Misty Lee dumped me today.
Dear Dad,
There is no way I’m talking to Mom about her razor stubble. But I did ask her where your funeral was held. I was pretty sure it was at Pastor Mel’s church—Grace Baptist. It was. She said she doesn’t really remember that much about it either, but that more than 300 people showed up. That’s pretty cool, I guess. I have a vague memory of sitting in the front row, I think. Or maybe that’s a memory of when I was baptized. They all blur together for me.
Pastor Mel’s dead, by the way. One day he was healthy and the next he was dead. I think something burst inside his brain, but if you ask Mom about it, she’ll say that God took him home like Elijah. Like Pastor Mel was so beloved by God that God couldn’t stand not having him in heaven. I think that’s a stretch. I mean, I liked the guy and everything, but let’s not get carried away.
We stopped going to church there after Pastor Mel died, because they brought in some guy from out-of-state to take his place. Reverend Howard B. Dapple from Wichita Falls, Kansas. He pronounced Washington with an R. Warshington. He sweated a lot when he talked and always held a hankie in one hand to swipe across his face. Now we go to this dumb church right up on Dash Point Road, about a half mile from the grocery store. I don’t like it. The pastor reminds me of Mrs. Fletcher at school, because I think he hates kids. He gives me dirty looks right from the pulpit if he catches me doodling during his sermons. What am I supposed to do? Just sit there? The guy thinks he is a good speaker. He’s not. He tries really hard to get himself all worked into a frenzy, but all it does is get these creepy pockets of white foam forming at the corner of his mouth. Gross.
Misty Lee dumped me today. She wouldn’t say that she dumped me, but she pretty much did. She gave me a note on heart-shaped paper. I have it right here in front of me now. It says, “Dear Trevor, I’m sorry I can’t be the kind of girlfriend you want me to be. I hope we can still be friends. You’re a great guy! Love, Misty.”
She had Sharon King give it to me. Sharon stood there while I read it. When I didn’t say anything, she said, “That means she’s breaking up with you.” I said, “Oh.” She said, “Do you want me to tell her anything for you?” I said no. “Nothing? You should say something.” So I said she could tell Misty to have a nice day. She thought I was being a jerk and she said so.
By the end of the day, Sharon King got dumped by Rick Jarvis. Serves her right. All three of them are complete dorks.
Mrs. Fletcher the math troll sent a note home with me to get signed by Mom, which says I’m getting a D in math. Mom asked why. I said I didn’t know. Mom asked what she was supposed to do. I said she had to sign the note so I could prove that she knew about it. She said that it was ridiculous that they didn’t trust me. She told me not to worry about the D, because she said she knew I’d figure it out because I was such a smart boy and a good student and all that, because we both know Mom only believes her kids are perfect, even when they’re not. She acts the same way about you. Even when she tells stories about things you did that she didn’t like, she has this way of surrounding the facts in a kind of glow that still makes you sound so wonderful.
Mrs. Robbins, one of our neighbors, dropped by a cassette tape on Monday when I was home from school. She asked me to give it to Mom, but I hadn’t yet. I tossed it in my room. Mom asked about it, saying that Mrs. Robbins had called and asked if Mom had heard the tape yet, because you were talking on it. They’d recorded it at a party. I went to get it, but decided to listen to it before I gave it to Mom.
So I popped it in the cassette player and you and Mom and Mr. and Mrs. Robbins were singing “I’m an Old Cowhand.” None of you sounded very good. One guy’s voice was really off key and warbly. Then when the song ended, that same voice yelled, “Let’s do that again!” and started singing all alone. Horrible and really drunk. Then the other male voice said, “Hey Hugh, don’t quit your day job!” There was laughter and then the tape ended. That was it.
So that was you. I’d never really thought about what you sounded like before. Now at least I know what you sound like drunk. Your voice is kind of high and froggy. Not what I’d imagined. I rewound the tape and brought it in to Mom, asking her what it was. She said she’d listen to it and let me know. She took it upstairs and I haven’t heard about it again.
I haven’t heard back from Drew yet, so I have no answers for you about what the Bible says about where you are. In the mean time, I totally understand why you don’t want to get on the boat. It sure sounds like it must be going to Hell. I can’t imagine something that creepy would be the way you get to heaven. I’d love to hear more about the captain. You said it’s a she and that she’s really creepy. Is she covered in blood, too?
Your son,
Trevor
P.S. What day is it there?
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