Black Chalk

‘Just shut the hell up, Chad,’ Mitzy shouted. ‘You know, we just had a house meeting and everyone agreed that noooh one is going to talk to you.’ Chad hadn’t noticed until this moment how shapely Mitzy’s eyebrows were, neat arches made perfect by her rage. ‘Good enough for your first time? Who in the hell do you think you are? I’m awesome, Chad. I am waaay better than any of the skanks who’ll ever go near you with their filthy diseases. There’s a word for people like you, Chad. Tragic . . . virgin . . . loser. I was only nice to you because I felt sorry for you. Everyone agreed in the meeting, you come anywhere near me or try to talk to me ever again, the whole house will back me. We’ll all say whatever it takes to get you kicked out of college.’ She sniffed before delivering her final line. ‘So just go back to your room, Chad, do everyone a favour, and kill yourself.’ And then Mitzy slammed the door on him, just as he had imagined she would.

Chad climbed back up the stairs. And then in his room, leaning against his door, he had a terrible thought. If no one in the house were ever to talk to him again, then perhaps humiliating Mitzy had been a wonderful thing to do. No, he chided himself, that really was a terrible thought.

Chad curled up on his bed holding one of his pillows tight to his sick-feeling belly. A minute later the thought came to him again. Really, that’s hilarious, they call that a punishment?

XLIII

XLIII(i) When I awake I soon detect the symptoms of a hangover. Drink keeps the demons at bay in the night but invites them to breakfast next morning.

Almost noon and this is all I can manage. I don’t think I can walk today. I want only to lie in the park.

XLIII(ii)

Oh, Jolyon, I’m so happy.

I won’t delay revealing what I wish to ask you. It’s something so silly really. My book of poems, I’ve reached four hundred and ninety-eight. Did I ever mean to kill myself if I reached five hundred? Maybe once, maybe some part of me believed what I told myself. But the whole thing does feel rather childish now.

However, I still keep my book close to me, my poems remain a part of me. Anyway, this is my favour – will you look after my book? Oh, I was going to make up some silly excuse – the lock on my apartment door is weak, the flat below was burgled last week – but I think I should tell you the truth. Coyness be damned, Dee, just come out and say it. Here goes:

I would like you to read my poems, Jolyon, that’s the truth of it. Writing and writing and failing. It would be nice to have one reader in the world. And I am greedily devouring your words, it seems like a fair trade.

I suggest you start at the end and work your way back. (You may wish to stop when you reach the dark centre of my teenagehood.) But you should read my book however you wish. And then when you are done telling your story, you can return it to me.

We were together for only a few days all those years ago, but now I look back, I realise that I was so wrong and I’m sorry. I should have trusted you, Jolyon. And now I hope to make amends. I am handing my heart to you.

We will find our way back into the world together, Jolyon, pearls before swine. We will read each other’s words and keep them safe.

Friends once more. Fresh words in our story. And let the past fade away.

Kisses,

Dee xxx

XLIII(iii) Dearest Dee, I am a man of my word. Of course I will hold on to your book. I will treasure it, I will read every word. And I feel deeply honoured.

Please, no more apologies for what happened in the past between us. What happened was the result of misfortune. Misfortune and Chad. Let us look only to the future.

And I have a request of my own. Surely now we can meet. You will read this at noon. Perhaps we can see each other in the evening.

I know the perfect place. Tompkins Square Park at the end of this block. Toward the middle of the park there is a grassy knoll where the sunbathers tan themselves until the light shrinks away. Near the grassy knoll is a tall evergreen that looks like a Christmas tree. They string frost-coloured lights all around it each year and, lit up, it looks just like the Chrysler Building. If you say yes, we could meet beside the Christmas tree at six. What do you think?

Jolyon

*

While I am reading Dee’s letter over and over, I realise there is something very important I have to do.

Occasionally, out from the gloom of a hangover, enlightenment shines. Ideas are shaken, disparate thoughts come together, linear turns lateral. And when I read Dee’s words for a third time – pearls before swine – epiphany strikes.