TWENTY-FIVE
MARCH
THURS 3/1/01 5:25 AM
Dear Ursula,
Thank you for the other day.
Your friend Matt
TWENTY-SIX
FRI 3/2/01 9:12 PM
Dear Ursula,
I’m thinking about the other day.
The last Saturday of February.
In biology there is always a PURPOSE to things.
Nothing is “just accident.”
What do you think???
Your friend Matt
Fri 3/2/01 10:47 PM
2 mars
dear matt—
yes/no/maybe
BUT einstein said god wld not play dice with the universe SO
maybe you’re right, there is ALWAYS PURPOSE.
u r
Fri 3/2/01 10:51 PM
Dear Ursula,
The other day it was like, it’s hard to say it was like something that had never happened before yet was very familiar like an old dream you had a lot when you were a little kid and forgot but now you have it again and remember and it scares you, it’s so real, it belongs to YOU.
That was how I felt. With you. Hiking back down and not needing to talk, like there needed nothing to be said.
Your friend Matt
But for this message, quickly as he’d typed it out, Matt struck DELETE.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“PUMPKIN! HEY.”
It was like he’d come back from, where?—some other planet.
Ursula must be taking French, she dated her e-mail mars for March. That felt right: mars.
“Pumpkin, I wasn’t really going to—you know. Not really.”
Pumpkin was kissing his hands, like she knew but she forgave him.
“No, but I wasn’t, really. I—I’m not the type.”
They were upstairs in Matt’s room. Quickly he’d come upstairs, and quickly he’d shut the door. Matt, is that you? his sleepy, startled Mom might’ve asked, but he didn’t hear.
“I mean, I wouldn’t have left you.”
Pumpkin was making her low excited barking sound, not an actual bark, not loud or sharp enough to classify as a bark. More like a friend saying Yeh? yeh? to show you he/she’s listening.
“I wouldn’t have left any of this.”
Matt made a vague sweeping gesture of a kind he’d often seen his dad make, a wave of his hand meaning, like, all-of-the-world-that’s-my-experience. Sometimes when he made that gesture, his dad grimaced, like he was tasting something and he couldn’t decide, Is it edible? Is it poison? But Matt was smiling, actually. Pumpkin was a dog who understood smiles, she could smile herself, grin actually, grin and laugh, in the right mood. “You believe me, Pumpkin, don’t you? I was coming back.”
Pumpkin believed. Even if Pumpkin didn’t believe, Pumpkin trusted him.
TWENTY-EIGHT
HE’D FELT HER STRONG FINGERS CLOSE AROUND his. He’d never gripped any girl’s hand like that, he’d never gripped any human being’s hand like that except his mom’s and his dad’s and maybe his grandparents’. But that was a long time ago, like a dream he hadn’t had in so long he’d mostly forgotten it.
TWENTY-NINE
SAT 3/3/01 11:03 PM
Dear Ursula,
This is going to sound really REALLY corny but I’m still thinking a lot about the other day.
Your friend Matt
Sat 3/3/01 11:48 PM
3 mars
dear matt—
so why’d you snub u r yesterday/ lunch?
u r
Sat 3/3/01 11:54 PM
Dear Ursula,
I wanted to sit with you & your 2 friends but—I thought you were just being “nice.”
Hey: I did not SNUB YOU, Ursula!
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 12:08 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
u r is never “nice”
u r
Sun 3/4/01 12:11 AM
Dear Ursula,
You are better than “nice”; you are “good.” 1 individual in 1 million.
I didn’t know you wanted me to sit with you at lunch. I guess I thought, why would you?
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 12:18 AM
Dear Ursula,
Also I meant, I just have lunch by myself now, mostly. The “misfits” table by the trash cans. It’s easier that way.
(When I come into the cafeteria everybody is, like—WHAT’S DONAGHY GOT IN THAT BACKPACK?)
(There’s talk of the school installing metal detectors.)
If you give a sign I will join you. But if not/ if your friends don’t want me, that’s OK.
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 12:29 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
u r’s friends dont tell me what to do/ not to do
u r
Sun 3/4/01 12:36 AM
Dear Ursula,
I wanted to ask you the other day—about the lawsuit. If you think it’s a good/ bad idea?
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 12:49 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
its none of u r’s business. i dont judge.
(i dont listen to gossip either.)
u r
Sun 3/4/01 12:52 AM
Dear Ursula,
I know you don’t. That’s because you are 1 individual in 1 million.
Why I keep thinking about what happened/ did not happen in the preserve.
Why I keep thinking where I would be now/ what I would be now/ if you had not seen me, Ursula.
