Dear Little JO,
I felt pretty bad about that last letter so I’m writing you another one during my free period. I mean it doesn’t matter if we put extra letters in Khang’s box. It’s not like she’s going to take marks off for doing that.
In Math I sit pretty close to Bron. We got to talking and at some point I told her about Khang’s assignment and that I’m writing to you. She thought it was hilarious. She goes, I bet you’re getting more than one page a week from him. And I bet he’s making you write more than one page a week too.
I said she seems to know you pretty well for being the kid brother of her friend. She said she and Shayna let you tag along with them everywhere since you don’t have friends your own age. I mean I was already aware you don’t have friends from seeing you at school alone all the time. But Bron sort of calls it like she sees it, doesn’t she? She says things that don’t sound harsh at the time but look harsh when you write them down. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m mostly alone at school too. Alone everywhere actually.
I don’t know why I told Bron about our letters. I guess I was looking for a second opinion about you and the way you stand out so much. And how you do it on purpose, it seems. Wearing all those costumes et cetera. Drawing fire, is how I think of it. How you draw fire.
Writing that makes me think of something I read for the PSA assignment. In an explosion you will naturally want to hold your breath. Don’t though. The blast wave will overpressurize the air and burst your lungs like balloons. Most explosion victims die from bleeding lungs not shrapnel.
So I asked Bron why you wear those clothes. Today it was that shirt with the little red flowers and that greenish-brownish blazer. Tweed or something. Like you’re about to go hunting in Wales or someplace. Or that bow tie the other day with the swirly blue-and-yellow pattern. I mean I see those outfits on you and I nearly break into a sweat thinking about your safety. A walking target.
She goes, Hasn’t he introduced you to his idol Walt Whitman yet?
I had to laugh. Yeah, me and Walt are already on friendly terms, I said.
Bron goes, It’s cosplay.
I ask her what that is, and she explains that you’re a hard-core Whitman fanboy, so you dress like him. Bron’s exact words: hard-core fanboy.
Is that a thing? I ask her. Like, is there a club or something?
Nope, there’s just Jonathan, she says.
Do you remember that dog walker I mentioned? I’ve been paying a bit more attention to him lately. This morning the dogs were sort of pulling him along the sidewalk, and he goes, They are scenting the death of the natural world. Those were his exact words. I mean it almost sounded like poetry, like some of that poetry you’ve been sending me. Or maybe he actually said sensing, not scenting. Sensing the death of the natural world.
So apparently what you’re supposed to do in an explosion is reduce your lateral profile. This means lie on your side and put your arm over your exposed eye.
I guess the dog walker didn’t have time to follow these instructions. When I talk to him he has to turn his head all the way around to the other side so he can see me with his one eye and hear me with his one ear.
Sincerely,
AK