The Writer

They're paying me to write a biography
About Christina Marks

I'm not writing it under my own name
Thank God for that

I get to pick a name
A fake name
Under which I can write two hundred pages of fluff
Including photos
Which will sell more copies
Than anything else I'll ever write
Under my real name

Such is literature

I've never met her by the way
Christina Marks
No need
This biography is unauthorized

I was hoping to get the last chapter done
Before the wedding I'm going to this weekend
But then Christina Marks decided to kidnap another girl
Go on a cocaine binge
And get herself photographed
Making out with the girl
She had allegedly kidnapped

That means my last chapter just got twice as long
And the publisher already offered me a raise
If I can milk that little p.r. disaster
For longer than fifty pages

They're not really interested in the kidnapping
Or the cocaine
Or the fact that car
Was probably stolen

Maybe because all that stuff will fall by the wayside
In a courtroom
Once Christina's high-priced lawyer
Gets a hold of it

But that kiss

That kiss is what it is

That's something I can write about

I was thinking maybe I'd get a little sneaky
And really amp up the artistry
In the description of the kiss

Use lots of adjectives
And metaphors
Really drive the editor nuts

But why put so much effort
Into writing about a kiss?

The wedding, the one I'm headed to this weekend
Involves two people I have never met before

The bride is my wife's cousin
Who she's not at all close with

That's what weddings are for
Meeting your relatives

Lately it seems like I spend all my time and energy
On people I don't know

At least I'm getting paid for it
Most of the time

The wedding is going to be in Newport
Which means I'll have to take anxiety medication

Going over the Newport bridge
Makes me start to shake so violently
The last time I tried to drive over it
I had to pull over and have my wife Lisa
Take over while I climbed into the back seat
With my hands over my eyes
Praying for it all to be over

'I never knew you were afraid of bridges,' she said

I didn't know I was either

Truth be told, I was a little more than shocked
To find out about this new phobia

When I was younger, I had a friend
Named Chris

After high school, we both ditched our respective college plans
And spent a year driving across the country together

Chris came from a scary little WASP family
That barely knew he existed

I came from a scary large ethnic family
That barely knew I existed
But for more practical reasons

When you're one of twelve children
You can get away with a lot more

Chris used to call me 'The Writer'
Because the only thing I ever took with me
Wherever we went
Was a notebook and a pen

'What do you write about,' he'd ask me
And I'd say, 'You, Chris. I'm writing all about you.'

Sometimes I was, too

I think Chris might have been my first unauthorized biography

I have a photo of him that I keep behind another photo of me golfing
It's not that I don't want Lisa to see it
It's just that...

It's a very strange photo

Chris just had this air about him
This sort of sexual air

It would seem odd that I would have a photo like that
Of a friend I had when I was eighteen
All these years later

In the photo, Chris is in the passenger seat
Of the piece of junk car I used to drive

I guess I was driving and taking the picture
Which wouldn't surprise me
I was eighteen after all

Chris doesn't seem worried

His blonde hair is wet
Because we'd both just been swimming in this river
Somewhere in Tennessee

He's got a white button-down shirt
That's too big for him
And all the buttons are undone
Except the bottom two

You can see the sun hitting his chest
And it's almost like it's going inside him
And lighting him up
From the inside out

He's got that perfect tan
That you can only get
From Tennessee sun

His hand's out the window
And he's saying something

I don't know what it is
I can't remember

But it seems like something to the effect of--

'Kiss me'

That's what it seems like anyway

. . . . .

When I saw the photo of Christina Marks
Kissing that girl
I thought of Chris

He had a little bit of a suppressed wild side in him
And he was persuasive

He was the one who got me
To jump my first bridge

We were in the Midwest
Somewhere, I don't know where
And it was about nine million degrees out

Chris was driving
And we're going over this bridge
Not a big bridge
Not like the Newport bridge
But not exactly a covered bridge either
Not a Madison County bridge

Can you tell I'm a writer
I'm failing at describing a bridge

Anyway, Chris stopped the car
And he got out
And I said--'Chris, what are you doing?'
And he said--'I'm jumping off the bridge.'
And I said--'Not until you give me your share of the gas money.'

He laughed and he said--

'It won't kill me if I hit the water right.'

'It won't kill me if I hit the water right'
Can you believe that?

It was the most incredible thing I'd ever heard

It sounded like--

That lion won't eat you
If you look too stringy

Then he said--'Do it with me.'

