Brock Clarke - Exley

“That’s what I mean,” I said. I started to cry a little, for real. I wasn’t pretending. “He should be here.” And then when I said that, I thought, But he can’t be, because he’s in the hospital. And so we should be with him. But we can’t because you won’t even admit he’s in the hospital, just like you won’t admit he went to Iraq. And I don’t understand why not, just like I don’t understand why my dad went to Iraq in the first place. I really don’t. The only thing I understand is that Exley is the only person who can help my dad, which was why I was in the Crystal yesterday, looking for him, and which is why today I shot Petey, twice, and killed him . And when I remembered that, I started crying a little harder.

“You’re really worked up about this, aren’t you?” she said. I looked toward the kitchen and saw Mr. D.’s face filling up one of the windows in the doors. I could imagine his hands on the doors, too, imagine them pushing the doors open, imagine him walking out of the kitchen, toward us. I really was worked up. Mother was right.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I said. Before she could say anything else, I jumped up from the table and ran out the front door. And then I just kept running and running. It was snowing even harder and the snow was sticking to the sidewalk, and so I had to watch where I was running so I didn’t slip. After a while, my nose started running. I stopped to wipe it with my sleeve. Then I looked up. I was in front of the VA hospital. It was completely dark. I mean, there wasn’t a light on in the place: not in the lobby, not even in any of the rooms. It was the darkest, spookiest thing I had ever seen. Much spookier than the New Parrot. It was like the building itself was asleep or dead. It was the kind of building you wouldn’t want to go in, no matter how much you loved the person inside it. I put my head down and started running again. I didn’t stop until I got to my house. I don’t think I’ve described my house yet. It’s red, and the roof has too many peaks: it looks like a house in the Alps that Heidi might live in. Especially when it’s snowing and there’s snow on the roof. I knew that when the snow got too heavy, it would slide down the roof with a roar and then make a sudden, soft thump when it hit the ground. I loved that sound. I wished it would happen now. Once, I was in the living room with my parents, and I said, to no one in particular, “I wish the snow would slide off the roof right now.”

“Why?” my dad wanted to know.

“Because I love the way it sounds.”

“If you knew it was going to happen,” my dad said, “it wouldn’t sound as good.”

I thought Mother was going to say something like, That’s a pretty lame excuse for not getting up on the roof and shoveling the snow off yourself . But she didn’t. “Your dad’s right,” she told me. “It wouldn’t sound the same.”

I remembered all that as I stood there, trying to catch my breath after running home from the Crystal. My bike was still in the driveway, and it was covered with snow. The lights were on in the house. I mean, all of them were on, and for a second I thought I saw someone in the living room, looking out at me. I got my hopes way up, thinking that somehow, some way, my dad was home from the hospital. But then I looked closer and thought harder and knew that all that wasn’t true. I’d probably just forgotten to turn the lights off earlier. And I probably hadn’t seen anyone at all, even though, for a second, I was certain — certain and, indeed, most certain — that someone had been in the living room. I wanted someone to be in the living room; I wanted it to be my dad. I wanted that so badly. I closed my eyes and imagined my dad inside the house, waiting for me. Even with my eyes closed, the house was so bright it looked alive.

Letter 2

Dear Miller,

I haven’t heard from you since your last letter. It’s been nearly a ______, bud, and I’m starting to worry. But we’ve moved to ______ now, and your letter probably hasn’t caught up to me yet, is all. ______ is about a ______ from ______, where we were before. I’m in the group that goes out in the ______. The guys who go out at ______ have it much worse. It’s much worse at ______. I’m not telling you this to make you worried, bud. I’m just telling you because I want you to know that I’m in the group that goes out in the ______, and I’m lucky. I’m fine.

But it’s lonely, at ______, when I’m in camp and I can hear the ______ going off, and none of us know who is ______ at whom, or who is getting ______. We won’t know until the ______. None of us want to talk about it until then, until we have to. We go to our tents, or somewhere where we can be alone. It’s like we’re sick. It’s like what the Counselor told Exley: “We’re all sick, Freddy.”

But it’s lonely there, when I’m alone in my tent. So sometimes I talk to you. I ask you how your mom is. I ask you about school, about the other kids in your class. I ask you what you’re reading now, and whether you like it, and whether it’s better than A Fan’s Notes , even though we both know the answer to that question! I don’t know if you and your mom have talked about why I’m here. There are lots of reasons. That’s true about everything you can think of. But you don’t need to know all of them. So I just tell you one of them: that I didn’t want you to think you had a dad who lounged around on the davenport all the time. I tell you that I want you to be proud of me. I tell you to tell your mother that I want her to be proud of me, too. Then I tell you I’m coming home soon and not to worry about me. That I’m fine. I’m always fine. When I’m done talking to you, Miller, I feel better. I feel good enough to leave the tent and do it all over again.

Write me when you can, OK?

I love you, bud, Your dad

Your Head Gets You in Trouble

Mother got home just a minute after I did. I didn’t even have time to change into my pajamas. I got into my bed wearing my clothes and pulled the covers up to my chin. I wanted to make sure I was tucked in before Mother came up to see me. Because it’s hard to get mad at someone who is already in bed, especially if you were going to send him there anyway.

I could hear Mother throw her keys on the kitchen counter. She rattled around in the kitchen for what seemed a long time, then clomped up the stairs and into my room. I could hear Mother standing there, breathing. I’d closed my eyes, like I was asleep, even though we both knew I wasn’t. No one falls asleep after they’ve been running in the snow and the cold. Still, I kept them closed, trying to wish myself to sleep. I could hear Mother take two steps toward me, then stop. I wondered if she’d left the Crystal right after I did, to follow me, in a hurry, or if Mr. D. had talked to her first. If Mr. D. had talked to her, then Mother would know I’d skipped school, would know I was trying to find Exley. Mother had been furious at just the idea of me reading his book; I couldn’t imagine what she’d do if she found out I’d been looking for him. At the very least, she would make sure I stopped trying to find Exley. And then Exley would never have a chance to help me and my dad. And everything would be ruined. Mother moved a little closer to the bed. She smelled like burnt food. She smelled like a restaurant. Please , I wanted to say to someone, in my head, but I didn’t know who I should be saying it to, didn’t know who would help me. It felt like someone was blowing up a balloon in my chest. Mother sat on the edge of my bed, and the balloon in my chest got bigger and bigger. I knew now how Exley must have felt when he thought he was having a heart attack in chapter 1. I wanted to have a heart attack so I wouldn’t have to be around to see what happened to me next. Then Mother brushed my hair to the side with her hand. That’s when I knew she hadn’t talked with Mr. D.