CB: Dear penpal. I know it’s been a few years since I last wrote you.

I hope you’re still there.

I’m not sure you ever were. I never got any letters back from you when I was a kid. But in a way
it was always very therapeutic. Everyone else judges everything I say. And here you are: some
anonymous person who never says “boo.” Maybe you just read my letters and laughed or maybe
you didn’t read my letters or maybe you don’t even exist. It was pretty frustrating when I was
young, but now I’m glad that you won’t respond. Just listen. That’s what I want. (Beat.) My dog
died. I don’t know if you remember, but I had a beagle. He was a good dog. My best friend. I’d
had him as far back as I could remember, but one day last month, I went out to feed him and he
didn’t come bounding out of his red doghouse like usual. I called his name. But no response. I
knelt down and called out his name. Still nothing. I looked in the doghouse and there was blood
everywhere. Cowering in the corner was my dog. His eyes were wild and there was an excessive
amount of saliva coming out of his mouth. He was unrecognizable. He looked both frightened
and frightening at the same time. The blood belonged to a little yellow bird that had always been
around. My dog and the bird used to play together. In a strange way, it was almost like they were
best friends. I know that sounds stupid, but... Anyway, the bird had been mangled. Ripped apart.
By my dog. When he saw that I could see what he’d done, his face changed to sadness and he let
out a sound that felt like the word “help.” I reached my hand into his doghouse. I know it was a
dumb thing to do, but he looked like he needed me. His jaws snapped and I jerked my hand away
before he could bite me. We called a center and they came and took him away. Later that day,
they put him to sleep. They gave me his corpse in a cardboard box. When my dog died, that was
when the raincloud came back and everything went to hell...

I thought there’d be a bigger turnout. Well, he was popular. All our friends loved him. I just
thought people would actually show up to pay their respect. This is not the way he would’ve
wanted his funeral.

What do you think happens when we die?

FLASHBACK
Buddha believed that one of two things happened. Either you were reborn or that you dissolved
into nothingness. Oddly enough, the former is punishment and the latter, reward. We Buddhists
believe that the corporeal body is the source of all suffering and a liberation from the body into
nothingness, or nirvana, is the fuckin’ way to go.

I think I’d kind of like to be nothingness. Because even nothing is something, right?

What am I holding in my hand?

One would say nothing, yes. But in that nothingness is a thousand things, right? Particles and
atoms and tens of thousands of things that we might not even know about yet. I could be holding
in my hand the secrets of the universe and the answers to everything.

Why this interest in the afterlife? Is this about your dog? Dude, we all have to let go of things
from our childhood. Do you remember when you and my sister burned my blanket to teach me
that lesson? I was so pissed at you guys. My point is, Chuck B., that life -- it does go on. Even
without the things that have been there since the beginning. The things that we think define us,
don’t mean shit in the grand scheme of things. Us defines us. Not things or other people or pets.
Like, me without my blanket -- it’s still me. I miss my fuckin’ blanket though. That was a dick
thing ya’ll did.

God. This is really embarrassing. (Pause.) My dog died. He got rabies. They, um, had to put him
under. I looked up rabies on the internet. It’s an acute viral infection. It’s transmitted through
infected saliva. I guess he must have been bitten by something that had it. Maybe a fox or a
raccoon. Bats can have it too. It travels from the bite to the spinal cord and the brain. Then the
victim gets a really high fever and uncontrollable excitement, then spasms of the throat muscles.
That’s what causes them to salivate. They can’t swallow water. Another word for the infection is
‘hydrophobia,’ which of course means ‘fear of water.’ Can you imagine not being able to
swallow? That must suck. (Beginning to ramble) It’s weird. We had him vaccinated when he was
a puppy. I guess it doesn’t always work. (Beat.) We had a funeral for him. Well, my sister and me
did. 24. I think I was supposed to say something, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just
stood there, frozen, like an idiot. I couldn’t think of a fucking thing. My brain went numb and
that’s never happened to me before. I mean, there’s always something going on up there, right?
Even in the subconscious. My head was completely blank and it was so uncomfortable. People
meditate to clear their minds. I don’t get that. I don’t ever want to have a clear mind again. It
made me feel faint. I guess I was thinking, by burying him, that I’d have some closure or feel his
presence there or something and I didn’t and that just freaked me out, so I don’t know. I mean,
have you ever had someone close to you die and you can’t stop thinking about them and what’s
happened to them? It’s like you’re stuck in this morbid place and death is the only thing you can
think about and sometimes you feel like your head is going to explode and it makes you think
that you’re not even there. That maybe you’re dead, too.

