The Perks of Being a Wallflower

classic.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Okay. Stop me if you heard it.”
    “Okay.”
    “So, Lily comes up here with this guy who was the lead in all the plays.”
    “Parker?”
    “Right, Parker. How did you know?”
    “My sister had a crush on him.”
    “Perfect!” We were getting pretty drunk. “So, Parker and Lily come up here one night. And they are so in love! He even gave her his thespian pin or something.”
    At this point, Patrick is spitting out wine between sentences, he’s laughing so hard.
    “They even had a song. Something like Broken Wings by that band, Mr. Mister. I don’t even know, but I hope it was Broken Wings because it would make the story perfect.”
    “Keep going,” I encouraged.
    “Okay. Okay.” He swallowed. “So, they’ve been going out for a long time, and I think they’ve even had sex before, but this was going to be a special night. She packed a little picnic, and he brought a boom box to play Broken Wings.”
    Patrick just couldn’t get over that song. He laughed for ten minutes.
    “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. So, they have this picnic with sandwiches and everything. They start to make out. The stereo’s playing, and they’re just about to ‘do it’ when Parker realizes he forgot the condoms. They’re both naked on this putting green. They both want each other. There’s no condom. So, what do you think happened?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “They did it doggie-style with one of the sandwich bags!”
    “NO!” was all I could really say.
    “YES!” was Patrick’s rebuttal.
    “GOD!” was my counter.
    “YES!” was Patrick’s conclusion.
    After we shook off the giggles and wasted most of the wine with spit takes, he turned to me.
    “And you want to know the best part?”
    “What?”
    “She was the valedictorian. And everyone knew it when she went up to give her speech!”
    There’s nothing like the deep breaths after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons. It was that great.
    So, Patrick and I shared all the stories we could think of.
    There was a kid named Barry, who used to build kites in art class. Then, after school, he would attach firecrackers to the kite and fly it and blow it up. He’s now studying to be an air traffic controller.
    — Patrick’s story via Sam
    And then there was this kid named Chip who spent all of his money from allowance and Christmas and birthdays to buy bug killing equipment and he would go door to door asking if he could kill the bugs for free.
    — my story via my sister
    There was a guy named Carl Burns and everyone called him C.B. And one day C.B. got so drunk at a party that he tried to “fuck” the host’s dog.
    — Patrick’s story
    And there was this guy they called “Action Jack” because supposedly he was caught masturbating at a drunk party. And at every pep rally, the kids would clap and chant. Action Jack … clap clap clap … Action Jack!
    — my story via my brother
    There were other stories and other names. Second Base Stace, who had breasts in the fourth grade and let some of the boys feel them. Vincent, who took acid and tried to flush a sofa down the toilet. Sheila, who allegedly masturbated with a hot dog and had to go to the emergency room. The list went on and on.
    By the end, all I could think was what these people must feel like when they go to their class reunions. I wonder if they’re embarrassed, and I wonder if that’s a small price to pay for being a legend.
    After we sobered up a bit with coffee and Mini Thins, Patrick drove me home. The mix tape I made for him hit a bunch of winter songs. And Patrick turned to me.
    “Thanks, Charlie.”
    “Sure.”
    “No. I mean in the cafeteria.”
    “Sure.”
    After that, it was quiet. He drove me home and pulled up in the driveway. We hugged good night, and when I was just about to let go, he held me a little tighter. And he moved his face to mine. And he kissed me. A real kiss. Then, he pulled away real slow.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “No. That’s okay.”
    “Really. I’m sorry.”
    “No, really. It was okay.”
    So, he said “thanks” and hugged me again. And moved in to kiss me again. And I just let him. I don’t know why. We stayed in his car for a long time.
    We didn’t do anything other than kiss. And we didn’t even do that for very long. After a while, his eyes lost the glazey numb look from the wine or the coffee or the fact that he had stayed up the night before. Then, he started crying. Then, he