Love Letters

[1st person POV]

Yes, it's true. I did do a lot of beer pong and stuff in college. Among other things that revolved partying a lot, but I did also do all the required studying in between!....

Oh who am I kidding. I'm embarrassed for myself each time I look back on my memories. 

High school was where I played football and was the golden boy of my senior year. I didn't make Valedictorian but I did make prom king, with a girl who I dated for a short time before soon breaking up with her after a year into college. It was mostly because she went to a different college and long distance relationships are only for the strong, but also because, we didn't really like each other. We just both got crowned prom king and queen during our senior year and it was like a weird pairing- that's not important!

I am however hoping that she's doing okay. She was a pretty okay person.

As you probably know, Grandma, I majored in business in university, as my parents likely shared after my orientation day. 

What they probably didn't share, because they kinda didn't know and I used the fact that I would be mostly independent in college as an opportunity to finally be on my own, is that I ended up making friends with a bunch of guys in computer science. 

Three of them were my dormmates in my first year of college, it seemed like computer science was a pretty popular major back then? Might still be now? I'm not sure. It was probably just coincidence that I ended up getting surrounded by a bunch of computer nerds who knew how to code. They were pretty nice, if not just a little shy and awkward at first. 

I remember frequently waking up, going to the bathroom to get ready, seeing my deodorant stick, the only one there, and seeing that it was untouched. I was also pretty lucky that at least the computer nerds around me showered frequently. 

I'd go out and hear a bunch of typing and sounds of computer monitors from the other rooms, go to my classes, come back in the evening, and still see them in their rooms. And even when the doors were closed, I'd be able to tell because of the blue light emitting from the bottom crack in each of their doors. 

Took me awhile to get to know them. They were good friends, but they sure were reclusive in the beginning. 

By the time we turned into a tight knit group, I already had my associates and was working towards my bachelors. 

Of course, I think you already know that I would never get my bachelors, because of that stupid mistake I made with the whole website and, yeah... You would think that having an uncle who studied law would make me somewhat familiar with digital gambling laws, but then again, uncle Edgar only ever studied it, he never actually made it to law school. 

I hope you and I both know that we should definitely not bring that up to him. Ever. Even after seven years, I know full well that mentioning anything about law school will tick him off in the worst way possible. 

Funny enough however, after four or five years in jail? I would end up meeting just, the most loveliest person who could ever study politics and laws. I could tell she was lovely just be the handwriting from the first letter I ever received from her. 

Not sure what prison was like for you, since I normally don't dare ask about your crazier stories, but for me, it was like a monotonous, tedious routine in a world of grey. 

My hair was shaved into a buzz cut so there was nothing to mess with subconsciously, I wore the same jumpsuit everyday, even my cellmate was some quiet guy who didn't have much to talk about, unless you asked him questions about pizza.

Depending on what type of crime you did, that's how you get organized into the different sections of the jail cells. I was put in one of the more, okay-ish? I don't fully know how prisons work, even when being in jail for a while. It was easy to not pay attention and just go about following whatever schedule they set up for all the prisoners. 

But that letter, from a humble and very sweet college student, suddenly brought color to my world of grey and monotone. 

I didn't even know that us prisoners could receive letters from anyone outside of established family members. 

"A Professor for a local college is doing a project for her students. Something about a pen pal project between her students and the inmates that were given a behavior screening." I remember the guard telling me. The one who gave me that first ever letter from Rosary. 

"You weren't originally on the list, but one student, I guess she was late getting to pick one of the inmates from the list provided in her classroom? Either way, feel lucky, and don't try anything funny. Not that I think you will. Quiet and boring are the best words to describe you." 

Those are the exact words he said to me. I know the real reason I ended up getting that letter and becoming a certain college student's pen pal, and I can't deny the comment about being boring. 

You wanna know why I didn't come out of prison all rugged or rough around the edges? Well, one of those reason is because I never really caused trouble in prison. Didn't want to, and I knew since it was only six years, if I just kept my head down, I'd be fine. 

