Letters With Boys

Memphis and Gray, Week 4 - October

Beautiful Mem,

I am eagerly awaiting your assessment of me from Saturday night. Did you find me charming? Funny? Ruggedly handsome, perhaps? Devilishly debonair? Perhaps you could grade me on all possible attributes? LOOKS, WARDROBE, CONVERSATION, SENSE OF HUMOR, ALCOHOL TOLERANCE LEVEL, et cetera?

In the meantime, I will give you my assessment of you: you are an angel sent from drummer chick heaven to out-dart, out-pool, and out-karaoke me at every turn. 10/10 across the board.

(Seriously, where did you learn all those skills? Brooklyn?)

When can I see you next? When can I hear you play the drums for real, and not just by banging chopsticks against the side of the bar? (Not that that wasn’t impressive.)

Will you be wearing the same, tiny black dress and leather jacket? Can you wear the same thing every day for the rest of your life? Because I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for a sexier outfit to exist. Though I would be happy to be proven wrong by you.

I really wanted to kiss you, you know. But after all your talk about how creepy Ezra was, and also about how creepy I was, I decided not to push it.

Feel free to give me permission anytime you’d like, though. I’m ready and willing.

Hopelessly yours,

Gray

P.S.: Singing Babe I’m Gonna Leave You with you is the new highlight of my life.

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Hopeless Gray,

It’s (mostly) very sweet of you to say all that. (If a little over-the-top.) Since you were a perfect gentleman, and such behavior unfortunately needs to be rewarded since it’s still so far from normal with your kind, I will give you the requested assessment.

LOOKS: 8/10. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to call you “ruggedly handsome,” but I like your stubble and dark hair. And you have nice eyes, I guess. Kind of like the color of fog. Or your name. 

WARDROBE: 8/10. I also wouldn’t use the term “devilishly debonair.” More like “possibly in a motorcycle gang.” But I do like motorcycles.

CONVERSATION: 9/10. Thank you for not just complimenting me the whole time as you tend to do in your letters, as this gets very tedious and more than a little embarrassing. I was pleasantly surprised that you are actually very fun and easy to talk to.

SENSE OF HUMOR: 9/10. I also was not expecting you to be quite so funny. It’s not that hard to make me or Tally laugh, but you even made Bridget laugh, and that is no small feat. 

ALCOHOL TOLERANCE LEVEL: 10/10. Props to you on that one, my friend. It's not easy keeping up with me, I know.

BONUS POINTS: +10 for being nice to my friends. That is very important to me.

Mem

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Sweet Songbird Mem,

I wish you could have seen me when I read your letter, because I actually jumped out of my chair and cheered out loud, causing my teacher to scowl at me and my classmates, including Kai, to jeer at me. But it was worth it.

That being said, now that I’ve had some time to let the initial joy of being an 8+ in your eyes settle in, I think I need to know who you see as a 9 and 10 in the looks department. For example, if it’s, like, Ryan Reynolds who’s a 9 and, say, Henry Cavill as the Witcher who’s a 10, I can live with that. But if, God forbid, you consider Ezra to be a 9 or a 10, I’ll need serious therapy for life.

I liked your friends, by the way. I’m not sure what changed between the time Kai told me your buddy Bridget was an ice queen to this past weekend, when they seemed like best friends, but she definitely didn’t seem like an ice queen. She actually acts totally different than she looks, if that makes sense. Like, one might expect her to start waving pom-poms at any moment (not me, but someone), and then she goes and makes these wise-c***k jokes with a really dark and twisted sense of humor that one might not have expected at all.

And Tally was a sweetheart. I get the feeling she has no idea how beautiful she is, despite the way Kai was drooling all over her. Poor guy.

(She’s not as beautiful as you, of course. But no one is.)

Right—less compliments.

I noticed that despite how delightful you were in your last letter, you made no mention of meeting up with me again. Was that just an oversight? (I hope?) What are you up to this weekend? As mentioned previously, I would love to see you drum. Or really just to see you.

Your Biggest Fan,

Gray

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Hey Gray,

Ezra is a 0/10.

Ryan Reynolds is only an 8. I’ll give the 9 to Henry Cavill’s Witcher, and the 10 to the dude who plays Khal Drogo and Aquaman, whose name I can never remember.

I won’t be able to meet up this weekend, sorry. Going into the city to see the Strokes. 

We're going to another of Kai’s soccer games this evening, or so I’m told by the bosses. You are welcome to join us, though I know it’s not really your thing.

Please don’t plan on seeing me play the drums anytime soon. The drums are at my house, which means you would have to come to my house to hear them, and my brother Todd does not do well with strangers.

Mem

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Mem,

It was as nice as always seeing you yesterday, and even nicer that you were sweet enough to invite me, but I can’t help feeling that something was different about you. You were so much quieter, and you seemed sad. Are you okay? Did I do something to upset you?

I noticed that everyone got quiet when I brought up the Strokes concert. I don’t get the feeling that the girls are going with you to this one. Is it another guy, Mem? You can tell me if it is. I won’t lie and tell you it wouldn’t hurt, but it’s not like you’ve made me any promises. 

You can tell me anything, you know. I wish there was more I could share with you, but I think I’ve already covered it all at this point.

Well, I guess I could share that I thought you looked really pretty yesterday. I probably won’t be able to shake the image of you in the black dress and the leather jacket for as long as I live, but it was nice to see you in your more natural state. I like your hair all wavy and windblown like that. It’s so long and shiny—I just want to run my fingers through it.

I’ve never really had someone I could say that to before—I want to run my fingers through your hair. I mean, sure, I’ve had a few girlfriends. But it always felt so fake—like there were a million miles between us. I’ve never felt that way talking to you.

At least, not until today.

Please let me know that you’re okay.

Gray

P.S.: The fact that you gave me and Ryan Reynolds the same score in the looks department makes me feel very happy. As does the fact that you gave Ezra a zero.

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Gray—

Man, you’re perceptive. I like to think I’m stealthier than that, but I guess my poker face must suck.

Remember how I told you that I’m afraid of men? Well, I meant it. And now that I’ve met you and confirmed that you’re not only a man, but a cute and likable one, to boot… well, sorry, but you scare me a little bit more than you did before. 

My trip this weekend is with Matt Hirsch, my ex. October 4th is what would have been our eight year anniversary as a couple, if we hadn’t broken up when we were 16. (Not sure you can really be considered a “couple” at age 10, but we held hands and all that crap.) He surprised me with the tickets a few weeks ago, and I said I’d go.

Matt likes to do this sort of thing to check up on me, especially at this time of year, when I tend to go off the rails a lot harder than usual. It’s not romantic between us anymore, if that eases your pain any. It was nothing but romantic once, but things changed, and now we’re just like you described with your other girlfriends—a million miles apart. Even when we’re standing right to each other, singing along to Reptilia.

I feel close to you, too, Gray—really, I do. But that’s about all I can give you right now. It’s hard for me to make promises. It’s generally just hard with me. 

And you deserve something easier.

Mem