Another letter from you.
Anna,
I can’t imagine what you think of me right now.
Do you remember that night when we talked about mistakes? This was mine. I was young, stupid, and in need of money when I started working for Bryce. I never told you because I didn’t want you to know how desperate I was. You would have tried to give me money, and I didn’t want you to help me in that way. Your family has done so much for me. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. It was an easy job to get, but not so easy to get out of. Once I started, he had leverage over me, and I couldn’t just stop.
But now, I’m a convicted felon facing ten years in prison for possession of drugs with intent to distribute and possession of a firearm. I can’t even wrap my mind around how majorly I’ve fucked up my life.
I would change so many things if I could go back in time.
Please don’t hate me.
—Wes
Wes,
I don’t hate you. This whole thing was a big surprise. When you were in the hospital and I didn’t know what was going on, I was so scared. Scared that you got shot. Scared that you would die.
I was so relieved to learn you were stable.
And then, when I tried to visit you in the hospital, the police officers outside your room told me I couldn’t see you.
I tried, Wes.
We all did.
I hope you’re okay in there. Please take care of yourself.
And write me, okay? I need to know you’re okay.
I know we haven’t been that close the past couple of years, but I could really use a friend. Do you think we could be friends again?
I miss you.
—Anna
Anna,
Thanks for writing me back. I’m not sure when I’ll get to use the computer, if ever, so I might not get to check emails consistently. But your letter was the best part of my day. And what a coincidence! I could really use a friend, too. Want to be pen pals?
How’s school? How’s John? Your parents? Did you get a car? You looking at colleges yet?
You’re going to go on to do great things, Anna.
Tell me everything.
—Wes
Wes,
I don’t know about great things. Med school seemed like the right plan for me—until recently. My stomach hurts, just thinking about it. I know I don’t want to become a doctor anymore, but I’m afraid to tell my parents. They’ll be so disappointed in me.
Then, the thought of disappointing them makes my stomach hurt worse.
I don’t have a car yet. My parents took me to look at a few, but honestly, I don’t do much anymore. I don’t see the sense in them buying me a car just to sit in the driveway.
My latest favorite pastime is reading. I like it even more than running. When I read, I can forget everything. The pressure of deciding what I want to be when I grow up. The mistakes I’ve made. My problems go away for a little while, and I get a little break.
Do you get to read? How do you pass the time? Can you take online classes?
Do you need anything?
Your turn.
—Anna
Anna,
Happy birthday! I can’t believe you’re seventeen.
You could never disappoint your parents. Just tell them you changed your mind about medical school. They’ll understand.
I’m glad books are helping you deal with stress. But do me a favor—if you get so stressed your stomach hurts, will you tell someone about it? If not your parents, then John. Reading and escaping is one way to deal, but reality comes right back once the book is done. Talking about your problems with someone who cares might help.
Yes, I get to read here. Read and work out—those are about the only things I can do.
The selection of books isn’t that great.
And I wish I had John’s gym equipment here. But I try to challenge myself to see how many sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups I can do. Yesterday, I got to five hundred sit-ups. I’m determined to get to one thousand.
In theory, I could take online classes here. But I have to apply for this grant. The approval process is slow. I’ve also applied for a job, but that takes time, too.
What do I need? Hmm. Other than a time-travel machine, so I can fast-forward the next ten years? Just another letter from you.
—Wes
Wes,
Did you get the package of books? I learned all of the rules about sending books to an inmate. Apparently, I can only send three paperbacks to you at a time and only directly from the publisher, so I thought you might like some new reading material. Water for Elephants is such a good book. I think you’ll like it. And Eleanor & Park is one of my most favorite books. Do you remember you bought me a signed copy for Christmas one year? I don’t know if any inmates will want to read about teenagers discovering themselves, but I guarantee, once you start reading, you won’t be able to stop. Send me a list of books or topics, and I’ll see what I can do to get them to you.
John said he saw you last week. I’m glad you had a visitor. It’s so weird that he’s not living at home anymore. I’m sure John’s going to do great in school. He’s always been effortlessly smart; it makes me kind of hate him.