Anyway, the next sign that let me know what type of person Rosary was before I even saw her face, is the content of each of her letters. She was clearly patient with me, never griping about how long it took me to respond, even though at first it would take me a week to come up with what to write because I was nervous each time. I had grown socially inept behind bars, and I didn't want to accidentally write anything that might upset her. She must've been in her third, fourth? Year of college?

Even in writing, she seemed kinda timid, and nervous, asking questions for her research paper, while also asking questions about me. Such a darling, worried about the feelings of a guy in jail that she's never met. 

As I slowly got used to expecting, and then receiving a new letter every week, I think at some point, one of the guards commented about how I would lighten up every time he came by with the mail? I didn't believe him at first, until I could feel my cheekbones rising when I opened up and read that one letter about how she was hoping to see me in person for the first time. 

...

[3rd person POV]

'We're nearing November, and of course I'm going to become extremely busy as December rolls around, so I want to finish my research paper as soon as possible.

That's not to say that I don't enjoy writing to you and hence want to stop soon! I really enjoyed our conversations, and I loved this system of getting to physically write to someone. I even got to use some of my tea-stained paper and my fountain pen. It was so relaxing every time! 

It's just, as a student, I've been getting so much research and writing material for my paper, thanks to you, and I don't want all that effort and info you gave me to go down the drain by ending up not writing a good paper, all because I was trying to juggle other assignments and final exams as I'm trying to finish proofreading it. (I'm rambling and I can't even undo it because this is all in pen! Sorry!)

Anyway, I don't want your help to me to be in vain, so while I can, I'm making my research paper my top priority. For the final requirement on the rubric for our research paper, we are to meet with the inmate we've been writing to, and getting any final questions answered in person. It's sort of like a psychological study, to see how the inmate in person either matches or is completely different from the impression given in the letters. 

I would like to know in advance if you are alright with me paying you a visit, and asking some of my final questions in person. If you're not comfortable, I'll understand, and I'll even think of a way to work around the rubric or even come up with some white lies. Or I can hope that I'll score enough points with the rest of the others topics I have prepared, and just ignore that last rubric entirely.

Please let me know what you're comfortable with,

Sincerely, 

Rosary. 

...

[1st person POV]

If you're wondering, yes, we did at first start by addressing each other by only our surnames, and then eventually we got comfortable with calling each other by our first names. 

It felt so nice. To write in such flowery, light and airy talk with someone. Her words and her handwriting were all so lovely. I kept every piece of paper I ever got from her. 

And of course, I made it clear in my response letter that I was more than comfortable with her paying me a visit. In fact, I think I remember trying to convey that a visit from her would be a blessing. 

... Please don't coo and look at me like that. It was just, it felt so nice in the moment. You try being in prison for four years, no visits or letters from anyone you know, and a quiet cellmate. 

I knew there was no chance I'd ever get any word or visit from family, not that I hold anything against you, Grandma, I understand why you never came to visit or sent anything. In fact, I actually made it clear to my parents, or rather the only request I made to them before the guards escorted me out of the courtroom, was that I never wanted you of all people to see or even acknowledge the position I was in. 

And I told my friends that I didn't want any of them visiting me, since they almost got in trouble and lost everything if it was ever known that they contributed to an illegal gambling website. The less contact they had with me, the more time they could spend, continuing to work on earning their degrees and go get hired at those huge video game companies. That was a dream for a good most of them. 

Although, funny enough, I started getting more human interaction even before Rosary first visited me. It happened just a day after I finished writing my letter and had it mailed out. 

One of the guards that usually passed my cell during his patrol gave me a teasing comment. I can't remember what it was, but I knew he definitely must've read my letter next to the other guards that worked in the facility's post office. 

Yeah, before receiving or sending anything out, all mail has to be checked by security, you know to make sure no envelope contains a pin for lock picking or anything crazy. 

