Dear Friend,
Tonight was a really great night. I sat on Patrick's bed, my legs crossed, and aimlessly pointing his laser pointer over the walls, drawing little pictures, wondering what would happen if they could come out of the walls and be real. Patrick sat on the floor, and his sobs kept coming. Tonight was one of the nights where we drove into Pittsburgh and drank wine. But this time, we didn't drive into Pittsburgh or drink wine. Sam was away at Penn State for her summer program, and then she would start college. Patrick's parents were in New York for the weekend, so we were alone. I sure do miss Sam a lot. I miss her very much. Patrick just sat on the floor and cried, and I just sat there and watched him. I tried to comfort him, but he just told me that I had done enough, and that I didn't have to worry. But I did worry, and I do worry, because I love Patrick. Patrick is my best friend and I want him to be okay. I don't want him to drink wine all the time because then he might end up like my grandfather. I don't want him to be sad all the time and get hurt by people because then he might end up like my aunt Helen. I really don't want him to end up like her. I want him to live a good life, and a happy one, and not be screwed over by people like Aunt Helen was. Then something peculiar happened, and here is how it went:
"Brad never even loved me. It was just one of those stupid 'experiment' things," Patrick sobbed. "I'm never going to find anyone like him. He was so kind, and so compassionate, and so loving when no one was looking," he went on. "I just wished he'd shown it. I wish he'd been more proud and more happy." Patrick quieted down a little bit. Then Patrick stood up and climbed on the the bed and sat next to me. I put the laser pointer down next to me.
"Charlie," Patrick said, his face quite close to mine. "Do you think Brad liked me?" I though for a moment, and went over it in my head.
"I think he did. I mean, if he didn't would he really have gone through the trouble of having sex with you? You told me he assumed the role of the girl in the place where you put things, and that hurts, doesn't it?" Patrick nodded, and a few tears slipped out.
"That was the most beautiful night of my life. Brad said he loved me..." Patrick sighed, and moved yet closer.
"You know what I think, Patrick? I think Brad really did love you," Patrick began to sob again, and leaned into my shoulder this time.
"He was just too fixated on what other people thought. I'm sure if he were as bold and proud and confident of a person as you are, then maybe he would've stayed with you. I know it." His sobs increased even more, and he started to shake.
"But I'm not confident, it's all fake. This here you see, it's real." Patrick said softly, and I gave him a hug.
"It's going to be okay, Patrick, you'll see. You'll be okay, you'll be fine, you'll find someone who's as proud to be who they are as you..." I said to him, even though it sounded pretty cliche. I sort of felt like I was reflecting like Holden does in The Catcher in the Rye, one of my favorite books that Bill gave me.
"Charlie," Patrick began, his eyes meeting with mine and not moving. "Remember the other night when we drove into Pittsburgh and talked about Suburban Legends, and then I kissed you?" I nodded, remembering the feel of his lips against mine, his need for comfort, and his tear-stained cheeks. "Well, um, can we do that again? But make it longer?" I thought it over for a little. I didn't mind; in fact, I liked the feeling of Patrick kissing me. I don't know why, but I did.
"Okay," I said, and I felt the warmness against my mouth like a few nights ago. I felt his tongue slip between my lips, and he began to slide his hand up my leg. We broke apart, and he looked into my eyes for approval. I didn't answer, so he said "Charlie, is it okay? Sam told me about before..." but I didn't let him finish.
"It's okay, Patrick. I like it." A smile broke across his face, and we began to kiss again.

Love always,
Charlie