(Which is why I believe it could not have been ACCIDENT.).
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 12:57 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
i know, i think about it too/ its scary/ so maybe/ better not think about it ok?
u r
Sun 3/4/01 1:00 AM
Dear Ursula,
I’m afraid to sound like such a coward/ asshole asking you not to tell anybody? EVER?
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 1:05 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
tell who what? & why?
u r can keep a secret 1,000,000 yrs/ try me.
(dont you ever get sleepy/ sleep?)
u r
Sun 3/4/01 1:07 AM
Dear Ursula,
Hey I don’t mean to keep you awake, I’m sorry.
I lose track of time I guess.
Before we say good night—maybe we could go hiking in the preserve on Sat.?
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 1:10 AM
4 mars
dear matt—
ok for sat. ridge rd. gate. 2 pm?
7 AM is wakeup for u r/ so this is GOOD NIGHT MATT.
u r
Sun 3/4/01 1:13 AM
Dear Ursula,
I will meet you Sat. at 2 PM, Ridge Rd. gate.
I will be bringing a (4-footed) friend of mine & hope you aren’t allergic to silky-haired golden retrievers.
I guess you won’t read this till morning so GOOD NIGHT URSULA.
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 2:46 AM
Dear Ursula,
I know you’re asleep, & will read this in the morning. I don’t mind being awake.
My mind just runs, runs, RUNS RUNS RUNS.
(Pumpkin, my golden retriever, sleeps like a puppy. She’s not supposed to be on my bed, but.)
I was trying to remember when we were first in school together. Third grade, Rocky River Elementary?
I wonder what would have happened if you had not spoken to Mr. Parrish & the detectives. Maybe by this time Big Mouth would be in jail.
Or worse.
Your friend Matt
Sun 3/4/01 3:40 AM
Dear Ursula,
I was almost asleep then my mind clicked back on. I wanted to say to you—if you think the lawsuit my dad & mom are bringing against people is wrong, will you tell me?
You would not say anything false, I know. There are few girls like you at Rocky River. (Few guys, either!) Everybody is so PHONY.
(That’s a cliche, I know. Calling other people PHONY. Nobody’s PHONIER than a Big Mouth.)
Maybe we’ll have lunch today?
It’s funny about sleep. I used to sleep 10 hours at a stretch, my mom would tease she was worried I was turning into a sloth. Now I sleep 3 or 4 hours a night, no more. Some nights I don’t even bother to get undressed, just lie on my bed. I don’t turn out the light. I try to write, or do homework, but my head isn’t too clear. But I can play chess with “XO,” my friend (I have never met) in Nome, Alaska.
(Do you have on-line friends? I do. I don’t know who they are really. My parents are worried about “pedophiles on the Internet.” I have friends in New Zealand, Hawaii, Scotland, Canada, plus the US. They don’t know “Matt Donaghy.” I’m happiest in cyberspace. Or was.)
If Dad’s home & notices I’m still up he might knock on my door & say I should get to sleep. Tonight he isn’t home, though.
Mom gave me some of her barbiturate pills “to help with your insomnia” but they made me feel like my head was clogged with phlegm. I flushed them down the toilet. (Mom takes Prozac too, or something like Prozac. I heard her say, of her friends, there’s nobody NOT on some antidepressant.) Guys on the teams taking steroids. I REFUSE TO GIVE IN.
In school sometimes I’m wide awake but I start to nod off. Like the teacher and everybody else melts into a dream. When the detectives were questioning me, over & over the same questions, it was like that. Sometimes I “heard” my voice say something I didn’t know was actual, or just in my head.
(I never told anybody this, Ursula. When they came to get me in study period, & began to question me, there was a look between them: they thought [maybe] I’d murdered my mother. Until they called her & heard her voice this is a thought they had & believed me capable of. I will never forget that.)
I really liked the answer you gave when Mr. W. asked about Gatsby: Is he a hero to take the blame for a crime somebody else did, because he loves her, or is he a fool? You said, “A hero can be a fool, he’s still a hero.” That’s the coolest answer. Mr. W. was impressed I could tell.
HE doesn’t think the lawsuit is a good idea. He isn’t my friend any longer anyway.
My parents have made an appointment for me to see a shrink next week. Not Mr. Rainey, they don’t trust anybody at RRHS now. (The school staff will be giving “depositions” for the defense. My parents are worried there might be things in my record that will be used against me.)