Some more guards would then purposefully pass my cell to give me a teasing comment about how I was getting ready for my first date. They were very light jokes, but it was then that I remembered the whole security protocol, and suddenly felt embarrassed in the moment. I had legitimately forgot until my cellmate noticed I was confused, and explained the likely reason to me. 

I tried to make sure my letters after that contained,,, less things that the security guards in the mailroom would read and laugh at before sending out. I at least got a response, telling me what date she would be coming to see me.

Next thing I knew, as I waited anxiously for the day she would visit, I got escorted to the visiting room, being told that I had a visitor. 

Well, it wasn't exactly phrased that way. 

The guard that escorted me from my cell to the visitation room sort of gave me a wink and then said something like 'good luck with your date! I hope you managed to freshen up enough!' in what I remember was a snarky voice with a goofy tone. At least that's how I felt he spoke to me at the time.

He definitely must have passed by my cell earlier and saw me looking in the mirror. Whatever hair I had that was finally growing out, I was doing what I could to style it a certain way. I couldn't even remember why, it was still kinda short but,,, you know- first impressions and all that. 

Thank goodness you and grandpa blessed everyone in the family with curly hair. It certainly helped when the only thing I had to help me style my hair, was water from the sink. 

The visitation room where we first met face to face was the one with the booths and the window separating the inmates from the visitors. There was the landline style phones on both sides for us to talk... I have a feeling you know full well what those look like.

I was already seated, kinda surprised I got there before her. 

Anyway, I waited, and for a second I almost thought to myself, 

'Did the guard seriously fill out the paperwork, to take me out of my cell and bring me here on the day Rosary said she'd be visiting, only to laugh at me after I realized she wasn't coming today? Like making me feel stood up?'

Thankfully the prison guards weren't that cruel, because something in the air changed, and before I realized it, she came over to visit. 

I know that sounds weird but- look someone immediately asked what smelled like sugar cookies, and then I looked up after fiddling with my hands on the table, and I see the guard open the door to let in this-this just the loveliest, person I ever saw. I'll never forget.

She came into a prison's visiting room, where everything was grey or beige, with her brown hair braided and tied with a green ribbon, wearing this green, long-sleeve blouse and a flowy black skirt, a cute, and a corset cinching her and her outfit together. Her heels were making these, satisfying, nice clicks against the floor, far different than the taps of flat shoes. I don't know what type of corset it was, I just know that when I noticed her wearing that corset as she came in, and how I noticed others definitely took a second glance at her, I thought to myself-

'This little lady smells like sugar cookies and looks like the personification of Christmas somehow.'

And you're gonna think me a pretentious jerk for saying this, thinking I'm exaggerating, or lying, but, she dressed up so nicely like that, for me. 

I know that sounds like something I assumed and stuck with but it wasn't an assumption! 

The guard led her to the booth I was at, she sat down, I finally saw her face for the first time- a beautiful to imagine each time I would read her letters that would come after. You can't tell because it's cold and snowing right now, but she has these beautiful freckles that reminded me of those dotted patterns on female deer. And she was kinda like a deer to me, because I also noticed that she was, in person, ah, shorter than me. Petite, I guess is what you can say. 

She was holding a book bag, the one that looked like a purse that could hold a laptop, and as she sat down, saying hello to me and smiling the brightest smile I had ever seen in years, she was at the same time taking a notebook and pen out of her bag. Phones weren't allowed inside the visitation room, aside from the landline phones built into each booth, but she was allowed to bring her notebook and pen, especially since she was a college student and the warden was aware of the project that a majority of the students at the nearby university were doing. 

A hard worker, like I told you.

I remember sitting there, looking at her and taking in all the details of her face, her smile, her voice that spoke in the sweetest tone, asking how I was, and then I remember a guy in the next booth snapping at me.

"Hey buddy! There's a little lady sitting right in front of you, and she just asked you a question. Stop dozing away and answer her already."

I suddenly zoned back into reality and remembered where I was. Apparently I had spent a full minute sitting there, silent, while Rosary was meeting me for the first time and patiently, probably awkwardly, waiting for me to tell her how I was, because that was the first question she asked. 

