To Chris, With Love

The following in a piece of mostly true “fiction” to which I wrote as my final writing project my freshman year in college. It still makes me laugh, and because the iREADray brand is expanding and soon will include fiction (not to mention music — so excited for my CD) I thought I would share this. Enjoy!

To Chris, With Love

“Did I ever tell you the story about the time, I t.p.-ed Chris’ car?”

“No,” she said, her red hair catching rays from her bedside lamp. The lighting in her room was remarkable, in many ways. She always had a flare for this sort of indie-rock style, from the exterior fashion she wore on her hips to the interior fashion she surrounded herself with. 
“Really, it was one of the most traumatic experiences of my entire effing life. You sure I didn’t tell you because seriously, trau-ma-tic.”

“No, I don’t think you have, what the hell happened?”

“I swore I told you,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, ready to tell the tale of his how his best friend traumatized him, like all people he came to love. “Well…in tenth grade, Nicole – you know Nicole, innocent looking girl, deceptively so? Well, her and I decided to skip out on the entire school dance thing. It was the Valentines deal, you know, you skipped plenty…I skipped them mostly because I’m gay, Nicole because she’s Christian, as funny as that may be… Anyway, we decided to have a girl’s night, but not really a girl’s night because I’m not a girl, and it was just Nicole and me, so, an us night, really… Anyway, we were watching Under the Tuscan Sun, and I got this bright idea and so I paused that effing movie, told Nicole, we looked at our watches and decided to go. We decided to go and t.p. Chris’ car, since he was at the dance, and we thought we’d just go spread some love, or manic joy or whatever the hell two sober tenth graders might be doing, who knows?”

“What dance was this?”

“It was some Valentines dance that year, you would have been a freshman, did you go?”

“God no, I only went to prom, remember, I’m gay too,” she said with a smile as she half lied.

“Anyway, so it’s Nicole and I, and we go and t.p. his car and then quietly go back to Nicole’s house and watch the rest of the movie. And then Chris calls me and asks what I had been up to that night, what I was doing. I told him I was with Nicole, because you know Nicole she would never do anything like this, deceptively innocent I said? I told him we were watching a movie. And he said ‘alright’ and hung up without saying goodbye as he does. He can be an ass. All seemed well. It was crazy.”

“Then I go home, after the girl’s night, sort-of, and I go to bed, and I get a call at three in the morning. This was before I turned off my phone when I slept, I had just gotten my damn cell phone, like maybe two months earlier, and dude I wasn’t fun in high school, no one called me that late, not in high school, well until Matt came along and we all know how that went.”

“Anyway, she called, Nicole, and asked me to checkout Greatest Journal, that online, journal-blog-thing we did, you did Live Journal, but all my friends were on the Greatest Journal…anyway, I check it out, and here’s this long ass note, and it’s all ‘these people are terrorists, they need to be stopped…why are they targeting me?…why am I being tormented?…why am I the victim in this hate crime,’ and I was just like ‘oh-fuck.’ That’s all I could say at this point, to Nicole no less. So, this happened on Saturday morning, like butt-crack of dawn.”

“Anyway, by Sunday Annie and Richard, Nicole’s parents, and mine–Susan and my Dad, were sitting there and they started talking about what to do…and on Monday morning Nicole, Me, Susan and Annie go into Mrs. Flannery’s office–“

“Wait, who’s Annie?”

“Annie is Nicole’s mom–didn’t you meet her? She worked in the office in high school, sort-of, and was involved in everything. Had three daughters that went to that school, or two I think, and one at Hamilton, and didn’t work outside the home.”

“Crazy, no. Nicole was a different year and I hated the principal…crazy bitch. After she said I was a bad Christian and thought I was suicidal, I just stayed away from the office, until the end of my junior and a lot during my senior year when I got more involved in things, like school activities. Like the Writer’s Club.”

“Where we met,” I said with a smile. “Well, newspaper, but that doesn’t count…because we scared each other in there. That shit was unhealthy. Four years as editor-in-chief,” deep sigh. “Anyway, as I was saying, we talked to Mrs. Flannery and said that it was us, and she laughed, can you believe it, she laughed?!”

“Anyway, she said that if Chris wanted to press charges, and he did, right, he wanted to have us fucking expelled, and he said we belonged in prison. And some more stuff about how we are just like Osama bin Laden, and mind you, he didn’t know it was us. We left a note, like a typed note, because that’s what Nicole and I would do, we left that note right on Chris’ car when this happened that said ‘To Chris, With Love,’ and he was trying to get these people who t.p.-ed his car expelled, and he didn’t know it was us.”

“Anyway, she said that he wanted to file charges, but she wanted to tell him it was us, and so the max we’ll get would be 2 days in that in-school suspension, and that both Nicole and I could miss it, by just calling out sick, she said this to our parents, Susan and Annie, then she told us to go into the conference room and wait, and that she’ll call Chris in and tell him about all this and that if he wants to see us he’ll know where we are. So, Annie and Susan left and Nicole and I waited in there for an hour and a half, at least.”

“Jesus, he’s crazy,” she coughs.

“Yes, he is, sometimes. Well he does want to be a lawyer. Anyway, we wait, and it’s like an hour, and it was crazy. And finally he walked in, and just looked disheveled. He looked completely and utterly insane. His hair was not the Chris Gast, perfect blonde point in the center, aerodynamic hair that he always has. And his face, clothes–he looked like he was mugged.”

“Haahhh, Chris without his hair, it’s his trademark–“

“Yeah, it was crazy, worse than mine is now,” I said giving my unwashed, curly brown hair a tug. 

“Anyway, he basically breaks down holding us, I was on one side, Nicole on the other, and he just stood there and cried on us, while Nicole just cried with him, and I was just standing there unsure what to do, I was all ‘what the fuck?,’ it was traumatizing.”

“Jesus, only you.”

“Yeah, really, Chris started telling the story about what happened with class president, at the conference—do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Wait, what happened? I think I do, did someone have sex–on the bathroom floor?”

“Yes, well, okay, everyone but Chris got really drunk at the conference, and the President I guess had sex with some new girl, and Chris was sharing a room with them, and Chris says this and cries, and talks about how they threatened him. And Nicole cried because she was really upset about it, and to tell you the truth, I just wanted to smack him, he was being utterly stupid. I mean, we left him a fucking note. We weren’t trying to malicious; I mean the note said, ‘To Chris, With Love.'”

“He’s crazy.”

“Well, yes, that’s why I love him. I mean, it said, very clearly: To Chris, With Love.”

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