9-27-20
Dear Pen Pal,
Sunday here. I’m not sure what kind of protocol we’re working with but I kind of felt like writing a letter, so, even though I haven’t heard back from you yet–what the hell? I hope that’s not too bothersome.
Without sounding like an asshole, I find your name intriguing. Maybe it’s because I’m a bit of a Tesla groupie. Or maybe it’s because I am, in fact, an asshole.
Forgive me for cussing. I’m working on doing this instead: s***, f***, mother******. A friend of mine does that in her letters, and I figure, as an arsonist, one or two good habits wouldn’t hurt.
I meant to ask in my last letter: What’s the deal with mom? Is she single? Just kidding. Unless you’ve already told her I’m not.
I don’t mean to cut this short but something’s come up. I’ll see how it unfolds and then let you know soon.
Friendseys,
Patrick
—
[Attached to previous letter]
9-27-20
Dear Pen Pal’s Mom,
Did she give you the flowers I sent you? What about the poems? Have you been getting any of those?
So here’s the deal–and don’t go thinking I’m trying to point fingers–but I haven’t been getting any of your letters either.
Best I can figure is we need to schedule some kind of intervention…
What’s your taser situation looking like nowadays?
Assuming all that works out, we can talk about our future. But only if you can offer some type of assurance that I won’t get stuck at home taking care of your kids.
Uh-oh. Fargo’s on. Mind if we pick this up later?
Fingers crossed,
Patrick
…
10-8-20
Dear Pen Pal,
I have a craving right now and I’m going to tell you all about it.
So we received an update listing the commissary items they’d no longer be selling last weekend and, among other good stuff, Skittles and Butterfinger were on there. I maybe eat one of each every year but, under the threat of their commisarial extinction, I felt it necessary to eat as many of them as I could, and without delay. Which I suspect is typical when it comes to any kind of endangered species.
What actually happened was I ordered three Skittles, two BFs and some Chick O Sticks, because those are only 27¢ and how I usually quell my sweet tooth. But the Chick Os were out and so were the BFs, as well as everything else I was trying to grab. The Skittles though, the Skittles made it.
Three packs.
One is obviously for my Birthday. Because I think Skittles would make the occasion more special and I have that kind of will power. Another, I don’t really want to say, because I’d like to keep it as an option for surprise. And that third pack, well, that third pack is at risk right now.
Funny story. I was maybe ten when my mom bet me $5 I couldn’t save a bite-size Snickers from my Halloween score for an entire year. She wrapped it all crazy in dental floss “so she’d remember” and left it in my room. Me, being the way I am with money, I had no problem saving that Snickers for a year. The problem was, at the end of that year, trying to collect. “Why would I wrap a Snickers in dental floss and sit on it for a year? What kind of psychopath do you think I’m gonna grow up to be?!” I did get paid, by the way, but only under the threat of adolescent arbitration.
Do you suppose I should draw a face on these Skittles? Give them some personality? Maybe create some type of scenario where the three are a family? And what kind of monster would I be to leave two with PTSD, wondering if their turns will come separately or together every time I roll over in the morning, face their little basket, and whisper-count the days until we merge with Halloween…
Or perhaps I should blare them heavy metal and paint my face like a pagan…make them wish for a peaceful demise and Guantanamo escape.
Options.
Hmm.
Excuse me a moment…
I’ve asked them to choose which two of them will stay for me: take the stress off of myself, turn them on each other. Treating them like cannibals is the only humane way.
I appreciate you taking your to time to walk me through this situation. I’m not half the monster you are, but damnit if you don’t make sense.
Salvaciously yours,
Patrick