The shrink is a Park Ave. psychiatrist recommended by somebody Mom knows whose daughter tried to kill herself freshman year at Harvard. I overhear Mom & Dad talking about me a lot. Like I have become this disease they have, like leprosy. The shrink wrote a best-selling book I found in their bedroom—ADOLESCENTS AT RISK: YOUR CHILD AND DEPRESSION. I opened the book to a chapter titled “Teenaged Suicide in America” & drew a happy face— :-)
I figure if my parents get that far reading the book, they will need to be cheered up.
I hope, about the lawsuit, YOU WILL TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK.
It isn’t just the $$$. My dad says winning a lawsuit is the only kind of JUSTICE people in our position can hope for. Because what was done to me wasn’t a “crime.” It can only be brought to civil court. There, you can demand money for being treated like shit.
Maybe you still feel like shit. But you can be “compensated” for it.
What really hurt was believing the Brewers. And not me. The Brewers! When everybody in Rocky River knows what Reverend Brewer is like.
My mom isn’t herself any longer. She used to like her realtor job, now she has quit. She’s ashamed of me, I guess. (She used to be proud.) Her friends have stopped calling. She has this idea of sending me to a private school in Massachusetts & selling this house & moving away. (Where?)
My dad actually seems to like the lawsuit. He’d been so angry & tired & depressed but now with Mr. Leacock he can talk for hours. He’s hopeful as a kid. “A lawsuit is a duel,” Dad says. “A fight to the finish.” Rubbing his hands together & laughing. (He’s looking for a new job where he can get more respect, he says. This is TOP SECRET & we never talk about it among ourselves.)
The one I feel sorry for is Alex. He’s worried we’ll move away, he’ll lose his friends. In 5th grade he’s still OK. He isn’t touched by this. (I hope.) His friends are great little guys who don’t know/ don’t care about the lawsuit. Or me. Alex is a good kid I feel I am being a very bad model for, & betraying.
I’m so tired of EXPLAINING MYSELF to everybody. You’re the only one who never asks questions, Ursula. You just seem to know.
It was like we’d already known each other, in the preserve. I heard this voice call—“Matt.” And afterward, hiking back down. We didn’t need to talk. Like we’d done the hike lots of times together. It was so easy to be with you.
Ursula, is it OK if I call you sometime? On the phone? (I’m a little shy on the phone, I guess. But it’s lonely on the computer. Not many laughs.)
Hey. I feel a lot better now. Telling you these things. & knowing you wouldn’t tell anybody else, the way most girls would. It’s 3:35 AM & I can’t believe I actually feel sleepy.
GOOD NIGHT URSULA
Your friend Matt
THIRTY
FIERY RED. I WAS FEELING SO GOOD.
Like we’d already known each other. In biology there is always a purpose to things. 1 individual in 1 million.
That first week in March, Matt and I started having lunch together every day in the cafeteria. The first time I’d come into the cafeteria late and seen Matt sitting at the misfits’ table by the trash cans, so I took my tray over and joined him. “Is this seat free?”
Matt stared at me for a moment without speaking. Like he was surprised to see me.
We e-mailed each other a dozen times an evening, and talked on the phone, which didn’t make me nervous as it usually did because we laughed a lot. We were discovering how much we had in common, like Matt had a kid brother and I had a kid sister, almost the same age; and we both liked them, a lot. (I didn’t tell Matt that sometimes Lisa annoyed me.) Matt’s mother sounded a little like mine except, as Matt said, Rocky River mothers are probably a lot alike. (I didn’t want to ask Matt if his mother drank sometimes, by herself. That was too personal!) Our fathers both traveled a lot, and were under pressure, but that’s true for probably ninety percent of Rocky River fathers, at least the ones in business. (I didn’t want to linger on this subject. I kind of got the impression that his father was about to be downsized. . . .)
The most exciting thing was: We went hiking in the Rocky River Nature Preserve on Saturday afternoon. The first time I’d ever wanted to hike in that special place with anybody; and I met Pumpkin, Matt’s golden retriever. A beautiful silky-haired, gentle dog with a russet-gold coat and limpid brown eyes who licked my hands like we were old friends.
“Pumpkin, this is my friend Ursula Riggs. Ursula, this is Pumpkin Donaghy.”
I was surprised a guy could be so sentimental about a dog. But it made sense, with Matt. The more you got to know him, the more complex he was. Around school, with his buddies, he’d been kind of superficial, I’d always thought. Wisecracking, pretending to be laughing harder than their jokes merited. Typical guy behavior in a group. But alone with me, Matt was almost totally different. He was nervous and excited and happy, and his breath steamed and I liked it that he was my height, and on the trail neither of us had to wait for the other to catch up; and when we talked, we talked, and did a lot of laughing; but when we didn’t talk, we didn’t, and it was easy and OK as Matt had said it was the first time. Like we already knew each other from some time long ago.