Dear Miss Reynolds,
I am writing to you in my pajamas on the front room couch with a lot of blankets and pillows because I have mono, which is called the kissing disease so I don’t know how I got it, I have never kissed anyone, but I would like to kiss you. Guess what I just watched on The Early Show? Singing in the Rain. And I have to say, it was pretty sickening, especially your grinning boyfriend Gene Kelly, and that other guy, the little one who sang about making them laugh, he made me want to hit him with something. But I think you are very cute and spunky. May I call you Deb? I think I have a fever, Deb. I think I might be sicker than they think. In case you’re wondering, I am thirteen, eighth grade, Sister Marie Alice’s class, Queen of Apostles, Riverdale, suburb of Chicago, Illinois, United States, North America, planet Earth, the Universe. Sister Marie Alice is the smallest nun in the school but she can slap you so hard you see stars, like in a cartoon. Are you Catholic, Deb? Every time I think about you naked, do you know what I am doing? Driving the nails in deeper into His tender hands and feet. That’s what Sister calls them, His tender hands and feet. I have the chills really bad, but I’m sweating like a pig—how can that be, Deb? Maybe I’m dying. If I died right now I would go straight to Hell and lay there twisting and screaming in pain, without any let-up, forever. Ever think about forever? It’s hard to, then all of a sudden you get it and you think No! No! Right now though, all I’m thinking about is you, in a pair of yellow rain boots, and that’s all, just the rain boots. Hope you don’t mind. I’m trying to say I like you, Deb, a lot. I like the way you sing and the way you dance and I like that chubby face of yours. But I have to say, a couple of times during the movie I was sort of hating you. Know why? Because I could tell you knew what a cutie you were, singing and dancing away, laughing inside, knowing the way you were making me get.
Pray for me, Deb.
Sincerely,
Your number one fan