If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied before they had me and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it.
In the first place, all that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents could give two rat craps what anyone writes on the internet because literally everyone writes on the internet and besides all that, there's just not too much to say about them.
So I guess I'll tell you the story of how I got my copy of the book and why it means so much to me and all those other dumb gooshy things that all the big phonies write to commemorate the death of some writer whom they never met and who really could've cared less if they lived or died anyway. If you don't want to hear it well I can't blame you and anyway there's a bunch of porn on the internet and that's always more entertaining than any dumb blog piece anyway.
I went to college at one of those big commuter schools that give out scholarships to above average students because no really smart kids ever want to go there. Now I'm not saying I didn't meet a bunch of cool people and have a good time and all that because I did. Well, some of the time anyway. You can't have fun all the time or you're just not thinking. Stupid people are always having fun and the phonies are always pretending to have fun even though they're usually really just thinking of ways to drug girls so they can rape them and about what kind of designer shirt goes best with their stupid iPhones. But if they don't look like they're having fun then none of the dumb girls will want anything to do with them so I guess they have to fake it. But I also guess that there will come a time when they'll stop faking it and they'll wake up one day in a big dumb house with some idiot woman who's more worried about trimming a goddamn Christmas tree than thinking about why we even need Christmas trees in the first damn place.
Anyway, my first day back from school over Christmas break my little sister got me a present. She really is a cool chick my little sister. I mean, she just kills me. Like when she was really little she never wanted to suck her thumb but she always wanted mine. And because you can't say no to a cute little kid and because I guess I was a kind of gross kid myself, I would let her. Man, you should have seen us walking in grocery store aisles and in the mall together with my thumb in her mouth. People always seemed to think it was cute. But people think everything you do is cute when you're a little kid. Even if most of what you do is eat and poop and sleep.
My sister didn't have much dough back when I got back from my first semester of college. But she drew my name for Christmas so she felt she had to get me something even though I really didn't care one way or the other. I mean, it's just some phony-baloney holiday designed to inject money into the retail market anyway and I'd rather have my sister than any dumb gift so I didn't think she should have had to get me anything at all. She was only fifteen for chrissakes. She didn't have any money. What fifteen-year old does?
So I opened this gift from her and it was a copy of The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger, only it wasn't one of those store-bought kind like you see in Barnes and Noble and Borders and all those other stores that sell more coffee than books. It was one of those high school versions of the book, the old ones with the thick white covers that you could beat up chess club members with. And inside, boy oh boy, inside she had written just about the coolest thing any little sister could write.
I opened the book up and when I read it I almost choked up. I'm no pansy or anything but little sisters have a way of making big brothers feel so darned important and when I read the words I had to fight back tears.
I guess since you're still reading this I can share those words with you. I mean, you came this far without even stopping off for porn. Here's what she wrote:
Nate,
I took this book from Parkway West [that's a high school in case you couldn't figure that out]. It always reminded me of you. Mostly in the parts I marked off. Thank you for letting me grow on my own and thanks for helping me create the tools to make that possible.
Love, you
Tiffany Joy.
And I guess there's just not much you can say about such a great message in such a great book. I mean, what would you say? So I didn't say anything at all. I just gave her a big hug and my mom took a picture of it because parents always have to take pictures of their kids getting along so when they lose their memories they can look back and think that everything was always peaches and cream when really we all know that can't be the case all of the time.
And the thing is, every time I miss my sister, I can pull out that book and it's like she's right there with me. And I never wanted to tell anyone about it because the more people you tell stuff the less the story becomes yours and the more it belongs to everyone else who hears it and I figured I wanted this one just for me.
And then JD Salinger up and died. I mean, he was ninety-one so I guess it was no big deal but still… his work helped my sister say how much she loved me and why and all that so I guess I owe him that one story. Though it's not like he can read it anyway but whatever. Lotsa people liked reading him and maybe they can appreciate this story too and if not, well they're already on the internet so they can always find porn.
Rest in Peace JD Salinger. Thanks for writing.