The plant - By Stephen King Page 0,22
isn't as good as talking to you, and talking to you isn't as good as seeing you, and seeing you isn't as good as touching you and being with you (steam-steam! pant-pant!), but a person has to make do with what he has. I know you're busy, studying hard, but going so long without talking to you has got me sorta crazy (and on top of Detweiller and Hecksler, more crazy I do not need to be). I love you, my dear.
Missing you, needing you,
John
March 9, 1981 Mr. Herbert Porter Designated Jew Zenith House 490 Park Avenue New York, NY 10017
Dear Designated Jew,
Did you think I had forgotten you? I bet you did. Well, I didn't. A man doesn't forget the thief who rejected his book after stealing all of the good parts. And how you tried to discredit me. I wonder how you will look with your penis in your ear. Ha-ha. (But not a joke)
I am coming for you, "big boy."
Major General Anthony R. Hecksler (Ret.)
P. S. Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I am coming to castrate.
A Designated Jew.
M. G. A. R. H. (Ret.)
MAILGRAM FROM MR. JOHN KENTON TO RUTH TANAKA
MS. RUTH TANAKA 10411 CRESCENT BOULEVARD LOS ANGELES, CA 90024
MARCH 10, 1981
DEAR RUTH
THIS IS PROBABLY PRIMO STUPIDO BUT PARANOIA BEGETS PARANOIA AND I STILL CAN'T RAISE YOU. FINALLY GOT PAST THAT BLANK-BLANK ANSWERING MACHINE THIS MORNING TO YOUR ROOMMATE WHO SAID SHE HADN'T SEEN YOU LAST TWO DAYS. SHE SOUNDED FUNNY. I HOPE ONLY STONED. CALL ME SOONEST OR I'LL BE KNOCKING ON YOUR DOOR THIS WEEKEND. LOVE YOU.
JOHN
March 10, 1981
Dear John,
I imagine-no, I know-you must be wondering why you haven't heard from me much over the last three weeks. The reason is simple enough; I've been feeling guilty. And the reason I am writing now instead of calling is that I am a coward. Also I think, although you may not believe me when you read the rest of this, which is the hardest letter I've ever had to write, because I love you very much and want so much not to hurt you. All the same I suppose this will hurt and knowing I can't help it makes me cry.
John, I've met a man named Toby Anderson and have fallen head over heels in love with him. If it matters to youand it probably won't-I met him in one of the two English Restoration drama courses I'm taking. I held him off as best as I could for a long time-I very much want and need you to believe that-but by mid-February I just couldn't hold him off any longer. My arms got tired.
The last three weeks or so have been a nightmare for me. I don't really expect you to sympathize with my position, but I hope you'll believe I am telling the truth. Although you're on the east coast and I'm three thousand miles away on the west, I felt as if I were sneaking around on you. And I was. I was! Oh, I don't mean in the sense that you might come home early from work one night and find me with Toby, but I felt terrible all the same. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't do my yoga positions or the Jane Fonda Workout. My grades were slipping, but to hell with the grades-my heart was slipping.
I've been ducking your calls because I couldn't bear to hear your voice-it seemed to bring it all home to me-how I was lying and cheating and leading you on.
It all came to a head two nights ago when Toby showed me the lovely diamond engagement ring he had bought for me. He said he wanted me to have it and he hoped I wanted to take it, but he said he couldn't give it to me even if I did until I talked or wrote to you. He's such an honorable man, John, and the irony is that under different circumstances I am sure you would like him very much.
I broke down and cried in his arms and before long his tears were mingled with mine. The upshot of it all was me saying I would be ready for him to slip that gorgeous love-ring on my finger by the end of the week. I think we are going to be married in June.
You see that in the end I took the coward's way out, writing instead of phoning, and it's still taken me the last two days to get this much down-I've cut every