Finally I’m posting an essay from my last Bennington class. The assignment was to describe a person, to create a sort of sketch of someone in words. We had spent a couple of classes on modifiers, and I begged the class to use them sparingly, only when necessary. The author here, Carol Kramer, did an excellent job with this injunction, but I’m presenting her piece mainly because it knocked my socks clean off, and it did the same to the rest of the class when it was read aloud. In fact, socks were scattered all over the floor. Here it is:
My 30-Minute Friend
I never thought I would see him at my sister’s workplace when getting my usual late night hot chocolate. His belly was hanging over his thighs, the hair on his head begging to be washed, his stained coffee shirt representing his laziness; however I loved him. He was on a date with his iPhone, and there was no invitation for me to sit with him, but I did. When he looked at me I thought, wow your face is too fat for your glasses, while he probably thought, oh god another fan. My sister knew him since he was a usual customer; they also participated in AA meetings together. I knew him from The Master, Capote, and Almost Famous. The closeness of our table was painfully awkward until my sister introduced us. All of a sudden he cared. His eyes were crystal blue and his scruffy beard was completely white. He started asking me about school and my work while I just thought, I know everything about you, I know your full name without your introducing yourself. The pressure was high. However, the stress of our interaction died down after I realized how normal he was, although my hygiene was noticeably better than his. While conversing, we started to play Temple Run on our iPhones, exchanging our highest scores. He was the better player. In the half hour I spent with him, consisting mostly of me gazing at his three-foot deep face wrinkles and him listening, we became friends. For a Hollywood hotshot he was pretty casual. At last he placed his chubby hands on the table, which signified that it was time for him to leave. Shockingly, he was about my height. He stretched his back, held my hand, and told me, “It was a pleasure to meet you.” I just stared and thought; you’re my pleasure.
This past Super Bowl he was found dead from an overdose in the bathroom of his apartment. After we met, I strangely thought we would see each other again. His honest self undercut his fame. I guess I thought he never would die. I know that sounds crazy, but this fat, talented, bearded man seemed invincible to me. The image of him in my head will always be in that coffee shop and I will remember him the way I know him, as a dirty, sweet friend of my sister’s, and my friend of half an hour.
©Carol Kramer, June 2014
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I was surprised – and delighted – with the grace and restraint that Carol handled the late Philip Seymour Hoffman. His name never appears, and yet we know exactly who he is; as she writes, somehow he becomes our 30-minute friend as well.
What a delight this class has been!
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