I wish I could come see you. I’m trying to talk my parents into bringing me with them when they come.
I told Mom about med school. Not sure she believed me, but she didn’t get mad. She just said I’m still young, so I have plenty of time to decide what I want to do with my life and that I shouldn’t rule anything out just yet. I’ll probably still go to OSU because they have a lot of different programs, and it’s in town, so I don’t have to live on campus if I don’t want to.
Have you made any friends? Enemies?
Did you get that job yet? What is it you would be doing? Serving food? Making license plates? Sorry, those are totally ignorant guesses based off what I’ve seen on TV and in movies.
Have you gotten in any fights? Are any of the scary things they show in TV and movies real?
I worry about you, Wes. Hope you’re safe.
—Anna
Anna,
Thank you so much for the books. Reading them made me feel close to you. Send more of your favorites. And I’d love to read anything about carpentry. I know it will be some time before I can build anything, but I’d love to learn as much as I can while I’m in here.
It was so good to see John. I know your parents are planning to come see me soon, and I’m excited to see them, too. While I miss you like crazy, I’m going to ask you not to come here.
This place sucks, Anna.
It’s no place for an angel. Some of the guys in here aren’t so bad. But some of them…I don’t want them to see you. I don’t want you anywhere near them. And…I don’t want you to see me in here, like this.
Yes, some of the things they show on TV and in movies are real. I finally got a job doing laundry, and it’s harder than I thought it would be. But at least I’m earning some money and keeping myself busy. Fights break out all the time, and convicts have more cliques than high school girls. I’m trying my hardest to stay neutral with the other inmates. I’ve made one friend, Nick. He’s older than me, and for whatever reason, he’s taken me under his wing. Some of the other new guys haven’t been so lucky.
Anyway, tell me more about you.
—Wes
Wes,
Senior year is almost over. John and my parents are pressuring me to go to prom, but I…I don’t want to go. Other than Molly, who I know will always be my friend, everyone else at school sucks. It feels like I have to put on a show for everyone. Like I can’t just be myself.
And the true me would much rather stay in and read a book than get all dressed up for a dance. Besides, I hate wearing high heels. Do you remember that one time we got all dressed up to go to the country club, and I insisted on wearing my mom’s high heels because my feet were finally the same size as hers? Not pretty.
When I tell people I’m not going to prom because I don’t want to go, they look at me with pity, like I’m a loser, or with raised eyebrows, like something must be wrong with me. I don’t care though. I’m not interested in guys. I’m not interested in dancing. So, I’m not interested in going to a dance where it will be expected that I dance with guys.
Everyone tells me I’ll regret not going.
Do you regret not going to your prom?
I sent more books—Slammed by Colleen Hoover and a couple of carpentry books. Can’t wait to see what you think.
And, though I understand why you don’t want me to come visit you, it makes me really sad. I can’t imagine not seeing you until you get out of there, but I’ll respect your wishes.
Your turn.
—Anna
Anna,
I have a lot of regrets, but missing prom isn’t one of them. If you don’t want to go, don’t go. Simple as that.
Thank you for the books. Slammed was awesome. Those carpentry books are perfect; that’s exactly what I need.
If only they’d let me work in carpentry here. I’ve never spent this much time away from my tools since I got them. I miss building things. I even miss sandpaper.
It feels like I’m never going to get out of here. Two years down. Eight to go.
Tell me about college plans. You going to live on campus?
What do you want to do after college?
Are you happy, Anna?
—Wes
Wes,
I’m definitely going to OSU, but I’m living at home. My parents reassured me that I could live on campus if I wanted to, but it’s not that far from home.
Am I happy? I don’t know.
Books make me happy, and I’m trying to work out how to make them a part of my future. I don’t think I want to be an author, but maybe I could be a librarian or have my own bookstore. I still don’t know what kind of degree I should get or if it’s just a stupid idea. The first couple of years are full of core classes anyway. Hopefully, by the time I have to declare a major, I’ll have a better idea. It’s all so nerve-racking. What if I’m making all the wrong decisions?
