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February 21
Hi Ax,
What happened was not my fault. I will say the words over and over to myself until I get it. Inside I know it’s the truth; it’s just hard to comprehend, you know? I can say the words, but my thoughts go everywhere.
Your letters are like sunshine to me too. Every Wednesday I get up early and go to the mailbox so I’m the first person to touch your letter… Well, after the mail people? That word doesn’t sound right. Lydi and Yaz can’t find your letters or ask me any questions. Sure, they’ve seen them once or twice, but they don’t really check where they come from. And I don’t think they know they come every week.
When I first wrote you, I thought you would rip up my letter and throw it away. I typed it out at least ten times. I even googled how to write someone in prison, but everything was like “this is what happens,” “don’t put criminal stuff in the letter.” I couldn’t find anything to tell me what to say. It’s kind of funny to think about now. I kept it short because I felt I had seconds before it went into the trash.
It would have made sense if that’s where my letter did end up.
I realize now you’ve been telling me what happened wasn’t my fault since the beginning. What can I say? It’s hard. You’ve lost so much. I know you don’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to think about it either, but I do think. I think about it all the time, Ax.
I can’t help it… If the judge knew why you did what you did, then maybe things would be different. I don’t know how the law works or what the proper thing to do is. I don’t want to make a move and get you in more trouble.
I read your last letter and got caught in a swirl of thinking about everything that happened. I try to keep the memories away, and it works most days. My sisters keep me distracted, and the cat…
When things get really hard, I read your last letter, or touch one of the openers you’ve sent me. I can’t explain it, but they make me so happy. I think it’s getting them from you. I know you don’t actually touch them, but still. :D
Yesterday Yaz almost touched the letter opener I carry around with me, the first one you sent; the one from the Spanish princess. I nearly had a heart attack. Some guy’s card declined, and I guess she thought it was scissors. Yeah, she was going to cut the card up. Typical Yaz nonsense. They’re all too busy with the club to even ask what the thing is or why I have it. So it’s kind of like a secret I keep out in the open. I can’t wait to receive the next one.
Nayomi’s doing better, but she’s not the same. Hasn’t been the same. Some days are better than others. She seems so … closed up. Like there’s a solid steel cage around her heart, and every once in a while, you catch a window, but you only get a peek for a few seconds.
And our dad comes by whenever he feels like it, which is about twice a year. He’s been away for a long time now that I think about it. Most girls would say they miss their father, and I guess I do miss him, but when he’s around he just seems… I don’t know, préoccupé. (I learned that word watching some TV show over Lydi’s shoulder. I love the way it sounds.)
Larry asks about the business first, and then he asks if we’re doing okay. What dad does that? The other day he asked me if I could tell him who was on the waitlist for membership, and when I said I had to ask Mi first, he said, ‘never mind!’ and basically ran away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him run like that.
I told Mi anyway, but she just brushed it off. They had some kind of disagreement years ago, after the funeral, but of course no one told me what it was about. Sometimes I wish I was a daddy’s girl, but I am so not. Can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on something.
Can’t wait to touch your next letter.
xo
Av
February 25
Av,
I get the feeling I’ll tell you not to worry about judges or lawyers or courts, and it won’t make a difference. You care, and I know that's just your nature. I could tell this from your first letter, but I get it now.
This is who you are; I’ve realized it’s time to accept that. I can switch roles. If I were there and you were here, I’m pretty sure I would feel the same way you do. It would feel like torture, I imagine. But that doesn’t mean I want you to get lazy on what I told you.
It’s interesting hearing about your dad. I always wondered about the guy. I wanted to ask what he thought about you sending me letters every week, but I figured it wasn’t my business. I could see why you’d think it’s weird how he asked about the club. Money can make things tricky when it comes to family. One of my cousins started a competitive business when I wouldn’t hire him, but he didn’t do well. Needless to say, we don’t speak now. And that isn’t even to say what happened with my dad. I wish I was closer to him too. I wish we had one of those relationships where we could go fishing or talk about life. I had uncles, my grandad, and my mom’s husband, but I always wondered. They all had their own kids, and sometimes when I was younger, I felt like they were giving me charity. Like I was the poor kid with a dad who couldn’t get it together. I'm lucky to have had my stepdad. We still write to each other. He thinks I can get out of here too, so you guys have that in common.
I don’t mind talking about getting out, but I prefer to not think about it at all. Harold’s still on my case, but he’s said there isn’t much we can do right now, except make sure I get parole as soon as possible. When it comes to the legal system, it’s best to not keep your hopes up. That’s all I'll say.
I stay neutral. Your letters give me enough positivity. That, working out, and the plants. There’s this one that kind of reminds me of you a little. I learned it’s an orchid, and it needs extra special care. I also learned a long time ago, people used to pay a lot of money for just one. I don’t know, when I see it, it makes me smile. We have a special relationship.
It really hurts to know these memories still affect you. I would do anything to take it all away. My wish is that you live your life free of any pain or hurt, and if I could somehow absorb it into my system, I would.
Where’s the blog?
Love,
Ax
Avryl’s phone pings and vibrates three times. Three text messages. She already knows what they are, orders for coffee from Starbucks. This is how her morning starts at Limelight. Sit down for two minutes, hope one of her sisters will figure out how to get their own orders, and then disappointment.
