tizzy.
I thought I might take some time to peruse
A few books that were written by my fellow Jews.
I knew after reading Portnoy’s Complaint,
Roth may be a Jew, but kosher he ain’t.
And what about Isaac Bashevis Singer?
He didn’t eat pork, but he sure was as winger.
As a young man of twenty he shunned other Jews
And partied all night with his man Langston Hughes.
Winter nights in New Hampshire you could find Robert Frost
At the local saloon, where he liked to get sauced.
And in his spare time, old Joseph Heller
Liked making up jokes about Helen Keller.
Not many folks know that the great Norman Mailer
Grew up in Kentucky in the back of a trailer.
And while in Connecticut touring Mark Twain’s,
I looked in his closet, saw handcuffs and chains.
I’m still trying to figure out how to end this thing. Maybe the reason it’s so hard is that once I finish I know I will actually have to give it to Celeste, and I have no idea how she will react. Neil says if she doesn’t like it, she’s not worth dating in the first place. Katie says even if she does like it, she’s not worth dating.
It’s funny. The person I’ve been thinking who would really appreciate this poem is Charlotte White. We’ve become friendlier over the past month, though with Charlotte it’s hard to get too close. She comes to school late a lot, sometimes arriving during our morning math class, and always keeps herself at a bit of a distance from everything going on around her. Ms. Rigby has held her after class a few times, and she’s seemed upset when she’s come out, but when I’ve asked her about it, she’s said it’s nothing, just some work she owes.
One day I ask her to come sit with us at lunch. When I bring her to the table, Neil and Katie shoot me disbelieving looks and are uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. Charlotte does not seem to notice the stretches of silence, and she rarely speaks unless I address her point-blank. Several minutes before lunch ends, she excuses herself and slips out of the cafeteria.
“That girl freaks me out,” Katie says.
“Why?” For some reason it feels important to me that Neil and Katie approve of her. “She’s really nice,” I say.
Katie shakes her head. “I don’t know. She’s better than your douche-bag girlfriend, but there’s something off about her.”
“How do you even know her?” Neil asks.
“She’s in my math class, and we had English together last year.”
“Does she have any friends?” Katie asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Katie picks up her tray and gives her leftovers to Neil. “Well, the next time you want to eat with her, do it somewhere else.”
The next day on the way out of math class I ask Charlotte if she’ll read something I’ve written.
“Sure,” she says. “What is it?”
“I’ll show you. Are you going to lunch?”
We walk to the cafeteria, get our gray hamburger patties, and find an empty table.
“Okay,” I say, handing her the poem. “How would you react if someone gave you this? It’s not finished, but you’ll get the idea.”
To my relief, she doesn’t ask me who it’s for or why I wrote it. She just accepts the paper and begins to read, and as she reads she begins to smile, and when she smiles I think to myself that she is actually rather attractive, not as obviously pretty as Celeste perhaps, but with a face that lights up unexpectedly and catches you by surprise.
“I’m shocked and offended,” she says when she has finished, and we both laugh.
Then she says, “I think it’s great.”
I take the paper back. “Can I ask you something maybe a little bit personal?”
She takes on a guarded look.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly. “I’m just wondering why you come late to school so much.”
It takes a moment for her to relax, and even when she does, she still seems troubled. “I have to help out at home,” she says at last, and even though I am consumed with curiosity, I
I thought I might take some time to peruse
A few books that were written by my fellow Jews.
I knew after reading Portnoy’s Complaint,
Roth may be a Jew, but kosher he ain’t.
And what about Isaac Bashevis Singer?
He didn’t eat pork, but he sure was as winger.
As a young man of twenty he shunned other Jews
And partied all night with his man Langston Hughes.
Winter nights in New Hampshire you could find Robert Frost
At the local saloon, where he liked to get sauced.
And in his spare time, old Joseph Heller
Liked making up jokes about Helen Keller.
Not many folks know that the great Norman Mailer
Grew up in Kentucky in the back of a trailer.
And while in Connecticut touring Mark Twain’s,
I looked in his closet, saw handcuffs and chains.
I’m still trying to figure out how to end this thing. Maybe the reason it’s so hard is that once I finish I know I will actually have to give it to Celeste, and I have no idea how she will react. Neil says if she doesn’t like it, she’s not worth dating in the first place. Katie says even if she does like it, she’s not worth dating.
It’s funny. The person I’ve been thinking who would really appreciate this poem is Charlotte White. We’ve become friendlier over the past month, though with Charlotte it’s hard to get too close. She comes to school late a lot, sometimes arriving during our morning math class, and always keeps herself at a bit of a distance from everything going on around her. Ms. Rigby has held her after class a few times, and she’s seemed upset when she’s come out, but when I’ve asked her about it, she’s said it’s nothing, just some work she owes.
One day I ask her to come sit with us at lunch. When I bring her to the table, Neil and Katie shoot me disbelieving looks and are uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. Charlotte does not seem to notice the stretches of silence, and she rarely speaks unless I address her point-blank. Several minutes before lunch ends, she excuses herself and slips out of the cafeteria.
“That girl freaks me out,” Katie says.
“Why?” For some reason it feels important to me that Neil and Katie approve of her. “She’s really nice,” I say.
Katie shakes her head. “I don’t know. She’s better than your douche-bag girlfriend, but there’s something off about her.”
“How do you even know her?” Neil asks.
“She’s in my math class, and we had English together last year.”
“Does she have any friends?” Katie asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Katie picks up her tray and gives her leftovers to Neil. “Well, the next time you want to eat with her, do it somewhere else.”
The next day on the way out of math class I ask Charlotte if she’ll read something I’ve written.
“Sure,” she says. “What is it?”
“I’ll show you. Are you going to lunch?”
We walk to the cafeteria, get our gray hamburger patties, and find an empty table.
“Okay,” I say, handing her the poem. “How would you react if someone gave you this? It’s not finished, but you’ll get the idea.”
To my relief, she doesn’t ask me who it’s for or why I wrote it. She just accepts the paper and begins to read, and as she reads she begins to smile, and when she smiles I think to myself that she is actually rather attractive, not as obviously pretty as Celeste perhaps, but with a face that lights up unexpectedly and catches you by surprise.
“I’m shocked and offended,” she says when she has finished, and we both laugh.
Then she says, “I think it’s great.”
I take the paper back. “Can I ask you something maybe a little bit personal?”
She takes on a guarded look.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly. “I’m just wondering why you come late to school so much.”
It takes a moment for her to relax, and even when she does, she still seems troubled. “I have to help out at home,” she says at last, and even though I am consumed with curiosity, I
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