3

Joel POV 

Shotgun moved over to sit on my bed and I draped a blanket like a curtain from the top bunk. I then stretched a sheet across the front of the cell, blocking most of the view from the cell door window in case a female CO walked by. I stripped off my clothes, soaped up my washcloth, and started to wash off starting with my upper body.  My arms and chest were sore from today's work out and the veins in my forearms protruded as I glided over them with the washcloth. At least that is one benefit to this life, years of prison workouts have resulted in my body being covered in thick muscles, matching my height of six foot two.   I am no longer the scrawny, uncoordinated adolescent I was when I was first sentenced to this hell hole.

I also have a shit ton of tattoos and while some are truly exquisite works done by some amazing artists I've met along the way, others are just scrawls with prison ink completed out of boredom or as a favor for other inmates to practice on blank skin. A couple of them are strategically placed to help hide scars from being stabbed while in the yard. 

“Hurry up,” Shotgun bothers. I rinse and dry the rest of my body and put on the boxers and shorts. 

“Here,” I said, “I left you the mess asshole.” 

Shotgun stood up and walked over the the toilet/sink area as I stepped around him, moving toward my bunk. Sitting behind the curtain blanket, I picked up the letter and reread it, wondering again what exactly it was that I would say and why she had bothered writing. 

“I can hear you overthinking shit over there.” Shotgun quipped. “She wrote you. Simply write back and that starts the conversation. You know what your problem is?” 

“No but I'm sure you're going to tell me,” I replied. 

“You think too fucking much.” I guess that’s better than not thinking at all. 

He shuts the water off and kicks the curtain with some half assed attempt at a karate kick. “Okay, I'm good now,” indicating that he was dressed. 

I took down the blanket and folded it up. Shotgun wiped down the floor and the sink, cleaning our mess and we proceeded to eat some snacks and chit chat while watching some television. The whistle blew at exactly eight o'clock pm and we stood by our bunk while the COs walked by and counted us for their nightly paperwork. Count, as we call it,  usually doesn't take too long, maybe only thirty minutes, but it can feel like forever when you're just standing there waiting for permission to sit or lay back down. 

When count was over, we completed our nightly ritual of brushing our teeth and taking a leak. I set out some hygiene supplies for the morning in case we get lucky enough to get a real shower.  Showers during lock down are allowed once within every seventy-two hours. We are allowed to come out for a ten minute shower, which normally means six minutes under the water.. They open two cells at a time and then rush us to get done.  I am really hoping I can shower tomorrow since its been over seventy-two hours and I would like to trim my beard that is getting a bit too bushy.

After they turn out the lights, Shotgun crawls up to the top bunk and lay back with my headphones on. I always enjoyed the late night; the semi darkness and quiet where I am left alone with my thoughts.  Tonight, I can't help but think, how did my life come to this? My mind drifts off to look for an explanation to how it went so far off track from what I always thought it would be….

I was a good kid. I grew up middle class. I was in Boy Scouts, for God’s sake, I even played soccer and practiced karate. In school, I made good grades and the teachers all seemed to enjoy having me in class as I was polite and frequently asked questions that challenged them, especially in my favorite subject, history. I took every art class and earned honor roll nearly each semester. My parents were always supportive and I had a younger sister who adored me. Everything was seemingly perfect, until I met her…

It was the first day of my junior year, and I was sitting in my psychology class when she walked in.  She knew exactly how attractive she was and all I could do was stare. The teacher came in and assigned us to choose one person, introduce ourselves to that one person and learn five things about them. To my surprise, she chose me. She walked straight over to me and introduced herself.  Not only was she gorgeous and she chose me over all the others in the class, she also made me laugh and was easy to talk to. After only one class, I felt as smitten as any teenage boy could be, and felt as if I already knew her.  When class was over, I actually felt sad that we had parted ways. 

Each day in class, we would talk and flirt and one day she invited me and a friend back to her house. Sitting on the couch, I was surprised when she came in smoking a cigarette and offering us drinks from her parents liquor cabinet.  I didn't have the first impression that she was a partying type of girl, but since I had recently attended some riverbed keg parties this summer, I was pleasantly surprised I wouldn't have to hide that from her. 

She sat down on the couch next to me, close. She pushed her body up against me, reaching her hand between my thighs, feeling my hardening cock and whispered, “I’m going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.” 

Turns out, she was the worst.  How’s that for ironic? My mind drifted back from my memories to my present situation.  I listened as Shotgun snored above me, Damn, he was a heavy sleeper. I wish I was so lucky.  I haven’t had any real relationship, conversation or otherwise with a female since. I guess I could take a chance and leave my comfort zone, just a bit. I mean, it’s not that big of a risk just to return a letter.  She did take the time to write to me, so I kinda owe her, I guess. Just as long as I remember, chicks equal trouble.  

Dear Miranda….