Call Me Charlie

Issue 321

You guys,

I thought I was being honest in my writing until I read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers.

When he was 21 years old, Dave’s parents died within months of each other and he was left to care for his 7-year-old brother. At his mother’s funeral, after his father had already died, he stands to speak, and when he looks over the podium, he writes:

“Where were the people? It was not a crowd. It was a scattered thing, a few here, a few there. Everyone loved her, where were they?... This could not be, would not do, a life and then this, this forty people. ... Where is her family? Where are her sisters? There is only Uncle Dan, who has come, he says, ‘to represent the family.’ ... Where are the people from town? Where are the parents of her former students? My friends? ... All she put in, all she gave for you people and this is— She fought for so long for all you people, she fought every day, she fought everything, fought for every breath until the last, sucking everything she could out of the air in that brown living room, gasped again and again, it was unbelievable, yes, she grabbed at the air, grabbed for us and for you, and where were you?

Where are you motherfucking assholes?”

That’s how the chapter ends. He does not write about any of the forty people who were there, the people he was grateful for, the people he appreciated and who said kind things. Of course those people were there, and of course, I imagine, he also felt those things.

Every day I think dark, mean, judgmental, self-righteous thoughts, and then my rational brain swoops in and corrects me. When the mother of the young girl at school offered to walk my daughter to class I looked at her and thought, You’re ruining this. Of course, it was so nice of her to offer, and she had no idea that Layla only wanted to walk in with the girl and not a parent. Of course.

When I read the chapter that ended with, “Where are you motherfucking assholes?” I thought, man he’s angry. And he’s grieving. And he just lost both his parents. And now he’s responsible for his little brother. “Where are you motherfucking assholes” is a thought he had when he was 21 years old at his mother’s funeral. Is that shocking or completely reasonable? To all the people who didn’t show up to his mother’s funeral, who might read the book—what will they think? Will they be appalled by what he’s written? Should he rewrite that part so as not to offend? I’m reminded of a line from a Taylor Swift song: A friend to all is a friend to none. When you try to appease and please anyone, even just one person, you write something that resonates with no one.

Later, when he’s living with just his brother, he goes out one night and leaves Toph with a babysitter. Dave is riddled with guilt and fear about what might happen while he’s gone—the babysitter is surely going to molest and kill his brother. Then while out at the bar, a friend asks him where Toph is, and all Dave can imagine is his brother’s morbid murder right at that very moment. He writes,

“These questions. These people should know better. Are all my friends morons?”

These lines aren’t couched with caveats about how his friends of course have the best intentions and he doesn’t really think they’re morons, or gosh, that’s nice not a nice thing to say and I know that but I’m so worried about my brother and I wish he hadn’t just said that to me. It’s as if Dave the writer has decided to trust me the reader with his story. He’s telling it to me the same way he would a trusted friend. He doesn’t need to apologize or explain or backpedal because he knows I won’t judge him and I’m just there for him. He’s allowed to vent.

In another scene, Dave’s friend has threatened to commit suicide, and Dave shows up at his apartment.

“I go to the bathroom, open the medicine cabinet, dumping everything, more recklessly than I need to, throwing things. I knock over stuff in the shower even. It’s kind of fun. I come up with two prescription-looking bottles. Evidence! I stomp out and hover over him.”

This was not a funny moment. His friend ends up in the hospital. The fact that he had the thought, “It’s kind of fun,” is completely inappropriate. It’s one of those kinds of thoughts that I’ve had and immediately following it I think, That’s a terrible thought, I shouldn’t have thought that.

How many thoughts do we have like this?

In another scene, Dave is at Toph’s school, standing outside with the other parents, waiting for the kids to get out, and he overhears a mom talking about her son.

“‘I figure if he’s gonna smoke, he’s gonna smoke.’ She shrugs elaborately. ‘So I let him fire up at home. At least I know where he is, what he’s doing, that he’s not driving around or something.’

Though she is talking to another parent, she is glancing my way. I have the feeling she expects me, because I am closer to her high schooler’s age than she is, and, because I have creative facial hair, to be sympathetic to her point of view.

But I’m too stunned to speak. She should be jailed. And I should raise her children. Maybe I’m the only one qualified to raise all these kids—so many of these parents are too old, dusty. Worse are those like her, who dress like their children and use their expressions. But ‘fire up’? Who says ‘fire up’?”

Recently I’ve been sending voice notes to my girlfriends in the states. I send these when I’m walking along the dirt roads of Uruguay, and before I press record, I look to my left and right, and then behind me, to make sure none of the parents in my cohort are around, because I’m about to let rip. I’m going to say things I’m not supposed to say, and would be horrified if anyone but my friends heard. I say these things to my friends because it is safe, and I know they will not think I’m a terrible person because I’ve said them, and they will remind me that I’m human, and these thoughts are not all of me, and it’s okay to have them. It’s okay to have dark thoughts without also sharing the immediately rational after-thoughts.

So writing honestly is not enough. Or rather, it’s too much—it’s too much to include the devil on your shoulder followed by the angel. A friend to all is a friend to none. Do you dare share only your devilish side, knowing that you absolutely will, by some people—potentially many people—be judged for it?

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Until next week,

Charlie