Hell

Dear Mother and Pop,

Please don’t be mad at me and don’t be worried. My bed’s still made and I’m gone because I didn’t come home last night. And if you will read this letter real slow, you will find out what happened.

First, I’m sorry I had to lie to you both last night. There wasn’t any other way.

I have left town with Reverend Carson. He’s the revival preacher at church.

PLEASE DON’T WORRY. This is God’s will for me and there is no safer place on earth than with Reverend Carson. He will take good care of me and I’ll eat right and I’ll sleep right and I promise you I’ll be careful in my travels. You both have taught me how to be responsible and I won’t forget what you taught.

I know you can’t understand why I’ve gone and done this to you. I never ever wanted in my life to cause you to suffer and I just pray you won’t be too upset by me leaving. I would just hate for you to be unhappy.

But God has called me to help this preacher. I don’t know why He chose me, but I’m the one who got the job. I know you will think it’s all a bunch of foolishness, but PLEASE just try to let me do this for God. I’m different. You’ve known all along I was different. And I know you probably wished a thousand times I’d turned out some other way, but I’m just like this and there’s no changing me.

I just feel called. Like God has planted some message in me and I’ve got to follow what it says. And I can’t do anything else till I follow it.

So I’ve gone traveling with the Preacher. He says he’ll teach me things like I’d learn at school, so you don’t have to worry about that. And if he stops traveling and settles down someplace, then I’ll start back to regular school.

I’ll try to come and see you both when I can.

I’m asking you, please don’t come after me or send the police to get me. We’ll be hiding awhile, but I don’t want to hide all my life. If you don’t chase after me, I won’t have to.

Just please don’t worry. The Preacher will take care of everything. He’s a GOOD MAN.

Mother, I wanted to leave you some kind of little present but I didn’t have enough time to think up something real nice. So on my travels I’ll look for just what I think you’d like and I’ll send it to you.

Pop, I tried to finish up some work around the house. I would have painted the mailbox, too, but I ran out of paint. I’m sorry if I never did as much work for you as I could have. I really love you both. I wish I could take you with me. I’ll be safe. Don’t worry.

Love,

Pete

P.S. If you want, Rufus can have my bike. His is about busted.

When I finally woke up, the first thing I saw was the letter taped to my mirror where I’d left it. FOR MOTHER AND POP FROM PETE the envelope said. I’d borrowed some of Mother’s pink-flowered stationery.

When I woke up, I saw the letter and, like in a dream, I got out of bed, walked over, and pulled the letter off the mirror, then climbed back under the sheet with it. I opened it up and, lying flat on my back, I read it. I read it straight through without ever yet thinking about what had happened the night before. I read it, I guess, to get some hold on everything that was spinning around in my head.

It was after eleven. Pop long gone. Mother probably out, too. The house quiet. The sun coming in the window.

I had slept like a dead person. And what happened to me at the filling station still wasn’t coming through clear.

Dear Mother and Pop.

I really did write that letter yesterday, I thought. I really did write that letter and I really did pack my bag and I really did leave home last night. For good. I left home for good.

Then what was I doing lying in my own bed the next morning? My letter in my hands and my duffel bag next to my bed and me supposed to be somewhere else?

Oh, Lord.

Where were you, Preacher? I waited and waited and you never came for me. Where were you?

I was all set. I was even early. I wouldn’t even drink a pop, Preacher! I wouldn’t even drink a pop because of you.

I watched that clock. You never came down that street, Preacher. You never came, then Rufus came. Rufus! And here I am with my insides all a wreck, and I am wondering, Where are you, Preacher?

Oh, that morning I hurt. I crushed up that letter to my folks and threw it across the room. I didn’t want to get up but I didn’t want to stay in bed, either. I didn’t want to cry but I didn’t want not to cry. I didn’t want to remember but I didn’t want to forget.

I just wished for some miracle.

I just wished for the Preacher to come walking in my door.

Deep down, I thought he would come walking in my door.