The Beard

B,

I do not know when and if you check your e-mail but I'd like you to know that I have a beard now and I think that you should see it. I think that I just might be a beard man after all; it suits me and I find myself occasionally wanting to look at my face in the mirror, a phenomenon that has never occurred before. Of course, by the time we see each other again, I might have changed my mind about the beard and shaved it off; but as of now, a beard it is. It's been growing for about two weeks now and it has filled in pretty nicely. This is the first time I have tried to grow a beard and pretty much the first time I have ever consciously tried to cultivate a style for myself, and as of now all the reviews are pretty good, with the exception of that New York Times critic who called my beard "An interesting experiment, but ultimately an exercise in excess. More style than substance and just the type of pseudo-intellectual dreck we've grown to expect from Mr. Broad." Can't say I disagree with him there.

I am currently in my room typing this, still on that air-mattress which was so unkind to your back. (I am getting a real mattress this week, finally, from my cousin. It is a king-sized mattress. It will be my first real bed in six months and my first king-sized bed ever. Needless to say, I am excited beyond belief.) It is the middle of the night and I am jonesing for a cigarette but do not have one to smoke, as I am currently in the process of quitting smoking. I only started this week, and it will be a slow process, I think, but I have only smoked a half a pack today and only a little more than that yesterday, and considering that I have smoked a pack a day for five years now, maybe even more, I am making progress fast. I am quitting because another one of my parents’ friends got lung cancer this week. He was my father’s best friend at three years old and they are still close now, and now he is dying. I do not want to die because of smoking. It does not smell or taste good enough to be worth dying for. That said, I would kill a unicorn that breathes ice-cream and shits hundred-dollar bills for a smoke right now. But the over-whelming urge should pass pretty soon. So I might soon be a non-smoking bearded man, whereas a few months ago I was a smoker with no beard. It is funny how time changes things, is it not?

I began writing this to you as another effort at getting you to respond to me, but now I think I have gone and written a short story. I haven't completed a short story in a long time (though I'm in the middle of working on one now), but I'm going to finish this because this is going to be a very short short story and a story-less short story and a story that relies only on tone, charm, wit, a bit of ambiguity, and some personal truths (concerning you and me, of course) couched in the minutiae of my everyday life. However, even though we haven't talked in a while and might not talk for some time more, I don't think we are finished and I think we might be a long story indeed. Maybe not romantic anymore after this, but we will certainly, as you said yourself "keep each other for a long time." It is awfully stupid for us to not see each other as soon as possible, especially seeing as how I have a beard and you would go absolutely crazy over it. Besides, I've nearly forgotten what you look like, even though I remember that you're as beautiful as anyone I've ever shared a room with, and I like to be reminded of such things. Call me old fashioned but I am a sucker for beautiful girls, especially ones that seem to like me a lot and want me out of their life simultaneously. You must have read my biography before we got together; you fit the bill like a glove.

I hope you've read to the end of this. Even though it might be boring, it's been very fulfilling for me and maybe, I hope maybe, it made you smile, even for just a moment.

This is my pitch, as we say in La-La. Come back to me and we'll do lunch or coffee or movie or beach or mountain or just about anything as long as it is together.

Yours,
M.

p.s. it occurred to me that I probably shouldn't even send this, as it's awfully self-indulgent and became more about me than for you. However, in this world of electronic communication, we are all just a click of the mouse away. Sending!

A native of the Tri-State area (he's not telling you which), Matthew Broad received his education at New York University. Utterly unemployable, he ventured out of that majestic concrete metropolis to the Left Coast, where he is, in Los Angeles, trying his best and mostly failing to sell out.