The security guard that escorted me earlier, was subtlety but not so quietly, snickering behind me. Covered his mouth with his hand when I looked over to him, but I saw his shoulders tremble from laughter muffled.

I stuttered, trying to speak to her for the first time, then realized she couldn't hear me that well, because I was supposed to grab the phone. 

I grabbed it, after it almost slipped out of my sweaty hands, we exchanged those usual pleasantries that you do between strangers, and then- I just had to ask because- Grandma it was a dingy prison, I had to wonder why should would dress so, sweetly, for such a dull place. 

"I um-" She was reluctant to tell me at first. She was nervous too. 

"I wasn't sure what type of person you were, but I wanted to make myself presentable for you. Give a good first impression- I-I normally dress this way anyhow so I'm not trying to be a pick-me or anything! But, mostly because, I remember reading that it's healthy to see the color green, to help freshen up the eyes and you've described in your letters that the only colors you'd ever see were pale, dull, and orange so..."

Grandma. She dressed in a color that she thought would be soothing for my eyes. And there I was sitting in a dusty prison uniform, probably greasy hair, talking like an idiot because I haven't had a full on intellectual conversation with someone in so long. Much less someone so lovely.

She asked me questions on my experience in prison, some questions that she already asked in some letters, which I think was required in her rubric? Something about asking in two different forms to analyze for whether the responses are the same? All I knew for sure is that she was so excited to be able to get her research paper done, and I remember feeling kinda proud for her.

Out of all the other students in her class, she checked and she was actually the only one doing a paper on a convict who committed a white collar crime. 

And she would be getting it done early! 

I don't completely remember all the questions during that visit, because for some reason I kept getting distracted. It was probably because I was acting so infatuated with her. Mentally, I kept trying to remind myself to not drool over the first beautiful woman that I've seen in four years, and my social skills I'm sure must've been terrible.

It was a wonder that she kept writing such nicely worded letters to me after that whole meeting. 

It would be like, days, weeks, after the first meeting- or maybe it was just one week? Time was weird in prison- and the guards passing by my cell would still be snickering. Teasing me about how much I fumbled on 'my first date' as they kept calling it. 

Mind you, Rosary and I are happily living together now- that's a different story- and she loves coming back home to see me, so clearly, I didn't fumble anything.

But I was very surprised when, some weeks later, it was definitely December- I'll explain later- She sent another letter, telling me in advance that she wanted to visit me again. 

She told me that she finished her research paper and had eventually got it turned in! She must've gotten a good grade on it and I thought she was in a great mood, because the paper that she wrote that letter on had like some holiday designs. 

Drawings of mistle toe in each of the corners. 

It had only been a few weeks and I was already about see her again, I really wished my hair would've grown out longer by then but no, it was still the same, which really made me anxious especially after I saw how nice she dresses NORMALLY. 

The guards definitely saw my excitement, because the one who sent me her latest message was apparently standing outside my cell the entire time I had took the letter out of the envelope, and read the entire thing. 

Imagine my surprise when I slowly look up to see the guard smiling and waiting outside the bars, looking between me and the letter, wanting to see my reaction, like some girl looking for gossip. 

"Don't you have more important things to do?" I said in an irritated voice.

"Your ears are turning red! Aww, are you happy that the girl is giving you a second chance for another date?"

"I,,, will,,, draw very unflattering pictures of you if you don't stop peeking in on my letters."

"Too late! The guys in the post office already do that and more! You're letters are the only ones we like to read through thoroughly instead of just skim!" He sang as he left, or more slid away- whatever!

He stopped teasing me finally, and then there was the battle of making sure I didn't smile too hard each time I thought about her coming to see me again, otherwise other guards patrolling around will point out and tease me for it. 

Somehow, someway, maybe the place was just that boring, but nearly every guard seemed to know about my business. 

