365 # 4: Jeff C.

You played the part of the Scoutmaster Father in my play, and did so quite to my liking. When the question of a cast party came up, you threw open the doors of your enormous house in the country and bid us all join you at your unbelievably well-stocked bar. You and your wife entertained us with stories of fucking your way across Europe. At one point in the evening when we were good and smashed, I noticed a picture of you with a young man. You said it was your son, and that this picture had been taken the day before he left for Iraq. You teared up for just a few seconds, then pulled it together. It was one of those heavy moments I'm always hearing so much about. Months later, I heard about a soldier from Texas with your last name that had died in Iraq. I became obsessed with figuring out whether or not it was your son. When I found out that it wasn't your son, I was relieved for a moment, until I remembered that it was someone else's. I hope yours made it back.