The Perks of Being a Wallflower

maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everyone was, especially me. But I was at a party with my friends, so it really didn’t matter that much. I just drank because I figured that it was about time to stop smoking so much pot.
    The thing that made the evening tense was Patrick officially quit doing Frank ’N Furter in the show. He said that he didn’t want to do it anymore … ever. So, he sat and watched the show in the audience with me, and he said things that were hard to listen to because Patrick usually isn’t unhappy.
    “You ever think, Charlie, that our group is the same as any other group like the football team? And the only real difference between us is what we wear and why we wear it?”
    “Yeah?” And there was this pause.
    “Well, I think it’s all bullshit.”
    And he meant it. It was hard to see him mean it that much.
    Some guy that I didn’t know from somewhere else did the part of Frank ’N Furter. He had been the second to Patrick for a long time, and now he got his chance. He was pretty good, too. Not as good as Patrick, but pretty good.
    Love always,
Charlie         
    May 11, 1992
    Dear friend,
    I’ve been spending a lot of time with Patrick these days. I really haven’t said much. I just kind of listen and nod because Patrick needs to talk. But it isn’t like it was with Mary Elizabeth. It’s different.
    It started out on the Saturday morning after the show. I was in my bed trying to figure out why sometimes you can wake up and go back to sleep and other times you can’t. Then, my mom knocked.
    “Your friend Patrick’s on the phone.”
    So, I got up and wiped away the sleep.
    “Hello?”
    “Get dressed. I’m on my way.”
    Click. That was it. I actually had a lot of work to do since it was getting closer to the end of the school year, but it sounded like we might be having some kind of adventure, so I got dressed anyway.
    Patrick pulled up about ten minutes later. He was wearing the same clothes he wore the night before. He hadn’t showered or anything. I don’t even think he went to bed. He was just wide awake on coffee and cigarettes and Mini Thins, which are these small pills you can buy at Quick Marts or Truck Stops. They keep you awake! They’re not illegal either, but they make you thirsty.
    So, I climbed in Patrick’s car, which was filled with cigarette smoke. He offered me one, but I said not in front of my house.
    “Your parents don’t know you smoke?”
    “No. Should they?”
    “I guess not.”
    Then, we started driving … fast.
    At first, Patrick didn’t say much. He just listened to the music on the tape player. After the second song started, I asked him if it was the mix tape I made him for Secret Santa Christmas.
    “I’ve been listening to it all night.”
    Patrick had this smile all over his face. It was a sick smile. Glazey and numb. He just turned up the volume. And drove faster.
    “I’ll tell you something, Charlie. I feel good. You know what I mean? Really good. Like I’m free or something. Like I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m going away to college, right? It’ll be different there. You know what I mean?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “I’ve been thinking all night about what kind of posters I want to put up in my dorm room. And if I’ll have an exposed brick wall. I’ve always wanted an exposed brick wall, so I can paint it. Know what I mean?”
    I just nodded this time because he didn’t really wait for a “sure.”
    “Things’ll be different there. They have to be.”
    “They will be,” I said.
    “You really think so?”
    “Sure.”
    “Thanks, Charlie.”
    That’s kind of how it went all day. We went to see a movie. And we ate pizza. And every time Patrick started getting tired, we got coffee, and he ate another Mini Thin or two. When things started turning dusk outside, he showed me all the places he and Brad would meet. He didn’t say much about them. He just stared.
    We ended up at the golf course.
    We sat on the eighteenth green, which was pretty high on a hill, and we watched the sun disappear. By this point, Patrick had bought a bottle of red wine with his fake ID, and we passed it back and forth. Just talking.
    “Did you hear about Lily?” he asked.
    “Who?”
    “Lily Miller. I don’t know what her real first name was, but they called her Lily. She was a senior when I was a sophomore.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I thought your brother would have told you. It’s a