A 52-Hertz Whale by Bill Sommer

walked backward about ten steps to keep my right cheek facing the wall. Never forget that you’ve taken up correspondence with an absolute idiot.
    Speaking of me being an idiot, have you been listening to anything I say about girls? If so, please stop. My advice should be considered downright dangerous. Listen to that Mrs. D’Angelo. She sounds like she’s got spunk, and no one knows the secrets of women like a woman.
    I won’t try to give you much career advice either, other than not worrying too much about it right now. When I was your age, I wanted to be a sports writer. I imagined someday my dad, who’s a high school football coach, would become the coach for a major college program, and I’d go to school there and then become their beat writer. But that was still two years before I saw Seven Up —the documentary, not the soda—and my life was changed forever. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but Seven Up is the greatest documentary series of all time. Back in the ’60s, this British dude got the idea to interview a bunch of seven-year-olds about their lives.
    You: “Uh, so what?”
    Me: “Hold your horses there, horse-holder.”
    Because it turns out that the plan was they’d interview all the kids every seven years after that! Forever! Well, until they all die, I guess. And they’re still doing it today! They’re all the way up to 56 Up ! I mean, can you imagine? A lifelong documentary project? Documenting people becoming who they are, changing and struggling and learning. I can’t imagine anything better. That’s what I want to do in my documentaries.
    But that’s just me. I love documentaries. All I’m saying is that if there’s such a thing as a whaleologist, you might want to look into that.
    Or you could do like my roommate, Luke. He sells life insurance. So what, right? But we happen to live in LA, the only town where selling life insurance helps him meet women. He’s a handsome dude, and everyone here’s an actor, so the girls assume he is too. Then he tells them, no, he sells life insurance. And then he really surprises them by telling them how great it is. They’re like, “What?” And he starts mentioning how he always knows he’s going to have money, health insurance, etc. These girls are so used to getting hit on by aspiring actors who wait tables and make lattes that this actually sounds fascinating. He continues: “Yeah, it’s really freeing knowing that in a few years I’ll be able to own a house and support my family . . .” Notice how smart he is, how he keeps it vague: support his family . He doesn’t come right out and say “support my actress wife as she navigates the incredibly uncertain and stressful waters of Hollywood,” but he might as well. At this point, they always give him their number at least. It’s amazing. Nice work if you can get it.
    Alright, I better sign off. Another day of work awaits me.
    Later,
    D
    P.S. Okay, I can’t help myself. In answer to your question about Corinne and me, “Did you know how lucky you were?”, let me offer a brief answer that should get to the heart of my feelings on the matter:
    NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    I had no idea how lucky I was. Not a one. Having never really been in love before, our love at first seemed like a miracle. I mean, listen to some of the things this girl said to me:
    on heavy metal music: “It makes me want to not have ears.”
    on vegetarians: “I don’t trust ’em. In a pinch, I want people on my side who are willing to bite into some flesh.”
    on her boobs: “They’re like roommates. We have some good times together, but a lot of the time I just wish they’d get out of the way so I could have some peace and quiet.”
    A miracle, this girl.
    But then, get this. Get the absolute insanity of this : I didn’t