Charlie's Guidance Counselor

I was Charlie's guidance counselor
In high school

We met frequently
Because I found him to be
An alarmingly quiet individual

In my experience
The quiet ones
Are usually chronic masturbators
Or serial killers

...Or both

We'd sit at my desk
And I'd show him ink blots
And ask him what they looked like

He'd usually say 'ink' or 'ink blots'
And I found that very disheartening

'Charlie,' I'd say, 'Doesn't this one look like a dead prostitute?  It's okay if you think it does.  I can kind of see it myself.  This could be her lifeless hand clutching a pack of Marlboro lights and this could be the high heel that fell off as she was running from her attacker.'

But he refused to participate

After a lot of prodding
And some aspirin that I told him was 'club medicine'
He confessed his dream to me

To be a writer

Well, I thought, thank god we're going to head this train off at the pass

'Charlie,' I said, 'Writers are homosexuals who marry their relatives.  Haven't you heard of Flannery O'Connor?'

'No,' he said

'Well,' I replied, 'He was a terrible man and he married his father.  That's how you'll wind up if you're not careful.  Now, do you have any other interests?'

He shrugged his soldiers
And mumbled something
About computers

Ah, that word

It's like music to my ears

'COMPUTERS!' I said, 'What a wonderful idea.  You should pursue a career in computing.  You know, in the future, we're all going to be computers.'

I gave him my copy of 'The Terminator'
So he'd know what I was talking about

I understand that when Charlie died
He was a retired computer teacher
And he taught a Creative Writing class here or there

Oh well
You can't completely cure
Those artistic types
But at least I did my best

I died a few years after Charlie graduated

It was some sort of undiagnosed heart problem
I guess when you're as happy as I was
Sometimes the rest of you just can't take it

Hahaha!

I take comfort in knowing
That before I died
I managed to convince a few people
To give up pointless fantasies
About becoming writers or actors
Or those people with painted faces
Who live in imaginary boxes

At least I did some good in this world

More than most people?

Well...probably

But then again

That was my job