<p>I am not Vonnegut. He is not me. I did not fight in World War Two. He did not break his arm in the third grade. We are separate people, yet under the light of the literary world we are bonded together - he as an author, and I as a reader. Our relationship began in 1996 when I first read his novel Welcome to the Monkey House. Sure we had a good time, but it wasn’t love. Over the past 5 years our affair has burgeoned with unbridled passion. Today, I stand completely devoted, respectful and honored to have my place with Vonnegut. I am a reader. As a lowly pre-teen with no passion for myself, let alone others, I had a shallow relationship with Kurt. We were two strangers at a party, discussing the weather while piling bite size nachos, cookies, and carrots onto our designer napkins.</p>
<p>I was intrigued by Vonnegut’s words; I enjoyed his stories for their simplicity and their sweetness. They were my punch to wash down the dry cookies.
Kurt gave me a gift that served to form the base of our relationship. He taught that my writing mattered. His simply constructed sentences and straightforward plots gave me hope; my subject matters could be interesting also. I felt that my sentences, even though not splattered with adjectives and copious description, could be meaningful. I did not lose faith despite the low quality of my work. I knew I could get better, that there could be meaning inside of my words.</p>
<p>Through more schooling I did eventually betray Kurt. I became a mistress to the semicolon, a slave to the adjective. I found myself new lovers. John Steinbeck taught me description. Ayn Rand gave me long sentences with hints of sarcasm. I matured after my relationship with Kurt, but soon found myself yearning to rekindle the old flame. So I did. This was no puppy love. We exploded in passion, I read and absorbed Kurt’s words as if they were written especially for me. His philosophies, his conceptions about the American culture were filled with simple truths.</p>
<p>In God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, the main character has a simple maxim: “God damn it, youve got to be kind.” These eight words – twenty-seven letters - sum up a large part of Vonnegut’s humanist viewpoints. There is no moral more fundamental than human kindness. When stress rules one’s life, one often acts irrationally, taking on the qualities of an irritable individual. About a month ago, I was very over-worked, over-stressed, and under-slept while finishing up a school project. Many friends with whom I conversed that week were not pleased to have had the experience. And then the phrase lurked into the tightly balled fist of my mind. “God damn it, youve got to be kind.” I realized that this adage holds true no matter what the circumstances. Tired or not, courtesy and friendliness should be top priority. The line has stuck close to my heart; it is a picture of Kurt to carry in my wallet.</p>
<p>We"re married now, Kurt and I. The wild passion has tamed into deep love and respect. We stand by each other as author and reader. Vonnegut and his influences will forever be a part of me. I will be kind, I will respect my own writing, and I will dream. These I will wear as a wedding band, a symbol of permanence. We are a couple, however I have not remained completely devoted. My adjectives, my semicolons, my circumlocution are all vices; arguments vibrating through the ornately decorated walls of the white picket-fenced home. But I am not Kurt. Kurt is not me. We are each individuals, forever learning and redefining ourselves. We are simply together, author and reader.</p>