Well, it’s just that you haven’t spoken to me in years. Except to call me names or to dislocate my
shoulder and all of a sudden I get a stream of consciousness monologue about your dead dog
while I’m trying to spend the only moments of my day that don’t truly SUCK. And, you see,
there’s some missing component to this conversation, other than an attentive listener. A segue, I
suppose? Forgive my bluntness. Please don’t hit me. But I don’t care about you or your vacant
mind or your morbid curiosities or your dead dog, so why don’t you just leave?
What? You dodnt dislocate my shoulder? In shop class last spring, you twisted my arm behind
my back and told me that you wouldn’t let go until I said that -- and I quote -- ‘I like to get it up
the ass.’
Oh you were just playing around That makes me feel a lot better! At least I know it was all in
good fun. Now I remember. Through my screaming and the searing pain, I definitely recall
hearing laughter. Anyway I can contribute to the fun of the group...F you, CB! I’d rather you say
‘we beat you up because we can’t stand you’ than to say you’re just ‘messing’ with me! That
implies light teasing or slightly opprobrious behavior. I haven’t had lunch in the cafeteria in two
and a half years for fear of going home with some part of it smeared across my shirt! I haven’t
been in a bathroom on campus since the time my head got slammed into the wall. I believe you
were there. Yeah?! Well, you didn’t stop it either!! And the faculty doesn’t care. You know what
I’m so sick of hearing?: ‘They only pick on you because of their own insecurities.’ The classic
guidance counselor line! ‘Oh geez, Mrs. Blank, since you put it that way, my head doesn’t hurt
so much anymore!’ And what really kills me is that everybody wonders why kids bring guns to
school and shoot you bullys down. Maybe you’re not the bully, but you stand idly by and watch.
In my eyes that makes you even worse. So -- Please. Just. Go.

Well, here we are

I’m failing like three classes. I kissed Beethoven. And my sister’s decided she’s wiccan this
week. But that’s just this week, I mean, she’s gone completely Wiccan. It’s some sort of spooky
goth thing. I don’t really get it. Oh, Beethoven? It wasn’t a big deal. I kissed him last night at a
party. In front of everybody. Although, it wasn’t the first time. I kissed him on Wednesday too.
(Thinking) Or was it Thursday? (Deciding) No, it was Thursday. Well, the first time we were in
the auditorium. Yeah and we were talking. Actually we were fighting and then we were talking
and I just kissed him, then at a Party at Marcy’s house. Oh, they saw alright. I wanted them to. I
don’t know. I’ve grown up questioning everything I do. When we were kids, everybody -- mostly
YOU -- told me what I was doing was wrong. It made me conscientious about everything.
Christ! It takes me an hour to get dressed every morning! I’m always thinking about what people
are going to say or what they’re going to think. And when I kissed him, I didn’t care or wonder
what anyone was going to think, I just did it. But, just because I did something that I wanted to
do doesn’t make me gay I’ve smoked pot. Doesn’t mean I’m a pothead. I’ve drank plenty of
beer. Doesn’t make me a drunk. You set that little redheaded girl’s hair on fire. Doesn’t make you
a pyromaniac.

Where have you been all my life?

The doctor is in!
Boy is she ever! I thought you might like it. How have you been?! How is everybody?! Oh, I
miss you guys! I’m great. I’m doing really well. I’ve taken up knitting. I know that sounds
cheesy, but it’s been really good for me and I made you something!

I can get out as soon as I can say three simple words: ‘Fire is bad.’ But I’m not in any hurry to
rush out of here. They’ve got me on great drugs! Can I just say: I LOVE LITHIUM!! You’ve
gotta try it! Those people out there are just as crazy as the ones in here. (She thinks on this) Did
that sound cliche?

It’s a shame I’m locked up in here.

What? Why’d I burn her hair off? Torch her tresses? Light her locks?
Her hair is a symbol of innocence and my lighter is a symbol of corruption. God told me to do it.
The devil made me do it. Charles Manson is just so damn persuasive. She is Joan of Arc and I am
the townspeople of Salem. I did it for Jodie Foster! Boredom - plain and simple. It was a political
statement! Allegorical! Metaphorical! A cry for help. A plea of insanity. (Flexing her forefinger)
Redrum! Redrum! Can’t we just blame the government or the educational system? Puberty?
P.M.S.? My parents? Fine then. I did it because you loved her. Yes. I just love you so intensely
that it borderlines psychotic. You’re all I ever think of. Nah, I’m just messing with you. It’s the
lithium talking.

Hey, we made it halfway through the day and I only got called a queer three times. I’ve already
started spreading the word that if they mess with my boyfriend, I’ll be kicking some ass. I’m
falling in love with you.

The ambulance pulled up to the school while I was in Chemistry. I didn’t hear about what Matt
had done to him until after they’d taken him away. Every bone in both of his hands was broken. I
raced to the hospital to see him, but the doctors wouldn’t let me. They said that he didn’t want to
see anyone. The next morning, I didn’t go to school. I went back to the hospital and they told me
that he’d been released and his mother had taken him home during the night. But that he’d been
rushed back to the hospital earlier that morning. Not breathing. He died of a deliberate overdose
of his pain medication. He died of a suicide. The doctors were unable to resuscitate him. (Beat.)
The sad thing is that his hands will never heal. That the broken parts of a dead body cannot heal.
But what about the broken parts of a live one? (Long pause.) I hope things are better for you.
Sorry for unloading all of this. (Forcing a smile) I bet this is the longest letter you’ve ever gotten.
Thanks for listening. Sincerely. No. Yours Truly. Or. Your penpal. CB.