I can’t wait to see what kind of bookcase you make. Did you get a package of books? Hope you’re safe.
—Anna
Anna,
Thank you for the books.
College is a time to find yourself. Follow your gut. Listen to your heart, and you won’t make any wrong decisions. No regrets, Anna. That’s going to be my motto when I get out of here. I’m going to try to make decisions that I won’t regret. Push myself to be a better person.
Sometimes, I’m scared I won’t even know how to…be after I get out of prison. Who is going to hire a convicted felon? How will I rent an apartment? Buy a car? Shit, how will I get a cell phone? I don’t have all the answers to those questions either. But I’ve got a while before I need to figure it all out.
You’re going to do great in whatever you decide to major in. I believe in you, Anna.
Can’t wait to hear all about it.
—Wes
Anna,
Everything okay? How’s school?
I know you’re probably busy, but I hope not too busy to still be my pen pal.
Guess what! The approval for my online classes finally went through. I’m going to take some business courses. I can’t exactly take woodshop online, but maybe someday, I can have my own carpentry business. It’s probably a long shot, but that’s my dream.
So, we’re both college students. It’s such a relief to have something productive to do other than exercise, work at my crap job, and avoid fights.
Your turn.
—Wes
Anna,
I called your parents to ask if you were okay.
I’m sorry you didn’t want me to know that you aren’t doing well right now.
I’m so sorry I surprised you by asking to talk to you.
It’s okay that you didn’t want to talk to me. I get it. You’re in a place that you didn’t ever see yourself being in.
But, most of all, I’m sorry I’m not there right now. I wish so badly I could be there for you.
I didn’t ever see myself being in prison. But, hopefully, the counselors can help you. I see a counselor regularly in here. Surprisingly, it helps me cope with this place.
I get depressed, too, Anna. I’m wasting so much of my life behind these bars. Sometimes, I can’t even grasp what it’s going to do to my future. What I’m missing out on. And it suffocates me. But talking to the counselor helps.
Your letters help me, too.
Know that you’re not alone. I don’t know what you’re depressed about. Or maybe it isn’t even that you’re depressed about a certain thing. You can be depressed for no reason, too. Regardless, you’re not the only one who battles this.
Don’t forget how strong you are.
Feel better.
—Wes
Anna,
This is easier when I have some of your questions to answer. But I know you’re in therapy right now, trying really hard to get better. Please, focus on that. These letters will wait until you’re out and ready to read them.
Classes are awesome. I’m getting straight As, if you can believe it.
My counselor, Isaac, tells me to make a list of things I want to accomplish with my life and make a plan on how to accomplish those things. Writing my dreams down on paper seems pretty stupid. I don’t even know what my dreams are. I’ve never dared to think that far ahead. So, right now, there is only one thing on it: to have my own carpentry business.
Taking classes seems like a good step toward making that happen.
The part I’m still worried about is…who the hell is going to hire me once I get out of here? Will customers care that their dresser or desk was made by a convicted felon? Will a bank give me a loan to start a business?
It is what it is.
When I stress over it, Isaac reminds me that I don’t have to figure it all out in one day. Let’s face it; I have a long time to figure it out.
Hope you’re okay.
—Wes
Wes,
Sorry I was MIA for a while. I don’t really want to get into specifics, so the short version is that I’m now on some medications to help with depression. And I have to repeat this semester because I missed too much school.
A month ago, the thought of needing to repeat this semester would have sent me into a total panic.
Now, with my trusty meds, I have no reaction whatsoever.
Except guilt that my parents will be paying for more classes because of my problems.
My mom, dad, and John are all so worried about me. They stare at me, as if trying to figure out why I can’t snap out of it. As if they can make me better by sheer force of will. And they have started to babysit me. If Mom has to go out to the grocery store, she doesn’t leave until Dad is home. On the weekends, John tries to entertain me and get me to go out.
My therapist’s name is Katie. She says this is their way of caring about me. Don’t get me wrong; I’m grateful they care.
