Miranda POV
“What are you doing here? I thought you had the week off, “ I tell my boss, Nancy, as she walks into my office. I was really looking forward to having a week without anyone bothering me. I can get so much more done without the constant distraction of small talk and meetings that take forever when a simple conversation would suffice. It's just like the coffee mug Amanda got me last year for Christmas says, “This meeting could have been an email.”
Nancy is in her late forties and she's the type of woman who is fighting aging hard. She has her hair dyed an entirely too blonde color that doesn't match her features, and is always talking about which facial creams are reducing her wrinkles by adding collagen or Retin A or whatever new wonder chemical removes crows feet. Last year she swore by a cream that boasted they used human sperm in their secret anti-aging solution. Damn, Nancy, if you want sperm on your face I can think of a few easier ways to achieve that without spending fifty dollars an ounce. Like, let me introduce you to a few of my brother’s friends.
“Not off. I was supposed to travel for work but all travel got canceled due to the snow.” Nancy states in her condescending voice that screams basic bitch even more than her thick face foundation and blue eyeshadow. She might as well put a sticker on her head that reads “Live, Laugh, Love.”
“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that then,” quicky reminding myself not to sound snooty, “I know you were looking forward to that trip.”
“I was,” sighing loudly, “I was hoping to do some Christmas shopping while I was there.” Figures, that bitch loves Christmas.
“Well, I will just be here in my office working on syntax analysis this week if you need me for anything.” God, I hope she doesn't need me for anything.
“Sounds good,” she states as she closes the door.
I ended up working a little late today as I usually do so that no one can complain when I sneak out a bit early on friday afternoons. On my way home, I stopped by the post office to grab my mail and as I thumb through the usual bills, I noticed a handwritten letter from Pocahontas State Correctional Center. Joel Johnson. He wrote back!
I'm so interested to see what he has written. I'm torn between tearing the envelope open right here and reading it or waiting until I get home and can read it while I relax with a hot cup of tea. Oh who am I fooling? Beebs wont let me relax when I get home, she’ll want to be let outside then walked. After that, Amanda will call like every other night and it will be bedtime before I get another chance.
The top flap of the envelope is impossible to open. What do they seal it with? Super glue? I resort to tearing the seam, careful no to rip the letter inside and I finally meet my new pen pal.
Dear Miranda,
I trust that this finds you well and enjoying the holiday season. You do have me at a disadvantage because you know about me and I know so little about you. I would like to thank you for taking time to write and sharing a bit about your life with me.
First, I am glad that you read some stuff on me so please feel free to ask any questions you want of me, case-wise or otherwise. As for me being in here, sadly, chasing a woman and thinking I was in love and not wanting to lose that feeling, got me here. There are multiple truths to what happened...mine, hers, what happened, and what the police said happened. Don't get me wrong, I am far from a saint, but I am also not a complete monster.
No,I have never been to Alaska. As a matter of fact, I have never been out of this God-forsaken state except to visit disney world and sea world with my family when I was a young kid.
You sound extremely intelligent to be studying languages, but it sounds monotonous to me. Is it? Do you enjoy your work?
My “art” as you call it-I just slap some stuff up there and see if it works. If I am being honest. I took a lot of art classes while in high school and had a couple of pieces placed in an exhibition. I could be so much better but I do not like it, as I used to. I have recently been focussed on it more though, because it helps me get through some of the feelings that go along with being in here, I guess. It helps to have anything else to think about than the reality of my situation.
I got my GED and learned two trades since coming in. I have held various jobs and work out constantly. I used to like to tattoo and party on the weekends (yes, they party in here). But after waking up in the hole after being drunk a few times, I realized this wasn't for me and now I am just trying to lay low until I go up for parole. Plus, I don't like losing my visitation privileges.
Anyways, if you decide to write back, tell me more about yourself. If not, I understand but thank you for taking a moment for me. I hope you enjoy the holidays. For me, they are just another day.
