Thank you for allowing me to take an interest in anything, and encouraging it, but always making it my responsibility to get done. Thank you for never forcing or coercing me into a career of your liking. Thank you for telling me that I am beautiful.
Over time you will begin to acclimate yourself to the unique features of this massive metropolis, and you might even start to like some of them. Frankly, the sooner you do the better. Therefore, in the spirit of public service, here’s a short list of things you’re going to have to get used to now that you’re here.
I am descendant from apes, this is true, but I am nogorilla, and in that light I admit I am the descendant of religious folk but am no longer a believer. Religion is my coccyx bone, and the fact that its residual echoes choose to surface during moments of passion is something I have come—pardon the pun—to relish.
The hardest part about leaving the city is the idea of quitting. If I quit Manhattan, than I become a quitter. And when you’re a mover and a shaker, you’re not a quitter. To quit anything is bad form.
I remember seeing you, I remember having a good enough time. I don’t remember piecing together the obvious parts. Until now. Now, when every realization is exploding right next to my face, one after another, right around my temples. My eyes flicker with each burst semblance of a better life.
Through my work and experience in AP Literature, I’ve learned that nearly any work of writing can be analyzed to reveal deeper meaning. This will influence my future by allowing me to see the unintentional depth hidden in seemingly one-dimensional words.
Here’s what happens. We strike it, but it doesn’t die. It crowned from the blackness of suburbia like a king, hunted by asphalt and high beam lights. Night usurped by day. Flashes of antiqued green. Down goes Frazier. Engines revved for the K.O. That was any scenario. But this is mine.
Is it problematic that I haven’t ever really done anything rebellious or teenager-ish? Is it going be like people say, where the kids who never did anything bad are the ones that go crazy and lose it in college? Shouldn’t I be working on my final English paper on Nabokov instead of writing this?
I have come, finally, to understand the plot of the film Mouse Hunt, in which Nathan Lane loses his mind chasing after a furry little creature with whom the audience empathizes. When I saw the kiddie mainstay, I was in its target demographic, and, of course, rooted for the mouse. It was so cute! Now, I am rooting for Nathan Lane—which is more or less rooting for myself.
Age 12: I am informed by my parents that God kills kittens every time a boy masturbates. My parents decide it’s funny to make dying cat noises when they walk past my room on their way to bed. Masturbation is suddenly less fun.