But all of this attention is suffocating. It leaves me feeling itchy. Like my skin is two sizes too small and might split open to show my insides if I bend or move the wrong way.
I know they want me to be happy.
If it were that easy, I’d snap myself out of it.
The truth is, the meds help a little. But I don’t really feel like myself. I’m tired all the time. And numb. But my family looks at me like I’m not such a crazy person when I take the pills, so I’m going to stay on them for now.
Making a list sounds like a great idea. I’m not sure what I’d put on my list either.
I love your dream of having your own carpentry business. You’re so talented; people would love to buy your work.
Okay, topic change. I did send more books. Something Like Normal by Trish Doller and a carpentry book about trim work and framing. Not sure if you’re into that, but it’s what I could find at the local bookstore. I really like Something Like Normal. I connected so much with the main character. It’s what I hope to be—something like normal.
Hope you’re safe.
—Anna
Anna,
Wow, that book was…powerful. I think a lot of people probably struggle with wanting to feel normal. I hope, one day, you can tell me more about your mistakes. I’ll never judge you, and it might help to get it off your chest.
The second thing on my list is to buy my own house. A place to call my own. So far, I want a job and a home—pretty basic things. But I’ve never really had a home. I’ve stayed with many foster families over the years, and even though I stayed with the Andersons for so many years, I knew that was never my home. I want to plant a vegetable garden. Mow the lawn. Fix the garbage disposal when it gets stuck. Make my own patio furniture. I want a gym in the basement and a woodshop in the garage.
Did you put anything on your list yet?
—Wes
Wes,
So, this is it. My college graduation is tomorrow. I can’t believe I actually finished on time.
Are you sure I can’t come visit you now? I haven’t seen you in so long. I’m sure I won’t recognize you when I see you! I don’t care about the orange jumpsuit—are they orange?—or the other inmates.
I just miss you.
Anything else on your list? I’m still struggling with mine.
I’m so excited to start work at One More Chapter. I know most people think it’s a stupid job—to work in a bookstore now that I have a college degree. But…being in that store makes me happy. My boss’s name is Christy. She’s super cool. Young, smart, kind, and fun. The other employees, Desirae and Lana, seem really nice, too. Maybe these are my people. The people who will understand why I’m so drawn to books because they are, too.
Most of all, I’m so excited about my new apartment. It’s small but perfect. Only ten minutes from everywhere I go—the bookstore, my parents’ house, and John’s house. My mom keeps looking at me like she’s on the verge of telling me I can’t move out. As if she thinks I’m not ready, that I’ll fall to pieces by myself. But I already put the deposit down on the place, and I’m going to be paying my own rent. I’m twenty-two years old, for crying out loud, so she can’t stop me.
It’s exactly why I want to move out. I can’t stand the looks I get. The let’s try to figure out if Anna’s okay by studying her every move without making it seem like that’s what we’re doing look. I’m constantly under a microscope, like there is something on my face, but everyone is too polite to tell me. In reality, the thing on my face is just…me. I don’t know what everyone wants from me. Or maybe they just want me to act like I did when I was sixteen. Too bad that version of myself is gone. I’m not sure she’s ever coming back.
Maybe I have something for my list after all. Independence.
—Anna
Wes,
Thought you might like this picture. It’s me at work with my friends/coworkers, Christy and Desirae. Lana turned out to be not so nice, but it doesn’t matter because Christy and Desirae make up for it. I haven’t sent you any pictures because it feels kind of…arrogant. Like I think you want a picture of me, so I’m sending you one. But this is the first time I felt happy–at least in one aspect of my life anyway–so I wanted to share it with you.
What else is on your list?
I thought of another one. I need to stop thinking about the past. That’s going to be near impossible.
Hope you’re safe.
—Anna
Anna,
The countdown is on. T minus 17 days before I’m out of this place. I’m afraid to believe I’m actually going to walk out of here. So many other inmates have been days from release, and someone always tries to pick a fight with them to get them in trouble and make them stay in this place longer. I’m staying quiet and minding my own business, just like always. I won’t let anything get in my way of getting out of here.
I’ll see you soon.
—Wes