night I was molded most. Around 8:30pm, Mom came and knocked on my bedroom door. She told me that someone came to see me. Rarely getting visitors, if any at all, I eased myself off my bed and went to the front of the house. I couldn’t believe who I saw:

“There’s that look of awe again. You should be more emotionally versatile, truly. You’ve a lovely home Mrs. Colter, kept well and warm, just the way home should feel.” I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just sucking up. Either way, Mom seemed to be very delighted with his remarks.

“Well, aren’t you kind? Just let me close the door and get out of your guys’ way.” She was blushing faintly, I could barely believe it.

“Thanks Ma.” I closed the distance between Awol and I. Curiosity was drooling from my mind.

“Alright before you implode and make a mess, let me soothe you the best I can,” we sat down.

“I was flattered that you took concern about my poem and its survival. Don’t get a big head about it,” I smiled inside, “it just intrigued me. Naturally, I couldn’t let it go unnoticed. I Google mapped your ass and well, here I am. We’re gonna go get something to eat. More broadly, we’ll go somewhere that eating is an available option. Other loose choices can be plucked at will, but most importantly we are going.” No questions, no demands, and no resistance; just smooth execution of our next course of action.

For a lack of cruelty (toward you in regards to the length of this letter), I am going to have to leave a lot of dialogue out. My point for this side step will be, by my opinion, well illustrated.

Awol drove us to a Waffle House. He talked from the time we left my house ‘til we exited Waffle House. I just smiled and nodded, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do, except at one point: Our waitress came up to us, stopping mid stream, he turned to her and asked what she thought about his predicament. When she asked what it was, he calmly told her that he was given six weeks to live. Very kindly, in a shocked response, she put her hand on his shoulder and said how terrible that was. She was cute, probably a college student. She was too pretty and candid to be working there any longer than the formalities of her education took to finish. He told her not to act any differently and please not to ask any questions. Her name was Mindy; Awol went out of his way to address her by name the entire time we were there, suggesting it meant more than addressing her as miss or ma’am; Mindy was certainly no ma’am. She asked why? He guffawed, I giggled, and she blushed.

“Is that true?” I asked after Mindy left the table to attend to other guests.

“Normally I’d defensively ask you back if it should matter, but you’re different. Out of respect I’ll explain myself, which keep in mind, I never do. I came up with this idea that I’ll tell people I have six weeks to live. More importantly, I have to believe it myself. This way I’m not cheating anyone out of the perception of the so called deception. I don’t tell everyone, because it’s actually benefiting me more than its hurting anyone else. For once, I’m not afraid.”

“I would be.”

“What did you say?”

“I would be scared if I was dying in six weeks, but I do understand how freeing it could be, mostly.” He looked surprised that I had something to say. “I commend your sticking with it, that’s good character.”

“You don’t think me an idiot or just a fraudulent attention seeker?”

“Why? Cause you’re not really dying. I don’t care; I wouldn’t have the self discipline to convince myself I was. There’s where the integrity steps in; mind over matter. I’m too chicken, but you’re admirable.” Awol seemed so surprised. He called Mindy over for the check. Before we left she gave him a hug and her telephone number. While were driving away he threw it out the window. We parked a block away from my house. Awol pulled a pint of booze from his glove box, offering me some but I turned it down. He commented that I’m not as chicken as I think.

“Considering the situation, most people in your position wouldn’t have turned my offer down.” I might have blushed, not sure that I can remember or even want to.

He drank and talked a lot more about what made him sick about the world…and his life. He talked vaguely about his home life. More agreeing and nodding was done by me. He was all over the place, his thought process was unlinear and with some points I was sure he didn’t even need me to be there. That was why people called him Awol. Suddenly, he asks me to punch him in the face.

“Come on Colter Cunt, show some strength.” I laughed uncomfortably presuming he was kidding. Then I saw the look on his face, it would have made death dart for cover and beg forgiveness.

“What? Why?” I started getting really nauseous and shaking. “I have no reason to hit you, there’s no...I’ve never hit...come on...I should go.” I tried to leave and he grabbed my arm.

“Come on hit me! A dying man’s wish.” His eyes begged me to hold on to his words as tightly as I could.

“Your wish would be for me to hit you?”

“No, to see you step outside the safe zone called Colter. Hit me, you- tree in the wind- bitch! What’s the matter, huh? Wanna cry or something, huh, bitch? Hit me or I’ll fuck your sister in her ass and make her suck my dick afterward.” He was bleeding disdain delightfully it seemed.

“I don’t care that mmuch for mmmmy sis..sis..sister.”

“Figures you don’t, but I figured if your mom liked it so much she would too.”

WAPP!! With no warning I hit him square in the nose once and tried again. With one hand he stopped and grabbed the second attempt. He applied so much pressure, but I know he wasn’t mad at me, but angry at something in his life. He let my hand go when his nose started to bleed. I started gagging (not from the blood) and spilled from his car landing on my hands and knees. I threw up in the grass. After about three minutes I caught my breath and let the anger subside. Still on my hands and knees I looked back at him; he looked simultaneously pleased with me and disappointed with himself. He nodded his head slightly and started the car. From my knees I closed the door and he pulled away.

Sometimes I wish I had a personal mind reading stenographer in my employment, especially for that nights’ walk home. I didn’t sleep all that well for the next couple of years.

In the early morning of that day Awol killed himself. Not because I punched him, but because it was the last day of his sixth week.

At his funeral I met his mother. Apparently he left a sealed letter for me on his night stand. She said he was very adamant in me receiving it.

I have never eaten at Waffle House since.

Everything you’re wondering about is probably answered in the letter he left for me; or maybe you’ll be like me and have a new list of infinite questions, none of which will ever be answered. Life isn’t always unicorn farts and paper snowflakes I’ve noticed, as I’m sure you can attest to as well.

My Time is yours,

Colter

P.S. My apologies for using a computer to write this letter. I was temporarily lazy. My next letter will be in my usual handwritten format.