Cathy Carlson Character Analysis

I stopped breathing for a second. Cathy was looking at Mark, and I suddenly felt like I’d swallowed a spoonful of red pepper. I felt cold and hot and sick and mad all at once. I only felt it for a second, only for a second and then it was gone—but sometimes now I wonder how it would be to feel like that all your life. You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love best in the world.

Mark didn’t understand and Cathy did. I started spending more and more time with Cathy. Since I had the car, we went for a lot of drives and got a lot of Cokes together. We were always talking to each other about the way we felt—I tried telling her how I felt about Charlie, about how shook the whole thing had me. […] I could talk to her about anything, talk to her better than I could anyone, even Mark.

After a few weeks we’d drive by the park and make out for a little while. It was different for me though, because I had quit thinking only about myself, quit pushing for all I could get.

I looked across the street, watching some little twelve- and thirteen-year-old teeny-boppers make fools of themselves—smoking, trying to act cool, pushing each other, screaming and swearing so loud I could hear them. I had a sudden recollection of Mark and me at twelve, smoking our heads off, clowning around, hoping someone—usually some little long-haired chick—would notice us and see how cool we were. All of a sudden it seemed like I was a hundred years old, or thirty at least. I wondered if, when I got to be twenty, I would think how stupid I was at sixteen. When I remembered us, it didn’t seem possible that we had looked as silly as these teenyboppers, but I guess we had. At least then we weren’t worried about looking silly. We were sure of ourselves, so sure we were the coolest things to hit town. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Cathy, I am really glad you are here,” I said. “I love you.”

“O.K.,” she sobbed. “O.K.” Then she reached over and held my hand. I took a quivering breath and looked at the ceiling. That hadn’t been so hard after all. If I could do that, maybe there were a few other things I could take care of.

“It’s O.K., kid, you’re going to be O.K.”

“Where am I?” he was screaming in terror. “Why don’t I know where I am?”

I was just sick. I didn’t know how Cathy was managing to drive the car. I never felt so bad before. I just held onto M&M. There wasn’t any sense in trying to talk to him. I felt then that he was as much my little brother as Cathy’s. That’s how bad I felt.

Mostly I wonder “what if?” What if I had found out about Mark some other time, when I wasn’t half out of my mind with worry about Cathy? What if I hadn’t met her in the first place, would I still have grown away from Mark? What if M&M had had a good trip instead of a bad one? What if someone else had turned Mark in—would there still be hope for him?

I am too mixed up to really care. And to think, I used to be sure of things. Me, once I had all the answers. I wish I was a kid again, when I had all the answers.

I stopped breathing for a second. Cathy was looking at Mark, and I suddenly felt like I’d swallowed a spoonful of red pepper. I felt cold and hot and sick and mad all at once. I only felt it for a second, only for a second and then it was gone—but sometimes now I wonder how it would be to feel like that all your life. You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love best in the world.

Mark didn’t understand and Cathy did. I started spending more and more time with Cathy. Since I had the car, we went for a lot of drives and got a lot of Cokes together. We were always talking to each other about the way we felt—I tried telling her how I felt about Charlie, about how shook the whole thing had me. […] I could talk to her about anything, talk to her better than I could anyone, even Mark.

After a few weeks we’d drive by the park and make out for a little while. It was different for me though, because I had quit thinking only about myself, quit pushing for all I could get.

I looked across the street, watching some little twelve- and thirteen-year-old teeny-boppers make fools of themselves—smoking, trying to act cool, pushing each other, screaming and swearing so loud I could hear them. I had a sudden recollection of Mark and me at twelve, smoking our heads off, clowning around, hoping someone—usually some little long-haired chick—would notice us and see how cool we were. All of a sudden it seemed like I was a hundred years old, or thirty at least. I wondered if, when I got to be twenty, I would think how stupid I was at sixteen. When I remembered us, it didn’t seem possible that we had looked as silly as these teenyboppers, but I guess we had. At least then we weren’t worried about looking silly. We were sure of ourselves, so sure we were the coolest things to hit town. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Cathy, I am really glad you are here,” I said. “I love you.”

“O.K.,” she sobbed. “O.K.” Then she reached over and held my hand. I took a quivering breath and looked at the ceiling. That hadn’t been so hard after all. If I could do that, maybe there were a few other things I could take care of.

“It’s O.K., kid, you’re going to be O.K.”

“Where am I?” he was screaming in terror. “Why don’t I know where I am?”

I was just sick. I didn’t know how Cathy was managing to drive the car. I never felt so bad before. I just held onto M&M. There wasn’t any sense in trying to talk to him. I felt then that he was as much my little brother as Cathy’s. That’s how bad I felt.

Mostly I wonder “what if?” What if I had found out about Mark some other time, when I wasn’t half out of my mind with worry about Cathy? What if I hadn’t met her in the first place, would I still have grown away from Mark? What if M&M had had a good trip instead of a bad one? What if someone else had turned Mark in—would there still be hope for him?

I am too mixed up to really care. And to think, I used to be sure of things. Me, once I had all the answers. I wish I was a kid again, when I had all the answers.