And that was all he said
And I did

I jumped off the bridge with him

I know I said he was persuasive
But if you know any persuasive people
Then you know that they're usually not very talkative
Not when they're truly persuasive

Most persuasive people just have a good smile
And a nice laugh

They make you want to find out
What they're smiling about

I remember climbing up over the railing of the bridge
Onto this little stone ledge
Looking down--it must have been at least four stories down
Right into the water

There didn't seem to be any rocks
And the water was calm

It wasn't like we were jumping into some rushing river
Although, we would
Later on, we would

I thought I was going to chicken out
And then Chris grabbed my hand
And he held it
He really held it

I was eighteen years old
And I think that was the first time
Anybody other than my mother crossing the street
Had ever held my hand

And I looked at him
And he looked at me
And we jumped

It was like--5 4 3 2--CRASH

That water was FREEZING

I felt my balls and my eyeballs
Become one with each other

And I went down so far
I thought--I'm going to drown
I'll never make it back up in time
To get air

Plus I felt like I got the wind knocked out of me
And I couldn't see a thing
Because I forgot to close my eyes
And it was--

Jesus, it was awful

Until I came up

Until Chris pulled me up

I felt his hand pulling mine
And I came up above the surface of the water
And he was laughing
And I wanted to kill him
But then I was laughing
And freezing
And we were bobbing up and down
Splashing at each other

And then he kissed me

That was the first time
He kissed me

This was before I took that photograph
By that point I was in pretty deep

Now, don't assume I'm confessing anything here

I'm not some closeted married man
Who still pines after his childhood love

I'm as straight as they come
And happy about it

What happened between Chris and I
Was somewhere between adoration and idolatry
But I'm fairly certain it wasn't love

I love my wife
Chris, I...

The last time I saw him was after we'd been on the road together
For months and months

My father called
And calmly explained to me
All the reasons why I should come home
And start college

The major one being
That the girl I had a little fling with before I left
This girl named Lisa
Was now a few months pregnant
And didn't I think I should do something about that?

I agreed with him
And told Chris I needed to go home

I told him that he should come with me
I didn't tell him about Lisa
I didn't...

I don't know why

We had stopped on a bridge in Georgia
And he wanted to jump

I told him I couldn't
That I didn't want to

I wanted him to listen to reason
And come back with me

He went over the railing
Looked at me
Held out his hand
And when I shook my head
He jumped

I spent all night on that bridge
Waiting for him to come back

I knew he didn't drown
Because I walked all along the shore
The next day
And I didn't see him
Or any sign of him

He just kinda disappeared

Finally, I started walking

I left the car where it was
In case he needed it

I took my notebook with me
And I managed to hitchhike back to Pennsylvania

From there, my dad wired me some money
And I caught a train the rest of the way

Chris never came home

. . . . .

When I went over that bridge with Lisa
I thought of Chris

Maybe that's what got me shaking

I saw him go over that railing
And that was it

And I don't think I ever really
Got over it

Now my wife thinks I'm afraid of bridges

Who knows?
Maybe I am

When you jump a bridge
You realize how little there is to it
How little is actually protecting you
From the water underneath

There's nothing forgiving about that water
Trust me

As soon as I finish this paragraph
I'm going to see my doctor
And have him give me anxiety medication
So that I can drive over the Newport bridge
And attend a wedding
For two people I've never met

When I married Lisa
My mother was in the front pew
Holding our son

Lisa hadn't wanted to get married
While she was pregnant

She'd picked out her wedding dress
When she was fifteen
And she was determined to wear it
Which meant waiting until the baby weight subsided

I was half dead from staying up all night
Writing a paper for my English Lit class

When the priest asked if anybody objected
The baby started to cry

In that moment, I truly felt
Like a New Englander

Part of me imagined that scene from The Graduate

I imagined Chris banging on the door of the church
Bringing the wedding to a standstill
Reminding me that I was not meant to grow up
And get married and have a child
And write pointless books
That even I wouldn't read

I pictured us running out of the church
Onto a bus waiting right outside
But instead of feeling that instant regret
Benjamin and Elaine felt on their bus
Chris and I would take our bus straight to the nearest bridge
And go right over the railing

Now every time I go to a wedding
I have that image

Every time the priest asks
Who might object

What a dangerous question

What if every time you had to make a big decision
Someone stood there and said--

'Does anybody think this is a bad idea?'

In that case, I never would have jumped off that first bridge

. . . . .

You know, I still have that notebook

Every once in awhile
I'll open it up
And start thinking that maybe
I can write down the story of Chris
And our lost year together

It's funny

It really is easier writing a biography about somebody
You've never met

Knowing Chris made it impossible
To ever capture him
In any way

But I did make a valiant attempt at it

'HEY CHRIS! CAN YOU TELL MOM I'M GOING TO THE DOCTOR'S AT THREE? WHEN I COME HOME I'LL SHOW YOU TO CHANGE THAT TIRE!'

So you see, I chose the right Chris

Yes, I did name my son after him
Being a writer, what else could I do?

It was just too perfect an ending