Chapter 1: Pilot

September 21, 1999

Dear Friend,

My name is Charlie. I would ask what your name is, but seeing as how I'm exchanging lines and dots to a once blank piece of paper, it would be quite foolish to expect a response. Nonetheless, I would like to ask a favor from you. Would you be so kind and remain patient with me? Tomorrow marks the beginning of my journey as a freshman in high school. Tomorrow marks the beginning of a four year tragedy. I've heard enough of high school to not want to participate in it but just like the other tragedies in my life, all life forms will continue to move on regardless of your active participation. People, real people, aren't quite patient with me. The few people who has shown tenderness and patience towards me were ironically taken away from me. Aunt Helen was kind, patient, and passionately caring towards me. She was my first best friend—but, I've been known to make a habit out of losing friends. Not voluntarily, never, but inevitably, those who have been fond of my company have a difficult time staying. Aunt Helen was my first best friend, but she was also several other "firsts" for me, too. First to ride a rollercoaster with, first to share a banana split sundae with, first to pick me up from elementary school…first to have been taken away from me, selfishly. Whenever I think about the happy memories with Aunt Helen, my body begins to shut down and I find myself clutching my chest rather heavily. It feels as if my body is protecting itself from…me. She was a good person; she was Aunt Helen, my Aunt Helen. She would never hurt me, yet, my body shrivels up and I can feel my heart beating out in anger. Sometimes when I resist the pain of my body, the world stops for a moment and I can single out the beating of my heart. When I visit an old memory of Aunt Helen, my heart will play a slow ambient melody. When I sit in front of my desk late at night and I space out on the picture of Aunt Helen and a younger me, my heart will begin to thrash around abnormally, it knocks me back from my chair. When I'm sitting around the dinner table during a family gathering, my heart will start playing slow, like a lullaby, and then it'll stop so abruptly that I find myself manually breathing on my own without a heart for a moment. Over the last few years, I've learned to differentiate between the different kinds of melodies my heart plays. There will be moments when my body is its own person, and I find myself communicating to my body as if I was a ghost peeking inside another being's secrets and memories. The slower the melody, the lonelier and colder it feels in my body. The faster the melody, the heavier it feels to live inside this broken body. When I'm alone, the slower melodies are the most painful to listen to. To tell you the truth, this whole time that I've been writing to you, my pen has been moving to the beating of my heart. There's a new song tonight; a softer beat but a faster melody. It's both equally painful and calming to listen to. Maybe this song will be the first song of my four year journey soundtrack. I'll listen to it when I need you and you're unable to be there for me. I'll name it "Wallflower". You will be my wallflower. You'll be patient, and stay this time, right? Please stay this time.

Love always,

Charlie.