I know it's a little late, considering you're dead and all. I just wanted to write you this letter to tell you how awful you are.
It's true, you're dead, and I shouldn't. It's not nice. It's bad karma. But you have no idea what kind of irreparable damage you have done to me.
Do you remember Katy Collins, Mr. Petrelli? She sat next to me in seventh grade English. I was in love with her. I loved every single thing about her. I loved the way her brown hair swished at the end when she tossed it with her perfectly manicured hand. I loved the shoes she wore, the shape of her eyebrows, the way her neck looked when she twisted her head to look at you during lectures. Katy and I were meant for eachother, Mr. Petrelli. It was fate. It was destiny. You don't believe in destiny, do you, Mr. Petrelli?
I remember it like it was yesterday. You came in with a coffee stain on your pants at 8:05, ten minutes late for first period. You were swearing like you were on a Navy boat and not in a seventh-grade classroom. You sat down. I was looking at you. You stared back at me, then you made some snarky comment about me being a "nosy Nellie". I liked you, Mr. Petrelli. You were a jackass, but by god, you were a smart jackass and I could relate to you. But that day, Mr. Petrelli, was when I stopped liking you.
It was during silent reading. Of course, I wasn't reading, I was looking at Katy Collins and her swishy hair and her perfectly arched eyebrows. Do you remember what you said, Mr. Petrelli? You said, "You'd think Nathan could keep his eyes on his book for more than two seconds. Then again, his book doesn't wear hair clips and a see-through shirt."
Mr. Petrelli, I was mortified. Katy looked up and stared right at me. I don't think she understood you, Mr. Petrelli, but you made it perfectly clear, didn't you? You said to Katy, "Is Nathan here bothering you with all his staring? I know, it's creepy, isn't it? Would you like to switch seats?"
Katy switched seats. I didn't sit next to her all year, and Mr. Petrelli, what you said started a rumor that I was stalking Katy Collins. So, in 8th grade, I was Nathan the Stalker, and nobody wanted to sit with me at lunch and nobody asked me to semiformal and I didn't have a single girlfriend, unless you count Natasha the Nosepicker. See what happens, Mr. Petrelli? People get nicknames like that, and they stay with them for the rest of their lives.
Mr. Petrelli, that was the first thing you did to me, but it wasn't the last. I had remedial English with you in 8th grade, because I'd done so poorly in your class. My parents were convinced I was destined for special ed. They were so ashamed of me, Mr. Petrelli, and it was your fault.
We were reading Bridge to Terebithia. I'd already read it, and it was one of my favorite books. I would never admit it, though, so while I was supposed to be recapping the book, I just drew pictures of Terebithia in my writer's notebook. Mr. Petrelli, you found my drawings, and instead of putting them back or asking me about them like any other teacher, you held onto them. I didn't even notice they were gone until one day, during study hall, you came into my classroom. You wanted to remind your students that their Bridge to Terebithia projects were due Thursday; you threatened them with detention. Then you said, "If you're out of ideas, you can just ask my friend Nathan here. He's very creative when it comes to this book. Nathan adores Bridge to Terebithia." So guess what, Mr. Petrelli? From then on, I was Nathan the Stalking Terebithia Boy. Teenage boys don't love Bridge to Terebithia. And kids are still that mean in 8th grade, Mr. Petrelli. They really are.
My freshman year of high school was dismal. The nickname had worn off, but the reputation had stuck. I had a few friends. They were nice and all, but Jesus, were they freaks. They were the only people who were desperate enough to sit with me. You did that, Mr. Petrelli.
By sophomore year, I thought things were looking up for me. I'd found a new circle of friends that wasn't intent on playing Dungeons and Dragons during lunch. They liked me, and I liked them. I wasn't ridiculed. Life was good, Mr. Petrelli. Then, I found out that you were trying your hand at high school English instead, and I could practically hear Katy Collins picking up her chair and moving across the room again.
As luck would have it, I was assigned to your junior English class. I tried so hard to change out of your class, Mr. Petrelli, but guidance said I was stuck with you. I went home and cried, Mr. Petrelli. Cried! I was a nearly-grown boy of sixteen and I cried because I was being forced to face you again. My mother, God bless her, thought I was crying over a girl. It wasn't until later she found out I was gay. I guess Katy Collins was a one-time thing.
Junior English was eighty solid minutes of torture. Of course you remembered me, Mr. Petrelli. You didn't like me, that much was apparent. You showed the class my homework as a negative example. You made remarks about my appearance, about girls (and boys!) you thought I was staring at. You came into class every day with jokes about me hidden up the sleeve of your green polyester sweater.
So, Mr. Petrelli, I had to tell you this. And I had to tell it to you this way. When you were alive, you wouldn't have listened to me, of course you wouldn't have. You're Mr. Petrelli, and you've ruined my life in more ways than one.
The worst thing you did though, Mr. Petrelli, was marry my mother forty years ago.
For thirty-two dismal years, I have hated you, Mr. Petrelli. And you have hated me. I have hated you more than any other person. And that is why I decided to leave this letter here with you. I hoped somebody would pick it up off your body and know why I'm going into the ground next to you.
Your son,The worst thing you did though, Mr. Petrelli, was marry my mother forty years ago.
For thirty-two dismal years, I have hated you, Mr. Petrelli. And you have hated me. I have hated you more than any other person. And that is why I decided to leave this letter here with you. I hoped somebody would pick it up off your body and know why I'm going into the ground next to you.
Nathan Petrelli
