I was pleasantly surprised when I went to check my mail on a fine November day. There was a letter addressed to me, in ink handwriting. I was so excited that I ran back to my room and shut myself in the closet, grabbing my flashlight and teddy bear along the way. “What’s this commotion all about?” my roommate Scott asked. “I got a letter in the mail, in ink and everything!” I said, sticking my tongue out at him because now I am better than he is.
I opened the letter with haste, using a letter opener that I normally use as a pretend dagger when I’m playing pirates with Beaker (my teddy bear, duh). The letter fell out of its envelope and I unfolded the treasured parchment with care and love. “Dear Zack,” I read to myself out loud in the closet. “My name is Lloyd Oregano. I am a student at BU, and am a huge fan of your column and think that you are the funniest and brilliantest writer of all time. Seriously, no one comes even close to making me laugh as much as you do. If I could give you lots of money I would, but I can’t. Sorry. Your No. 1 fan, Lloyd.”
I inhaled a breath of intoxicated fantasticalness after reading the letter, and jumped for joy. “I have a fan named Lloyd!” I screamed, tangling myself in the coats and hangers. After 20 minutes, Scott heard my whines and pirate calls and let me out.
“Scott, you won’t believe this. I have a fan.”
“A fan? Of what?”
“Of my column.”
“You never told me that you wrote a column.”
“Aye, I did, matey. I told you in September.”
“No, last September you told me you were majoring in Pirating. That’s cool, though. I wonder what he’s like.”
Scott’s words rang in my head like the Liberty Bell before it cracked and they could still ring it. Who is this Lloyd? What’s he like? Where’s my eye patch? I realized that Lloyd must be an amazing individual to be my fan. He’s got to be smart and clever, and most definitely good-looking. He probably is the man about town who has at least five or six friends that he’s not afraid to take his shirt off or cry in front of. My curiosity about Lloyd became overwhelming, and within five minutes I had facebooked him and found out where he lived on campus (Danielsen, a bitch of a distance), The DaVinci Code is his favorite book, and he is married to one of his friends, which is really confusing.
The picture of him on the computer was a close-up view of his nostrils, so I couldn’t tell what he looked like. I “poked” him and then turned my computer off. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” Scott asked.
“To meet my fan and tell him I love him like a Gandhi loves his fans.”
Scott stared at me with contempt. “You aren’t really a Pirate major, are you?” I looked at Scott and smiled, inching my way out the door. “Arrrr, matey, I’ll make you walk the plank with such blasphemy,” and I ran out the door toward Lloyd, the only person who would truly understand me.
It was too late to swipe in to Danielsen, so I did the next best thing and bribed the security guard with a pair of tickets to the opera that I always have handy.
I reached Lloyd’s room and decided not to knock but to sneak in his window. I walked into the room of the person who lived next door to him. They screamed, but I wasn’t listening. I went out their window and crept along the sill until I reached Lloyd’s window. There was a light on. Neil Diamond was playing in the background. I couldn’t see Lloyd anywhere. I took the screen out of the window and went in, hiding underneath his bed like I figured a person would do if he was in his fan’s room.
I was under his bed for about five hours before Lloyd came in the room. He was wearing a shirt with wolves howling at the moon, acid wash jeans and socks with sandals. “He must be a secret agent in disguise,” I whispered to myself, because secret agents would think my column is badass. I figured I should introduce myself, and grabbed Lloyd’s foot as he passed, tripping him to the floor. To show him that I’m funny in real life, I began to laugh at his fall. Lloyd screamed and backed in to his heater.
“Whoa, there, watch your head!” I said to him, a smile on my face to show my appreciation that he’s a fan.
“Who, who are you?” Lloyd said, trembling in excitement because he was meeting me, his idol.
“Slow down, Lloyd, I’m supposed to be the funny one!”
“Wait a second … You’re Zack Poitras?”
“Of course I am! And you are Lloyd Oregano, my No. 1 fan!”
“Yeah … I mean I thought your columns were alright and everything … Were you underneath my bed?”
“Just alright? You thought my columns were just alright? I’ll have you know, buddy, that there is a person out there who loves my columns, and his name is Lloyd Oregano!”
“I’m Lloyd Oregano and you are creeping me out, dude. I think you should leave.”
I held in the tears of rejection and went to the window, feeling like I was stabbed in the back by my teddy bear during pirates. “Zack,” Lloyd said as I reached the windowsill. “I’m going to keep reading even though I think you’re nuts.” I looked at Lloyd and smiled. “Thank you, Lloyd,” I said. “I’ll write my next column about you.” With that I turned and flew out the window into the distance. This one’s for you, Lloyd. This one’s for you.
Zack Poitras, a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at zpoitras@bu.edu.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
