Letters From Foxes Chapter 1.

Chapter 1. 

      She keeps trying to talk to me.

      I mean, I guess I've known her for a long time. All my life, practically. But that's how it always is with private school kids. It's impossible not to know everyone your whole life, unless they move away or I guess someone new comes here. But Jesus, I've known this girl my whole life, or whatever, and we've never spoken. And now she wants to talk to me. 6 months from graduation.

      It's not like she's not pretty.

      She is.

      I guess.

      Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wears lots of short skirts and things. I mean, she wears the uniform skirt. It just seems shorter on her than most of the other girls, for some reason. Her family's pretty rich. Not that I'm poor or anything. I'm just not rich. She's rich. Or whatever. She's just… you know. One of those girls.

      The kind who don't talk to me.

      Usually.

      Not that I want to talk to a girl like her anyway.

      I got home from school today. My mom was making omelets. In the middle of the day, omelets. My mom's in this… brunch phase right now. Probably because it's the only time of day she's home. Anyway. So the kitchen smells like eggs and cheese and bacon, and now my mouth is watering cause I just remembered I haven't eaten all day, and then my mom tells me some girl came by. She said the girl left a note, and that it's on the kitchen table. I told her to make me an omelet cause I'm starved to death. Hell, make me two.

      So I went over to the table. Picked up the letter. I figured it must be from that girl I told you about. Her name's Sasha Peterson. She keeps talking to me… so I figured it must have been her. But her name wasn't on the note. At the bottom, it was signed, “Love, Fox.”

      Fox. What the f**k.

      The letter was short. Not really a letter, more like a note. “Dear Topher. I'd love to meet you sometime. Love Fox.”

      I looked at it for a few minutes, then ripped it up. Bullshit. “Mom, who was this girl? Was it Sasha Peterson?”

      She called back at me from the kitchen. “Sasha Peterson? Old Kingston's daughter?” She laughed. “No, no it wasn't her. Why, you two getting along?”

      I said nothing.

      I could hear the eggs and bacon sizzling in their pans.

      “Mom. Who was it?”

      “I don't know, Christopher. She was kind of short. I've never seen her before. Pretty, though. Red hair.”

      Red hair. There are only 3 girls in our class with red hair. Two of them are butt-a*s ugly. One of them is… well pretty plain. Rebecca Leaves. I don't know her that well. But I've known her my whole life. Just like Sasha. Just like everyone.

      Huh. Rebecca Leaves.

      What a f*****g weirdo.

      I tossed the note remains in the trash, then walked down the hall to my room. Forgetting my eggs. My mom brought them into me. I said thanks I think.

      I just laid face down on my bed for a little while. My room's pretty small. We have an apartment, and all. The big apple. West village. We have a pretty big one, to be honest. I mean, all things considered. But my room's just… small.

      And bland.

      White walls. I have a few posters. Mostly just clippings from newspapers and Rolling Stone magazines. Bands and stuff. Or cool pictures that make the Times. There's one, right above the little table I have in the corner, the one my turntable sits on. It's this picture of a car crash. It's pretty gory, even in black and white, just cause you know how bad it really is. I thought it was interesting. Kinda beautiful in a weird way. I mean, not beautiful. People die and stuff. But interesting. Well… it's just a cool picture.

      I heard a thud, a click, and a whir, and I knew I had to take my head out of the pillow for a second. “Mom, the air conditioner's on again!” I shouted. Then I groaned, and thrust my head back into the pre-made face-shaped mold in the pillow.

      Our air conditioner's broken. Not the way you'd think, like in the summer when it's hot as hell and it stops running, so you have to bathe in your own f*****g sweat. It's the opposite. It's fall, close to winter. F*****g November, and the air condition keeps turning on. Randomly. I think it's trying to kill us.

      The noise stopped, and I knew she'd turned it off.

      I ate my eggs.

      I briefly thought about the note from that stupid Leaves girl again. But I decided it was too dumb to dwell on. I sat on my bed for a while. Just staring. Like you do.

      Then I went outside for a smoke. My mom doesn't know I smoke. Or she does. Who knows. I smell like it when I come back inside, so I think she must know and just ignores it. My mom smokes. She told me about when she was a kid, and all, her mom found a pack of cigarettes in her purse. Her mom just put 'em back, and pretended they didn't exist. Think that's what she's doing with me. Or something. But she still smokes, so she can't tell me not to.

      It's cold as f**k outside. God. My jacket's pretty light. I mean, it's fall, not winter yet, so I didn't wear anything too heavy today. The sky's pretty gray. Overcast. Not snowy yet, not til the end of the month. Hopefully. You can never really tell when it'll start snowing. Sometimes it starts in October, sometimes December. Lasts for f*****g ever though. Who knows.

      The smoke from my cigarette matched the sky. It's kinda pretty. Sort of. No, it is. It's hard to tell if the smoke coming out of my mouth is really smoke, or if it's fog from my breath. It's cold as f**k. My hands hurt, they're pretty red. But it's nice to be outside.

      Lots of people walk by our stoop. It's a pretty nice area to live. On the corner of Downing and Bedford. I mean, it's no neighborhood like Sasha Peterson lives in. I've never been to her house, but I know she lives somewhere rich. Penthouse s**t. Her dad does… something. Lawyer maybe? I forget. Old Kingston, that's what my mom calls him. His name is really Kingston, how awful is that? Kingston. Like some British prince or something. But I don't know, he makes lots of money doing something in business. And his wife, Jesus. She's damn sexy. At least 20 years younger than him.

      Anyway, these people walking by. Two of them's a couple. A coupla meatheads. Holding hands down the street, kissing and canoodaling. Disgusting. They have to realize everyone in the whole damn city can see them. I mean. It's kind of cute I guess, but not in public. If I wanted to see two people fornicating I'd buy a f*****g porno.

      Don't tell my mom, but I have those too.

      I'm not a momma's boy or anything. She's just all I have. My dad left when I was 6 or so. I was going to have a sister, but my mom miscarried. So it's just us two. She's a doctor. Delivers babies or some s**t. So yeah, we make enough. I mean, like I said we're not poor or nothing. My grandparents are rich, though. They give us money too. Like for college, I'm set. I can go anywhere I want. Debt free. If I wanna. And they buy my clothes and albums and stuff. I still use a turntable.

      My friend Will started buying CDs recently. He has a Walkman and s**t. I mean… I guess I should probably get one. I'd like to be able to listen to music outside. And I think tapes are stupid. I tried listening to cassette tapes once, when my mom got this player for 'em, and I messed it up right away. Some dumb Styx tape, and the damn thing got all caught up in the machine and I sort of accidently pulled apart the ribbony part.

      But Will says CDs are great. “Revolutionary”, he said, verbatim.

      I guess I'll suck it up.

      Maybe I'll buy one later today.

      I finished up my smoke, and stomped it with my boot. Don't tell anyone, but I love that feeling. Squashing the butt like a bug. I dunno why.

      Some more people walked by. Lots of them. I just stood and watched for a while. Even though it's cold out, I like to watch them. There's an old guy across the street, yelling at something. I tried to figure out what, but I couldn't tell. Maybe he was yelling at himself. You never know, there's some crazies in this city. I mean it.