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Waving goodbye at Lucille, I impatiently await the sound of the door closing before typing the name of the book into the library catalogue.
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The book’s status pops up on the screen.
I stop breathing.
In stock.
What the…
I can’t rip my eyes away from these two little words. The library is a ghost town except for a granny and her husband, and I’m confident I can get away with sneaking a peek inside the book while they’re browsing.
Hesitant, I tiptoe toward aisle six like a criminal, relieved to find the book tucked away on the bottom shelf.
Here
goes nothing.
My letter rests between two pages, untouched.
No corrections.
No mean comments.
Zero.
Then I turn the letter over.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Dear Angry Chick,
First, thanks for the good laugh. I needed that. Second, you shouldn’t be so easily triggered. Takes the fun right out of it.
To answer your question, I know you’re a girl from your girly handwriting. (You might want to ditch the hearts on the i’s.)
Oh, and how you played victim in your first letter to Ms. Callahan. Remember when you were all like “Poor me, my mommy doesn’t love me and I have to write a paper”?
Boo-fucking-hoo.
We all have our problems.
You also asked me why I’m an asshole. The truth is, I’m not. Not in real life, anyway. I’m actually a nice enough guy when you get to know me. Although not nearly as nice as I’m guessing you are. I act out when life sucks balls. But you, angry chick? You seem like someone who takes it and says thank you.
Kudos to you for not becoming homicidal.
And you say you’re a good person. (Almighty on your good-girl throne with your pure, untainted soul.) How about I be the judge of that? You see, I happen to think we’re only as good as the worst thing we’ve ever done.
So, tell me, angry girl,
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?
- Zac
