September 5th, 1975

Dear Oliver,

I need new blinds. My bedroom window is too exposed and my sleep has been shit. I don’t get it, I used to be able to sleep anywhere! Behind a dumpster, on the bus, in a closet, didn’t matter who was there or what time it was. It’s probably stress. It’s really taken a toll on my performance at work. It's like I have cotton in my ears. The librarian had to tell me five times to get the returns from the dropbox before I got what she was saying. I don’t know if my landlord will even let me change the blinds.

Do you know that cold stiff feeling you get in your spine when you remember that you’re going to die someday? I always get it at night. I’ve actually started planning out what I‘m going to think about when lying in bed so that I don’t get that feeling. It still happens though. The thought pokes me in the back of my mind, and when I turn around, it sneaks around and kicks me in the gut. Sneaking little bastard. I wonder if anybody else gets feelings like that. You know, they just pop up and steal the spotlight. Even when you know they’re coming, you still can’t stop them. It’s the worst. It's like I’m not even safe in my own head.

Shit, it’s already 8. I’ve got to head to the gym. I’ll write more when I get back.

I saw Casper at the gym. He looks so different from last time I saw him. Well, I guess not different, exactly, because I recognized him almost immediately. He looked like an adult. He even had stubble on his face. Oliver was with him. Not you, Oliver, but the other Oliver. Human Oliver. The guy that Elvira’s friends with. Casper’s my cousin, by the way. I haven’t mentioned his side of the family here, have I? I haven’t seen him in years. I wonder if he’s new in town, too. Or maybe he’s been living here since Aunt Dolly threw him out.

So, Human Oliver is gay. In hindsight, it’s not too surprising. I shouldn’t assume that he’s gay, though, that’s kind of gross. Mom used to do that all the time. “Spot the sinner,” I like to call it. “Oh, that lady’s wearing shoulder pads, she’s must be a dyke. Stay away from that ponytail man, he’s probably a sod. That poor girl’s been hanging around the dyke, she must be her bitch.”

Aunt Dolly did it too when she and Mom still talked. They only stopped when they found out about Casper and that black boy. I say stopped, but they only stopped doing it in front of me. I’d sometimes hear them wailing about it on the phone when they thought I was sleeping. They didn’t want me to know we had “a gay” in the family, of course. Although, they did a real shit job of hiding it. There’s only so many times you can hear about the “poof living in my basement” before you put two and two together. I wonder if they didn’t talk about it because they didn’t want me to be “a poof” too. Ain’t that funny? Shame they didn’t put that kind of concern into the rest of their parenting.

The thing about Mom, I think she wanted to be a “helicopter parent”. I’ve been reading this book my professor mentioned called “Between Parent & Teenager”, that used that term. It means parents who “hover”. You know, the type that throws a fit if you don’t call every day. Needs to know everything from your favourite food to what position you prefer getting fucked in the ass in. Mom wanted people to think she was like that, but she didn’t want to put the work in. I remember when I was in fourth grade, we had a talent show. I didn’t tell her about it. She found out about it the day after when my teacher asked her why she didn’t show.

Mom was furious. I still can’t stand it when people touch me under my right arm, right between the shoulder and elbow. Her fingers feel like talons when she gets her nails in. But the show she gave my teacher before we left!

“Woe is me, my son doesn’t tell me anything! Don’t you see how sad that makes me? Oh, how badly I wish I could have been there! Oh, woe is me!”

She wouldn’t have gone. I know because she never went to any of the other ones. She’d string me along until the day of and then the excuses would come and that’d be that. The excuses weren’t for me, they were for my teachers and the other parents. She couldn’t give a rat’s ass if I thought she was coming. If no one else asked she’d just be like “Eh, I didn’t feel like coming. Sorry. The world wasn’t made for you. I have a life too, you know! I do so much for you already, I deserve some slack. You’re such a horrible son! Being so mean to me!”

Mom loved it when I didn’t bother her with the trivial happenings in my life. Either it let her live in oblivious bliss or it let her play the victim. She told everyone who would listen about “her horrible son, keeping secrets from her!” for months after the fact. Even years later, she’d sometimes bring it up for her annual pity parties. I wouldn’t be surprised if she still talked about it now, over a decade later.

Hovering when people were looking, happy when I wasn’t thankful.

I’ve gone so off-topic. Back to Casper.

He definitely saw me. I was on my way in while he and Human Oliver were on their way out. They were busy talking so he might not have had time to recognize me if I didn’t fuck up. But I fucked up, so fuck me I guess. I hid in the bushes. No, scratch that, I fucking fell into the bushes. If they didn’t see me, they definitely heard me. By the time I got up, they were getting into their car and he looked at me. It was just a glance, but the look in his eye told me that he knew. That’s how I know that he and Human Oliver are a thing. Or, I guess, how I’m pretty sure they’re a thing. They weren’t holding hands or kissing or even within touching distance of each other, but they looked like they wanted to be. Father used to say you can tell a lot by the way people look at each other. Maybe that’s why he never liked looking at me. Off-topic, sorry.

I should’ve said something to him. He must have thought I was hiding because I hated him. Look, if you’re gay then you’re gay, it’s none of my fucking business. What right do I have to judge? I’m a dumbass! Frankly, the fact that our cunty family hates Casper might make me like the bastard more. Enemy of my enemy, you know?

It wasn’t a him thing, it was a me thing. I hate talking to people who know my family. I don’t know why, it just makes me all stuttery. And I don’t know anything about gay people. I’m not saying that it makes them lesser, but it still makes them different, doesn’t it? Or maybe it doesn’t, I don’t know! And I can’t ask, right? And the only thing I know about Casper is that he’s gay. We were never close both before or after the incident. What good could talking to him do for either of us? It’ll just bring up bad shit from the past. So, you know, maybe it was a good thing I hid. I was saving him from having to talk to me. So, yeah, you’re welcome, Casper. Have a nice life. That sounds so bitchy when I read it back. I’m being sincere here, I promise. Have a nice life, Casper. You fucking deserve it after the shit they put you through.

I’ve been writing for too long. My eyes hurt. I’ll write again later, Journal Oliver. Thanks for listening.