Always,
Joel
Miranda POV My mind keeps wandering back to the letter I received even after I completed my nightly routine of taking care of my dog’s needs and chatting up Amanda so she doesnt run off and do something crazy, like call over some stranger she met on social media. Ever since her break up with her long term boyfriend, David, she has started meeting men through different social media apps and even some dating or hook-up apps. It doesn't really bother me. I mean, to each is his own and her sexual business is just that-her business. I’m a strong believer that no one should be shamed for who they are attracted to and/or if they have any kinks or fetishes as long as everyone involved is a consenting adult. As long as it does not include any vulnerable populations or animals, then their preferences are their own to manage. I've got enough of my own life to manage, to worry about judging others. The only worry I have about Amanda is that sometimes her actions seem unsafe. Just last week
Joel POV “You dicks ready to get out of lockdown?” the CO barks as he walks by finishing count. “Really?” Shotgun asks hopefully. Me, I never get too hopeful. When it comes to the COs in my pod, I’ll believe it when I see it. I’ve been disappointed more than once and have learned the hard way not to be too optimistic when it comes to promises from the ones in charge around here. Once the CO has passed, I flop back onto the bottom bunk and turn on a television show. Not so much for me, but Shotgun doesn't have a television and I know he will want to kill some time watching something before they hopefully let us out for breakfast. The entire prison is sectioned into pods that hold around eighty men. There are two floors of cells that circle an open area in the center. On the bottom floor, the center circle holds two phones, two televisions, and two kiosks where we can plug in a tablet and download games, music, and emails from a secure email site. The showers are also on the botto
It almost feels like freedom, to be out of lockdown, to be walking around again, even if it's just in our own pod and around campus. It's dinner time now, Shotgun and I are standing in line for chow, talking while waiting for the doors to the cafeteria to open, when the COs escort in a large-built, light skinned cat. We both recognized him from other pods as it's pretty common to be moved around a lot. He goes by the name of Richmond. Shotgun and I both look at each other knowingly. The word is they moved him because someone in his pod set up his younger cousin, but we’re pretty sure the narc he’s looking for is in fact, in our pod. We know something is about to go down by the way he’s carrying himself and looking around. Richmond carries his property into the cell that is empty, continuing to look around. Shotgun and I shift ever so slightly to keep whatever is about to happen in front of us. We know he is part of a group of friends, or what the COs refer to as a ‘gang’ and a hand
Miranda POV I’m happy to report I was able to make it through Thanksgiving without being further traumatized by scarecrows or anything with the words pumpkin-spiced attached. Thanksgiving turned out to be a nice lunch with my mom, step-dad, and brother. It was practically painless and really, who can complain when my mother’s blueberry pie is involved. I just got off work and ran to the grocery store and of course I am assaulted by the holiday regalia the second I walk through the sliding doors. I maneuver as fast as I can around a gray haired man wearing scraggly jeans, ringing a bell over his empty money bucket for a corporation that claims to be religious and non-profit, but I know better. They make the public believe they use the donated money to help poor children and recovering alcoholics when what they really use it for is to pay their executives fat Christmas bonuses. Shame on them pretending to be santa. ‘They should rename their whole corporation Satan's-Army’ I think
Miranda POV Its true, I do feel comfortable writing to Joel; more so than I have ever felt with anyone else in person or via mail or rather email since I haven't actually written a hand letter since I was in second grade and Mrs. Sendrick wanted us to learn about the history of the United States Postal Service. I should be thankful to her now that I have the skills to properly write and letter and address an envelope, but I can't forget how she mocked me, calling me “poor baby Miranda who lost her new crayons.” Those crayons were the one thing I wanted for Christmas back then and she laughed when they went missing. I’m pretty sure mean Bobby White stole them as he had the whole sixty-four color pack mysteriously show up in his desk the next day and I seriously doubt that his parents bought him those crayons when he never even had a lunch. Even after he stole my crayons and called me “poor baby Miranda” for the entire year, I still snuck granola bars into his desk when he wasn't loo
Joel POV We stopped and I looked up at the house from the front seat of the car. It was a traditional two-story colonial style home with a well manicured yard. I remember it was yellow because I wondered who on earth would purposely choose to paint their house yellow. My heart started to beat faster as we quietly opened the car door and stepped into the sidewalk. It's almost as if I could feel that something terrible was about to happen, yet I was powerless in stopping it. "His house is the second one up there." she said as she pointed to the house on the right. "What we are going to do is go up there and I will ring the doorbell. You stand off to the side where the bushes are so he can't see you. When he opens the door, I will ask if I can come in so we can talk. As I step in, I will turn him around, his back facing the open door and give him a hug. That is when you will come up behind him with the gun." The closer we got to his house, the more my heart raced and I started
Joel POV It's two o’clock am and I am still tossing and turning. It isn't anything that is really bothering me, it is just sometimes my mind will not silence itself. Am thinking of Miranda a bit too. Honestly, I am simply intrigued at her openness and intelligence. I sent her letter off about a week ago and she has yet to respond. I wonder how long it takes for mail to get to Alaska. I am a little worried that maybe she will lose interest in writing when truthfully, it's so nice to have someone to talk to besides my mom and the fools in here. I don't know what I’m even saying. I know thinking about whether or not she wants to continue as my penpal is not going to change the outcome but it still isn't hard to think about either, especially at two in the morning when my mind won't stop racing. I smile, remembering things she talked about in her last letter. I could imagine her blushing at what she felt was an over share. Yet she doesn't realize, in here there are no real boundar
Miranda POV Damn! Joels’s hot! Not cute or a little good-looking either. I'm talking straight up, drop my panties on a first date smoking hot. I did not expect that. I’m not exactly sure what I expected but tall, dark and handsome was definitely not it. He is tall with a scattering of tattoos from what I can see and his form is filled with thick muscles, no doubt a result from the prison workouts that are displayed in just about every media portrayal of prison inmates. It's not just his body; his facial features are strong with a chiseled jawline and deep mahogany eyes that stare through the internet. I can only imagine how much more handsome he appears in person rather than on a computer screen. I browse around the internet a while longer, looking for more pictures. After I finish writing the letter, I am able to complete my work and the day goes by rather quickly although I am often distracted by a desire to pull up his pictures again and have another peek. I tell myself it