Bream Gives Me Hiccups (14 page)

1
. Except you. And please keep it a secret till we figure out what to do.

2
. I don't mean to scare you, but it's true. Yup. Welcome to college, Harper.

3
. A word I've been told is not appropriate.

4
. I even overheard this one whore, Sarah Stein, say, “I want to fuck him so bad.” And he's
always
calling on Sarah. It's so irritating.

5
. Have you heard of this? Look it up if you haven't but try not to anger puke.

6
. I know that's totally graphic, but I have actually pictured doing this to Mr. Doe.

7
. Yes, you read that correctly. We were asked to write a paper on why the Single Most Evil Thing in the World was
GOOD.

8
. She
should
have asked, “How long does it take to wipe your shit off of my nose after class?” Because she's a brown-nosing bitch.

9
. Thanks to you, Miss Rita.

10
. Sorry to include my whole paper, but it's important for backstory!

11
. Okay, this is where the paper starts getting a little nuts.

12
. I don't know what I was thinking, Miss Rita. I know this is totally disgusting of me. I think I just got carried away!

13
. One of my favorite quotations is “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” I guess I'm making some history.

14
. Something tells me Steinwhore didn't write about cutting Mr. Doe's penis off.

15
. Probably the blenders.

16
. Fuck you, Mr. Doe!

17
. I couldn't believe how brave I was.

18
. Which he'd be right about.

19
. I think I'd probably be good at sex because my mom always said I have a “dancer's body.”

20
. Okay, I know this sounds corny and crazy but, Miss Rita, my mind was going a million miles a minute!

21
. Okay, I know I wasn't raped or anything, but maybe harassment starts with “lovely lady” and ends with me tied to a bedpost getting my vagina cut off!

22
. I don't want to become a statistic.

November 23

Dear Miss Rita,

I'm writing to tell you that I'm never going to write to you again.
¹
&
²

This has been a very strange week for me.
³

First of all, I want to thank you for coming to visit me. When I first saw you, sitting on the bench outside my dorm room, I was so confused. To be honest, I didn't recognize you at first because you'd gotten a little fat
⁴
in your face and you cut your hair so short, like an old woman.

And then when you said, “Harper,” I looked at you and saw your eyes, which hadn't changed at all. It's weird how a person's eyes can stay exactly the same even if the face around them gets older and fatter.

Once I realized it was you, Miss Rita, a wave of hot flashed through my body because I suddenly realized that you had come all the way to St. Louis just to visit me. And it made me feel so nice and so loved.

And when I asked what you were doing here, you said, “I just thought you could use some company, Harper,” and that
made me want to cry because it was such a nice thing to say because I knew you were trying to not make a big deal out of coming to visit.
⁵

And it made me feel so emotional! And that's why I didn't say anything to you. Because I thought, if I said even one word, I would start to sob immediately, so I just tried to not say anything.

And then you suggested we should get some coffee at Starbucks to “talk things through,” and I didn't know what you meant, but I was feeling SO great, just being near you.

And I know this is going to sound weird but, on the walk to Starbucks, I actually started picturing you as my mother. I don't know if you could tell but I was sneaking little looks at your face to see if there were any similarities to my face.
⁶

I can't even remember what you were saying on the walk because every thought was in my head! I started thinking about how you got to St. Louis. That you had to fly from New York and rent a car and get a hotel room, and I was thinking how amazing it was that you did all that for me, Miss Rita. No one ever did anything so nice for me I think.

And when we got to Starbucks, I was so looking forward to our conversation. It felt like I was in a dream because sometimes, when I write letters to you, I picture you reading them and nodding and understanding and laughing.
⁷

So I was thinking that talking to you would be like writing you a letter but to your actual face, which was such a weird but wonderful thing to think about.

And I was imagining all the things we could talk about and how I could get your advice about everything going on in my life
⁸
and how you would make things that seemed like
big
problems seem like
small
problems or like
not
problems at all and then you would tell me that I “deserve to be happy” and we would just stare into each other's eyes
⁹
and smile and then I would go back home to Slutnick and you would go back home to New York and we'd both feel happy.

But, Miss Rita, I have to say that right now, I'm kind of in the mindset that you're a massive tool and, I'm sorry to say, but a bitchface as well.

You see, I was really looking forward to our conversation, but as soon as we sat down with our coffees, you suddenly got really serious and you looked at me like I was sick or something.
¹⁰

And then you started saying things that, frankly, Miss Rita, made me feel really pissed off.

Like when you said I sounded “frequently unstable” in my letters and suggested I take “a little ‘life break' for a while,”
¹¹
I felt like you weren't my friend anymore. It felt like you were
judging
me or telling me what to do instead of
listening
to me.

And when you said that my last letter was really “alarming” because you thought I was wrongly accusing a teacher of something horrible.
¹²

And then I wondered why you came all the way to St. Louis just to tell me I was insane.
¹³

I know I write really crazy things to you, but a lot of times, I just get carried away because that's what it feels like to be inside of my mind. I have the craziest thoughts in my head sometimes and it's hard to express them through regular, casual words.
¹⁴

But that doesn't mean that I'm “unstable” or need a “life break.”

