19 July 2002
I hope you had a good birthday, and that you’re living up your last summer. I figure after this one you’ll be all bogged down in internships and summer jobs and stuff, so make sure you really do it right. I know doing nothing is hard for you, but do me a favor and try. Not to be creepy, but I’ve been dreaming of you every night, picturing you laying on a beach somewhere in a barely-there swimsuit. Don’t disappoint my overactive imagination.
Maybe you already saw in the paper, but my trial didn’t go really well. I mean it wasn’t really a trial. I plead guilty to manslaughter for a reduced sentence. I guess my Tragic Backstory™ got me some sympathy with the judge and the prosecutor, so they offered me ten years, with a chance at parole after 5. There’s a lot more to it than I even told my lawyer, though. I hope someday you’ll let me tell you. Now that all that bullshit is in the past I kind of wish I’d talked to you about it before. You’d probably have had a smarter solution than caving a guy’s head in. You were always the brains of the two of us. I dunno why I didn’t think to ask your advice. I think I was a little scared of how you’d react. You don’t need to tell me how dumb that was. Hindsight is 20/20.
Anyway, enough about me. I know the 26th is coming up, and I know it’s going to be hard for you. I’m so sorry I can’t be there. I know it’s not worth much, but I’ll try my best to get you on the phone. This new place is pretty strict so I can only use the phones between 5 and 6 pm. I’ll call as many times as I can before they kick me off. Please answer. I want to be able to tell you I love you and hear your voice and stuff.
Damn, prison is turning me into a little bitch, isn’t it? I think it’s all the books I’m reading. I’m on a Hemingway kick right now. I remember Mrs. Parker saying the dude was a massive misogynist but his books are weirdly romantic. For Whom the Bell Tolls especially. Did you know Hemingway was basically a harlequin writer? Ha!
I love you, Alex. I’ll talk to you on the 26th.