The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Elizabeth was at all. I’m not saying she was lying to me, but she just acted so different before I got to know her, and if she really isn’t like what she was at the beginning, I wish she could have just said so. But maybe she is like she was at the beginning, and I just didn’t realize it. I just don’t want to be another thing Mary Elizabeth is in charge of.
    I asked my sister what I should do, and she said the best thing to do is be honest about my feelings. My psychiatrist said the same thing. And then I felt really sad because I thought maybe I was different from how Mary Elizabeth originally saw me, too. And maybe I was lying by not telling her that it was hard to listen to her all the time without getting to say anything back. But I was just trying to be nice like Sam said I should. I don’t know where I went wrong.
    I tried to call my brother about this, but his roommate said he was really busy with school, so I decided not to leave a message because I didn’t want to distract him. The one thing I did was mail my report about Walden to him, so he could share it with his girlfriend. Then, maybe if they had time, they could read it, and we could talk about it, and I would have the chance to ask them both what to do about Mary Elizabeth since they were going out in a good way and would know how to make things work. Even if we didn’t get to talk about it, I would still love to meet my brother’s girlfriend. Even on the phone. I did get to see her once on a VCR tape of one of my brother’s football games, but it’s really not the same thing. Even though she was very beautiful. But not in an unconventional way. I don’t know why I’m saying all this. I just wish Mary Elizabeth would ask me questions other than “What’s up?”
    Love always,
Charlie         
    April 18, 1992
    Dear friend,
    I have made a terrible mess of things. I really have. I feel terrible about it. Patrick said the best thing I could do is just stay away for a while.
    It all started last Monday. Mary Elizabeth came to school with a book of poems by a famous poet named e. e. cummings. The story behind the book was that she saw a movie that talked about one poem that compares this woman’s hands to flowers and rain. She thought it was so beautiful that she went out and bought the book. She has read it a lot of times since, and she said she wanted me to have my own copy. Not the copy she bought, but a new one.
    All day she told me to show everyone the book.
    I know I should have been grateful because it was a very nice thing to do. But I wasn’t grateful. I wasn’t grateful at all. Don’t get me wrong. I acted like I was. But I wasn’t. To tell you the truth, I was starting to get mad. Maybe if she would have given me the copy of the book that she bought for herself, it would have been different. Or maybe if she had just hand-copied the rain poem she loves on a piece of nice paper. And definitely if she didn’t make me show the book to everyone we know.
    Maybe I should have been honest then, but it didn’t feel like the right time.
    When I left school that day, I didn’t go home because I just couldn’t talk to her on the phone, and my mother is not a very “adroit” liar about things like that. So, instead, I walked to the area where all the shops and video stores are. I went straight to the bookstore. And when the lady behind the counter asked me if I needed any help, I opened up my bag, and I returned the book Mary Elizabeth bought me. I didn’t do anything with the money. It just sat in my pocket.
    When I walked home, all I could think was what a terrible thing it was that I just did, and I started crying. By the time I walked in the front door, I was crying so much that my sister stopped watching television to talk to me. When I told her what I did, she drove me back to the bookstore because I was too messy to drive, and I got the book back, which made me feel a little better.
    When Mary Elizabeth asked me where I had been all day on the phone that night, I told her that I went to the store with my sister. And when she asked if I bought her something nice, I said I did. I didn’t even think she was serious, but I said it anyway. I just felt so bad about almost returning her book. I spent the next hour on the phone listening to her talk about the book. Then, we said good night. Then, I went downstairs to ask my sister if she could drive me to the store again, so I could get Mary Elizabeth something nice. My