Letter to the Mentor

Dear J-

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and going back and forth, ya know. Living off of stale saltines and green tea the past two weeks. It’s not that I can’t afford to go buy myself something decent to eat, I just don’t really see a point. Not hungry. It’s helped me see things clearly. So don’t go and start worrying about me. I talked to Ed about what we talked about. He said he’s fine with that and to just go on ahead like we said. I think he’s sad about something. I can’t tell what, though. His girl left him last April, but it shouldn’t take a man that long to forget someone. Gotta be something else. I tucked my undershirt into my pants for the first time today. I feel like my grandfather. Old, I’m getting old. I got a postcard from Danny. He’s up in the North Country with his father. I’d like to go back up there sometime. I haven’t been since I was at the university and then it was only for a couple a days. I need to see the people more. I just know there’s something different about those folks. I accidentally bought a book of poetry in Portuguese from the used bookstore down on the corner. Portuguese for chrissake. I can’t make any sense of it, can’t tell the front from the back to save my skin. But I think if I keep looking at it it’ll start to make sense. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. I have to tell you, I’ve never felt this pure! I’m on some kind of flat plain looking out. I feel deep and empty but so whole. Just, ah fuck. Clean. Void. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. I just felt like I should tell you because it’s the kind of thing you’re always talking about. I think about you from time to time. Most of the books I’ve been reading lately have characters, well, I just think you’ve been acquainted with a lot more authors than you ever let on. You’ll have to tell me about them sometime. I hope we run into each other again soon. Maybe when you’re back in the area we can go to Rosie’s. I think the table in the back room still smells like the whiskey you spilled on it. Remember? You were spiking your coffee the morning after we stayed up all night out on the trail. I hope you remember that.

Write back when you can,
-SK