Benjamin Alire Sáenz

So I renamed myself Ari.

If I switched the letter, my name was Air.

I thought it might be a great thing to be the air.

I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.

I liked hearing him laugh. It made things seem normal. A part of me thought things would never be normal again.

“Your smile is back.” That’s what Dante said.

“Smiles are like that. They come and go.”

“Did anybody ever tell you that you weren’t normal?”
“Is that something I should aspire to?”
“You’re not. You’re not normal.” I shook my head. “Where did you come from?”
“My parents had sex one night.”

There is a famous painting, Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper. I am in love with that painting. Sometimes, I think everyone is like the people in that painting, everyone lost in their own private universes of pain or sorrow or guilt, everyone remote and unknowable. The painting reminds me of you. It breaks my heart

See the thing about artists is that they tell stories. I mean, some paintings are like novels

It was strange to feel like the Ari I used to be. Except that wasn’t totally true. The Ari I used to be didn’t exist anymore.
And the Ari I was becoming? He didn’t exist yet.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing, to keep a war to yourself. But maybe that’s the way it has to be

I always upset him. And other people too. I guess that’s what I do. And I upset you too. I know that. And I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can, okay? So if I don’t write as many letters as you do, don’t be upset. I’m not doing it to upset you, okay? This is my problem. I want other people to tell me how they feel. But I’m not so sure I want to return the favor.

ONE SUMMER NIGHT I FELL ASLEEP, HOPING THE WORLD would be different when I woke. In the morning, when I opened my eyes, the world was the same. I threw off the sheets and lay there as the heat poured in through my open window