And he gets suspended for a week. A slap on the wrist. It’s pathetic bullshit. How does his death
make me feel? Stupid. That’s life, Patty. The world is full of people who have tough lives. But do
you see them killing themselves? No. There are people out there who can’t walk. Can’t see. Do
they give up? No. They keep going. ‘Pathetic bullshit,’ sis? Suicide is pathetic bullshit. It’s weak.
DID HE SAY GOODBYE TO ME?! Oh I regret alright! I regret everything. I wish that he was
still here so that I could twist his arm behind his back and shove his face into a toilet and tell him
that he sucks dick. And all of you can mourn your “loss” but I’m over it. I learned a valuable
lesson in all of this. And thank God things are back to normal.Why can’t we all just forget about
this? Forget about HIM. This is exactly what he so selfishly wanted! For us to sit around and
pretend like he was still our best friend and sob about how much we’ll miss him! Why are we
honoring that? Let’s just ignore him like we did before. Pretend he’s not there. Because he’s not!!
Why don’t you go pray to your witchcraft goddess and ask her to bring him back as an actual
human being. One with balls. And Matt can dive back into the dirt and dig the ‘faggot’ up and
break a few more bones. (Turning to Van) Then your sister can light him on fire and YOU can
roll his ashes into a big, fat joint and ya’ll can all get high. (Turning to Marcy and Tricia) Marcy,
Tricia -- here’s to “maggot food”! (To the teacher) And then we’ll all come back here and we’ll
talk about how we feel!
Do you ever feel like you’re not a real person? That you’re the product of someone’s imagination
and you can’t think for yourself because you’re really like just some ‘creation’ and that
somewhere there’s people laughing at every time you fail? Guffawing at your miserable
existence?
Where did God go? It’s like he just abandoned us. Without so much as a ‘good luck.’ It’s every
man for himself now and it just – sucks. Oh, whats this letter?

How unexpected to get a letter from you after all these years. I thought you had forgotten about
me. It sounds like you're going through a pretty rough time and having to deal with situations
that you feel like you can’t handle -- But if anyone is equipped to deal with these things, it's you.
I promise that things get better. Hang in there. Be strong. I'm so sorry for your loss. I was talking
to a girl the other day who told me of an incident that happened at her high school. There was a
boy. Bullied. Tormented. To the point of opening fire on their cafeteria. He was quiet and
awkward. No one ever spoke to him unless it was to insult him. He took the lives of many
innocent people. But was anyone innocent? The girl told me that no one extended a hand in
friendship to this kid. Matt walks to the other side of the stage and stands on his own. She hadn't.
She said how she wished that she hadn't turned a blind eye to what he was going through. She
thinks to herself, how differently things could have been through just one connection. No matter
how great or small. She lives where I live now. A place where there is no violence. Everyone
treats others with kindness, love and respect. If you can imagine such a place, I challenge you to
do so. Think on it. As for the questions that you are asking yourself and others: don't concern
yourself with death. Concern yourself with life. Enjoy every moment of it that you are allowed
to. Life is a process that can be both cruel and rewarding. But this story lies between the two
bookends. Van crosses to the brick wall and sits on it. Also, bare no malice for the ones who
leave you. The only regret they feel now is the regret of not being able to tell you how they really
feel. They wish that they could say goodbye to the ones they left behind. But sometimes that's
not possible. Even in perfect happiness -- Even in nirvana -- They will always have this regret. \A
boy recently came to live down the street from me. He’s had a tough life, but things are better for
him now. He plays the piano like your friend. I often hear his music wafting from an open
window, where a small yellow bird sits. Sometimes I cry when I hear it. But mostly I smile. He
found a dog who likes to sing along. He takes good care of the dog. When we talk, he tells me of
a person he knew from where he used to live. Someone very special who means more than
anything to him. A person that reminds me of you. I apologize for not being there for you before.
And I’m not sure that I’ll be able to write you again. Just know that there’s someone out there
thinking about you. Someone who has a vested interest in your success. How I wish I had had the
opportunity to meet you. (Pause.) Maintain in your heart all that keeps you who you are. You are
a good man. (Pause.) Your penpal. CS.
Metamorphosis. Transformation. Evolution. Change. I am a teenage caterpillar. I know of these
things. For soon, I’ll spin a cocoon. And from the silklike craft that I will create, a magnificent
creature will emerge. No. Not a butterfly. For butterflies are a dime a dozen. Destined to flit
about for a day or so, then drop dead. Or have it’s wings ripped off by a demented child. Or have
it’s body pinned to a piece of cheap foam core and matted underneath a cheap frame and hung in
the bathroom of an elderly woman who wreaks of Preparation H and Vick’s Vapo-Rub. (Beat.)
This will not be my fate. This CANNOT be my fate. I will become a platypus. It’s not
impossible. It’s just never been done before. It’s only a matter of time, you see. If I stay in my
cocoon longer, I’ll change from a butterfly to a swallow and then from a swallow to a duck and
then from a duck to a platypus. It’s all just a matter of time. And time I have. I will wait to
become a platypus. I will be an extraordinary creature