And that's why I basically said nothing the whole time. That's why I just nodded and walked back to my dorm alone. That's why I basically didn't even smile once at you or thank you for coming to visit me.

SO.

I think it's probably best if we don't write to each other for a while because, Miss Rita, I think I probably use you for a crutch. And I know it's sometimes really hard to live without a crutch, especially when you feel like your legs really hurt, but it's better in the long run.
¹⁵

Also, I think you have a limited perspective in some ways, Miss Rita, and I don't really want your advice anymore.

Anyway, I hope you got home safely.

So long for now . . .

Harper Jablonski

1
. Which maybe you're happy about. ;-)

2
. Ironic, right?

3
. Okay, I know I always say that but this week in particular was really really weird.

4
. Sorry! But you had.

5
. It's like when people make donations under the name “Anonymous.” If I made a donation, I would definitely put my full name so people knew I had done it, but it's nicer if you don't.

6
. And there actually were. You have a lot of blackheads on your forehead and the beginnings of female balding, but otherwise I think we could totally be related.

7
. Not
at
me, but like if I'm trying to be funny. ;-)

8
. Like trying to make more friends who are like me or trying to lose my virginity or dealing with weird teachers or trying to not hate my parents because they're assholes.

9
. But not like dykes.

10
. Like I should be
pitied.

11
. Which sounds like something you say to someone when you want them to a) kill themselves, or b) go away to a mental ward.

12
. Obviously, I wasn't going to turn him in, Miss R. I'm not a fucking moron.

13
. And then I started thinking AGAIN about the flight you had to take and the hotel room and the rental car. Except NOW I was thinking about them in a different way, like WHY would you get all that shit just to come here and insult me?

14
. Like sometimes I feel upset and it feels like I want to die so I'll say, “I want to die, Miss Rita!!!” which sounds to you probably like I'm going to kill myself. But really, what I mean is that I
want
to die. Which is a real thought in that moment, but it doesn't mean I'm
actually
going to kill myself. You have to learn to read between the lines better, Miss R.

15
. Did I ever tell you about the time I had to go to Camp Firewood? Oh my fucking god, Miss Rita. In sixth grade, our school had to go on a weeklong camping trip. And I had never even had a
sleepover
, let alone a
week
of camping. I was totally freaked out about it, obviously. And the night before the trip, I basically had a breakdown and begged my mom to not make me go to Camp Firewood! I was just praying I got sick the night before so I could get out of it. (In fact, I even went to sleep in all of my clothing, hoping to overheat in the middle of the night and get sick. But I just got really sweaty and not sick.)

Anyway.
My mom drove me to school in the morning, where there was a line of school buses waiting to take us up to Camp Firewood for the week. And I got so fucking panicked when I saw the buses because it suddenly made the trip
real
.

And I got on the bus and found a seat near the back and was trying to hold it together, but it was so hard to not cry. And then I saw my mother outside the window, getting back into her car to go back home. And she waved at me and then I just fucking lost it. I broke down crying ON THE BUS with EVERYONE looking at me.

It was so fucking embarrassing, but I couldn't stop blubbering. It was like a civil rights hose of tears and snot, just
gushing
from my face. And my mother saw me and came on the bus.

So now, I was hysterically crying AND my mother was on the bus, so as you could imagine, it was embarrassing as fuck. And my mother walked to the back, where I was sitting (literally everyone was staring at me), and said, “Jesus, Harper. What's going on?” And I didn't know what to say because what I
wanted
to say was “Please take me home, Mom! I can't go away for a whole week with these people! I am so fucking homesick already and we haven't even left! Please please please don't make me go!”

But because I was so flustered, I ended up saying, “Mom, I forgot to pack shampoo.” (Which was true, I did forget to bring shampoo, but that wasn't the reason I was crying.) And my mom said, “You could just use a bar of soap to wash your hair.” And I said, “Really?” And she said, “Yes, just make a lather and use it like you would use regular shampoo.” And I said, “Isn't it too drying?” And Mom said, “Well, you shouldn't use it every day, but one week is not going to damage your hair.” And I said, “Thanks, Mom,” and I calmed down a little bit. And then my mom walked off the bus. And I sat down. And literally no one said anything to me. Everyone on the bus heard this bizarre conversation about using bar soap as shampoo between the crying girl and her mother and no one said a word about it. The whole three-hour bus ride was SILENT.

But on that bus ride up to Camp Firewood, something changed in me, Miss Rita. I was calmer but not because my mom came on the bus and not because I wasn't worried about shampooing my hair. I was calmer because I realized something new about the world. I realized that I would be able to live in the world and that I would be okay on my own. You know? Like I didn't bring shampoo, but I was able to make a little adjustment and use what I
did
bring.

And most of the time, I forget that I have that power and I go a little crazy and get really upset or angry.

But sometimes, when I'm in the shower, I'll make a lather from the bar of soap and use it as shampoo (and then use a ton of conditioner, obviously).

And so, even though I really appreciate everything you've done for me, I do think it's probably best for me to try washing my own hair for a while, even if it's with soap.