I mean there's no way the majority of guards all had a group chat with the post office, and each time Rosary sent me a letter, or I wrote her one, and the people in the post office would just dig for ours and take a picture to send to everyone. There's no way, right? Because that's what it felt like! 

I'm getting off topic. 

Rosary, on her second visit, still looked nice. She came in a green dress with this floral design, and another corset over it. 

"Sorry I didn't dress as nice as before." She said as she greeted me. God, she had no idea what she looked like.

If someone told me that she just had a full wardrobe with medieval-ish princess costumes that she just made look like nice fancy clothes, I would believe them. 

She folded her jacket, placed it in her lap as she sat down. No bag of supplies this time, and she smiled at me again, but this smile felt off. It didn't match her eyes-

I know what you're gonna say! That I sure must have looked at her face for awhile and forgot to talk again for a minute but that didn't happen!

... My cellmate helped me practice conversation. I drew a picture of her on the back of one of the letters and we used that as reference. 

Thanks to this, I got to remembering how to overanalyze facial expressions again, sort of, mostly because my cellmate was a very stoic but patient guy, and if I was able to read what emotion was on his nearly non-moving face, then I could read hers. 

She was upset, but trying so hard to act like everything was fine. I told her that she could be honest with me, I wouldn't judge her, I mean there's no way I could. I don't think I ever got to doing assignments anywhere close to the intellectual, purposeful kinds like her. Most of my assignments involved getting connections and how to make charts. 

And as long as we whispered to each other through the phones, she could say whatever she wanted.

"So, I turned in my research paper when it was time, and I put in a lot of effort. I got so much material to work with, thanks to you, and I'm very grateful for that. But, I got an eighty on it basically." 

I thought that was good, it was a passing grade, but clearly, she must've worked too hard on it to just get a B.

I watched her fiddle with the draping sleeves of her dress, or the edges of her coat, as she slowly began to look down, and her smile disappeared. Made me upset to see but it did mean she was getting comfortable enough with me to let me know things weren't alright. 

"Please don't take this to mean I'm blaming you for it! I'm not, I just came here to vent- a-about, everything lately. Would that be alright? You're not my therapist I know, but, after that research paper, I started to notice something." She looked at me with these Doe eyes, hesitating.

I promised her she could tell me whatever she wanted or needed, because I wanted her to keep visiting me and, for the first time since that day in college where I decided on building a website to help support my buddies, I wanted to do whatever I could to support her. 

"I don't know how I didn't see it before, but I think I may be getting, tired. It was only after I finished my research paper and turned it in, because I was so excited before, thanks to some new found passion, like a burst of flame, and then getting excited to talk to a convict and then getting such help from you that I didn't want any of it to go to waste, and then I felt so tired afterwards."

"Tired how? Like, you worked too hard on it?"

"No, tired as in, what I had felt before this assignment but didn't notice until this one assignment made me feel extremely motivated and happy. Want to know how I finished it so quickly? Well, when I tried to put it down and do other assignments, I just couldn't. I think, in hindsight, it was fatigue, and, I'm feeling especially down because, after turning in my assignment, my professor told me that it was a good paper, and I did a good job, and then she said,

'Keep this up, and you'll be able to bump up your main grade for this class, and get enough credits to keep your scholarship next semester!'

And then I realized I had not checked my total grade for my class..."

"Why not?"

"Because, I nearly forgot because I was happy, when working on my paper, that I completely forgot, I was close to failing the class. It's, embarrassing to tell you, so let's just say I was at a C for now. And suddenly I felt so drained, sitting in my dorm room and looking at my computer, and remembering the total grades I had for my classes."

The color on her face also seemed to drain as she just reminisced on it. 

She looked like she wanted to cry but couldn't, probably knew I wouldn't know what to do if she did cry. And I wanted to know what to do if she did but also I too was hoping she wouldn't cry because, I already hated the thought of her crying. 

Rosary was one of the unlucky students who exceled in high school but ended up having a difficult time in college. I won't say too much, because that part of the story is hers and hers alone to tell, it's too personal to be given away second hand.

