Lots of people go there and never want to come back.

Dear Trevor,
I don’t know who this Mrs. St. Claire is. I know your mom had a whole bunch of friends from church that I never knew very well. I’m glad for that. Some of them seemed all right.
I never had much use for the whole church thing, as I’ve told you before. It wasn’t that I had anything against it. I just found it boring. And stuffy. Everyone gets in one big room for an hour and a half and acts holy. And Sunday was always the best day for sports. I probably didn’t give it much of a chance, though, much to your mother’s dismay.
My other main problem with church was that as soon as I walked in the door, I felt guilty. It seemed like church was designed to make a man think about his sins and I’d rather forget about mine. What is the point in reminding someone that they don’t measure up? I know I don’t measure up. Stop telling me, for God’s sake.
I always kind of liked the Bible, though. Church seems to work hard to be G-rated, even though it’s all about a Bible that seems more R-rated to me. Because life is R-rated. Both the Bible and life are full of sex and violence. In the Bible, David kills Goliath then cuts off his head. That’s not a scene in a G-rated movie. Then David grows up, falls in love with Bathsheba, who happens to be another guy’s wife, so David has that guy killed. And David was one of God’s favorites.
If God could like David, I wonder if it is in any way possible he could like me. I need to figure that out, Trevor. I need to do something to get out of this place. That means I have two choices: the woods or the boat. I feel like the choice should be clear to me, but it doesn’t feel anything like clear. It feels like mud.
Sung-Hee shared a little gossip with me today. She told me that Martin is thinking of going into the woods and he plans to take Julia with him. “He’s been telling that lady how wonderful the woods are,” said Sung Hee. “He’s been saying that lots of people go there and never want to come back. He’s been saying all sorts of things. He’s a mighty good salesman, that Martin. He almost makes me want to go, too.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
“I can’t leave. I got this restaurant to run. Who would make the food if I wasn’t here?”
I thought, who would care if you didn’t?
Dad

Will Mudgett is a punk. I shouldn’t be afraid of him.

Dear Dad,

I wish I was Catholic, so I could pray to you. Catholics do that. They pray to dead people.

Mom says you were never religious, but that you became a Christian before you died and that you’re in heaven right now worshipping Jesus. I don’t know. You never really struck me as the worshipping kind. I prefer to picture you sitting next to Jesus in matching leather chairs, taking naps after Sunday dinner, like you used to do with Uncle Dick. Maybe Jesus has one of those cool ashtrays like Uncle Dick, too, and you and Him smoke those little cigars with the plastic mouthpieces on them. Or maybe you’re cooking Jesus a mess of mussels that you collected from the beach. If I was Jesus, I’d way rather have some mussels or a nap then a bunch of Christians singing to me. I mean, let’s face it. The music you hear in church is simply not that good.

Mom makes me go to church with her Sunday morning. And Sunday night, too. Although last night I pretended I fell asleep about a half hour before we had to leave for church. Then when she tried to wake me up, I pretended I was really tired and she let me stay home. I watched reruns of some old show called MASH. It’s not that funny, but nothing else was on.

There is a kid at school called Will Mudgett who sits by me in Social Studies. He’s kind of a dillrod, but he doesn’t know it. He dresses like a dillrod, in long-sleeved, plaid shirts that he buttons all the way up to the top and he wears glasses that are way too big for his face. But he acts like a stoner and talks like he’s tough. I guess his hair is pretty cool.

Today he grabbed my peechee and wrote AC-DC Rules on it in huge letters. I do not like AC-DC. They are not very good, although Back in Black is a pretty decent album, especially the guitar solo on You Shook Me All Night Long. But I definitely don’t like them enough to write their name on my peechee. I like Wolf Mother and The Raconteurs. In fact, I downloaded Wolf Mother’s first album this weekend. I’ve already promised myself that Dimension will be the first song I play on my iPod, when I buy it and get it all set up.

So I told Will Mudgett to knock it off and called him a jerk. He told me I’d better watch it. Or what? I said. Then he told me that he always carries a knife and that if I didn’t watch it, he’d stab me. Then he told me he has a cousin who just got out of prison and Will could have him stab me, too.

I told him to show me the knife. He told me he couldn’t pull it out at school, because if he got caught with him, they would throw him out. But he swore that he had it on him right then. “So you don’t wanna fight me,” he said, “because I would totally stab you.” I am not making this up.

I didn’t say anything. He’s a complete freak. I’m 99% sure he didn’t have a knife. And even if he has a cousin, I doubt that his cousin would do anything to me. But I wish I’d said something more. I should have punched him in the face. If he does anything else to me, I’m not going to back down. You wouldn’t want me to, would you?

At least I hope I won’t back down. Will Mudgett is a punk. I shouldn’t be afraid of him.

I bet Mom would be really steamed if she found out there was a kid at school who was threatening to stab me. I mean, this is a private school and all. You shouldn’t have to worry about getting stabbed at a school that costs money. It’s just not something you should have to worry about.

Your son, Trevor