Dear Denise,
Me and Keith broke up again. He ignored me all day. He can KISS MY ASS!!! It took me a whole five hours of tears to figure that out. I still love him and everything, but I’m sick of getting a bit of love dangled before my eyes like a tidbit before a dog. I won’t (repeat won’t) kiss his ass anymore!
Now for the local gossip. Greg spent this weekend in the mountains, with Tom, Steve and the Dunbars and they all dropped acid. Greg really dug it. I’m glad to have them back.
Cynthia and Greg still like each other and Pete still likes Vicky. Did you get a letter from Keith (alias: THE BASTARD, just kidding ha ha!)? He said he wrote you. Well, I guess that’s all, see you soon!!
Later,
Martha
Me and Keith are completely broken up. He can shove it up his ass. We just broke up tonight. Man, he was such a pecker about it I can’t believe it. You would have to be here to understand the situation. I clean, sew, and work my ass off for him and he never has a kind word for me. It burns my ass.
A super-lot has been happening. Greg’s getting a van and some land. I got suspended. I got busted for smoking pot. Two days later I got caught with cigarettes. Then last night me, Dickie, Scott, Greg and Brian D. got loaded in Dickie’s pool and we were pretty well fucked up when we went to the dance and I got caught at the dance completely loaded. All the faculty are really on my case. It’s been pure hell just keeping my mouth shut and staying out of trouble.
Mom was really cool about me getting busted. All she did was cut off my allowance for two weeks.
After getting kicked out of the dance we all walked up to Albertson’s. Scott and I were walking ahead of everyone else, singing James Taylor. That was far-out.
I wish I liked somebody. Even if they didn’t like me it would be better than not feeling anything.
Later and love,
Martha
Denise,
I had to open my letter and put this in. It’s 1:30 in the morning. I just got off the phone with Keith! We talked for 2 hours!!! He just got back from Utah and went over to spend the night at Bobby Langer’s house. Bobby lives across town. I just walked in and the phone rang and it was Keith. He said he called three times earlier but I wasn’t home. I said no, I wasn’t home. None of his beeswax. We just talked about what we were doing and that shit until Keith said, “Know what?”
“No, what?”
“I’m drunk.”
“Oh.”
“Know why?”
“No, why?”
“How long have we been broken up?”
“About a week, I guess.”
“Seems like a year.” Then silence.
I said, “What the hell are you talking about?” but I knew.
“I’m trying to forget you but it won’t work.”
“Oh.” I’m about in tears.
“Martha, do you still feel for me?”
I didn’t know what to tell him. I half love him and half hate him. “Ask me that question when you’re sober.”
I’m hoping he won’t remember. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that before I mailed this. Maybe you can make some sense out of the whole thing. I can’t.
Bye,
Martha
I just wrote you to tell you I have absolutely nothing to write about. Except this: we went to Jesus Christ Superstar last night. Me and Keith and Pete and Barb and Jack went together. It had to be the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. I was sobbing by the time the thirty-nine lashes came around. I can’t even describe how fantastic it was!
Yes, Keith and I are back together. I can’t stop thinking about him. I think I’m mentally ill. Love is a fucking hassle.