I woke up late today (goodbye English lesson). I turned on my computer and I saw I’d got an email. Only Roy knew my email address because he was the only one I have given it to, he was the only one who asked for it. Other people I know weren’t interested in me that much; I myself didn’t give them much attention. We just chatted from time to time but didn’t reveal much personal information. From both of them Ula has asked the most intimate question, “Could I taste your blood?”
Sometimes I wonder if I and Roy are friends, but I don’t know what friends are. Are they people you could die for? Possibly. But I couldn’t die for Roy, though some may think I could die for any reason better than average. Maybe that means I could (and would) share my happiness with him? I doubt it’s possible because I never feel happiness. Sometimes I feel peace of mind but that’s not the same thing. “Shared happiness is twice as great, shared troubles are halved” I’ve found somewhere written. I don’t know if I feel troubled. Maybe I do but I don’t think much of it. The psychologist called it “explosion to the inside”.
As I’d expected the letter was from Roy. We wrote about one letter per day (more on weekends and holidays) to each other and I’d already answered yesterday’s and it was too early for a new one. Then I noticed it was sent on 5 a.m.
To: Porcelain_Doll (that much I managed to translate)
From: PunkRockHurricane
Yo (his usual welcome), I have some good news. Remember me telling you my father will be transferred to another place? Guess where J I hope we will be neighbors. He doesn’t yet know where we will live but surely in the same town you do. Write me the name of the school you attend so I could be added to the list.
P.S. never mind the time. I was told yesterday evening but I only now remembered you live there.
I read the letter three times until I was sure I understood it right. Roy is moving to my boring town? I wrote an answer immediately.
To: PunkRockHurricane
From: Porcelain_Doll
Really? I can’t believe that. But I never can believe good things. When are you moving in?
I attend Sunflower high, unofficially – the Most Boring Hole on Earth. I’ve heard even teachers fall asleep at lessons here (though I didn’t have the opportunity to witness it). Your haircut only will be enough to breakdown the sport hall. (Please, do so. I hate P.E.)
I read my letter once more and pushed Send. I thought I will please teachers showing up at school today. I won’t go to English because I have already missed it.
I dressed up ant took my bag and went out. My parents went to work early (and when they had a day off they slept till midday), so they were unable to control my goings to school.
It was the beginning of January, cold. I liked it when it was cold. I couldn’t stand summer. The only good thing about it was that I could go to the cemetery whenever I wanted. It’s warm in the evening, and I liked the evenings most. Maybe because nobody goes here in the evening.
I started to think about Roy again. He’s older than me a couple of years, 11th-grader. Perhaps he’ll start from second semester. I expected he will go to my school. It would be pleasant to know there is at least one person at school who doesn’t want to make fun of me.
Before I met Roy I used to think all punks have Mohawks and black leather studded clothes, smoke, drink, swear, and don’t go to school and dream of creating a rock band. Roy explained to me that not all punks have Mohawks, and a lot of other things. That he can’t stand rock; in essence punk music and punk culture which appeared later was directed against rock. I said everything was very difficult; Roy said that life and all things (except pop culture) are complicated and difficult to understand. “Simple things have a lot of explanation,” he once said, “and weird have none at all.” Though the better I knew Roy the less he and his hobbies seemed weird to me. He understood my love for graveyards, dolls and old photographs, but he disagreed with my opinion about death. He said life should be like an adventure meaning of which is to experience and try as much as you can, but not to finish everything as fast as possible. At moments like this I doubted my beliefs; Roy said it was good – that believing which never gives doubt is worthless and quoted Frederick Buechner. “If there were no room for doubt, there would be no room for me.”
He told me that not all punks want to live fast and die young (it would be perfect if they died before turning 25). He told me he himself wants to live a bit longer, but not enough to get old. Once he sent me a song by the Who with words “I hope I die before I get old”. I did like those words, but not the song. I downloaded some of the songs he recommended and I understood I didn’t like punk rock – too simple. I thought Roy would get mad when I told him that but he didn’t do anything like that. He just told me everyone’s different so there ain’t such thing as ugly people or bad music, though we both agreed that nearly all nowaday’s music is crap.
I didn’t watch television; my parents did. They watched music channels extremely loudly so I was forced to know what’s popular, though I didn’t always knew the names or titles. Roy didn’t watch television as well, but he had a younger sister who had Jonas Brothers’ poster hung over her bed. Roy reckons he didn’t inherit his migraine from his grandfather but got it from looking at the poster every day. “I understand those who wanted to die young – I’d rather die myself that make a poor band which would become popular,” he once said.
When I came to school it was 10 minutes left to the end of the first lesson. I thought that if Roy would go to the same school maybe I wouldn’t miss that many lessons. Roy has said he goes to almost all lessons, though sometimes misses Music, or something as unimportant. (“Only because the teacher is horrible – but music pours in my veins.”) He says that running away from lessons is just a stupid way to show others you are a rebel. Once I asked him what does he do when everything-goes-wrong days cross with school days, and he said he still goes there, usually. I myself try not to give in to the current, but probably I understand it differently from Roy.
During lessons nobody paid attention to me; some classmates asked me where I was during English – I said I overslept. I always was more or less dreamy and this way wasn’t any different from others. I caught myself thinking what I and Roy would do. Then I understood I wanted to have a friend.
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