The summary I can give without getting too personal, is that she was struggling a lot with work, money, assignments, and possibly her mental health. That last part was my guess, she didn't say it but I knew. I advised her to probably take a break from her classes, maybe take a gap year and work instead, then after she saved up, she could go back to classes again. 

That plan would have worked for me but not her. Because unless you had connections or had a family business that you could work at, there was hardly any good paying jobs willing to hire a student that didn't have her bachelor's yet. 

Only the trade work positions were willing to if the apprentice was willing to train, but obviously I didn't suggest that. There was no way I could handle imagining her getting hurt trying to use power tools because some sicko would rather ridicule a new apprentice and let her make mistakes so he can laugh, then to actually train her. 

How did I come up with that outcome? Well, friends in the engineering major who new some people in trade school. I made a lot of connections back when I was still responsible. 

Rosary wasn't the type of person to slack, and I knew for sure that she was smart, quick-thinking, and could do all sorts of things, if only there were certain issues that didn't hinder her. 

I wanted to feel more useful, but I couldn't do much behind bars. Then, before visiting time ended, she quickly asked if it would be alright that we kept being pen pals, even though there was no purpose like an assignment. 

If you went to the Maryland state prison and asked if the guards remember an inmate who was willing to bend over backwards so that a girl would keep contact with him, they'd bring up me.

I wanted to hold her hand so badly and tell her that if I could do anything to help at all, and if just being someone she could talk to was what she needed, then I wouldn't mind if she spammed me with letters the way Napoleon Bonaparte spammed Josephine with letters. I would happily read them all and respond to each one.

Just knowing she left with that smile on her face, and how I knew I cheered her up was my first victory in a long time.

And uh, quick note, Rosary actually also sent me something for that December! Yeah, it must have been near that special week when she made her second visit, and I think I remember giving me a long stare, before smiling and then leaving.  

Again, I don't fully remember the conversation, but I guess there were some signs of me griping about my hair, because I received a package, just a week before the holidays. It contained a bunch of bottles of shampoo, and a card with that same handwriting that I learned to recognize from a mile away.

Can you believe it? She was the one clearly struggling and under so much stress, while I was just sitting around in prison! Sure it wasn't great at times, especially sometimes with the lack of privacy, items, and,,, prison is dark. And even when she wasn't around, she just kept lighting things up for me.

'Thank you for making me feel better, and I didn't know if I could get this sent to you on Christmas, so here it is now. Just like how I like to make myself look decent, I think you deserve that too. Merry Christmas Titus.' 

That's what the card said inside. As if that one conversation did something big for her, as if I actually helped! Well, even though she thanked me with a gift, I still felt useless.... 

I shared the shampoo with my cellmate because I knew he and I would use them sparingly, and then I made sure to take up more work, whatever jobs they offered in jail. Anything to feel any hope that I'll be able to help her in the future, even though I knew I'd only be able to save up very little. Aside from working my butt off, the only other thing I could do was hope that things would get better for her on the outside, and that she would be alright. That what I mostly focused on writing about in my outgoing letters to her.

And next thing I knew, she,,, got a job as a personal assistant to a business woman! 

As it turns out, I would later learn when I got out, Rosary told me that, the woman was coincidentally also in my business classes years ago! Small world, right? I think I still had her contact info. Anyway, my old classmate was doing well for herself obviously, and that meant she was able to afford having a personal assistant.

However this all happened much later. And frankly it wasn't my only concern at the time, because a new one arose. 

For some context, I would typically wait around a week for a new message. 

In January, however, two weeks had gone by with no mail. 

The guards would pass by and ask what I did wrong, and I almost felt like snapping at them because their teasing was seriously getting annoying. 

But then a new letter finally arrived in February.

But it felt off, because she wasn't as wordy or descriptive in that one. Like she was avoiding adding some information, because after Christmas week, we decided to just write whatever the heck to each other. How we were doing, what small things happened. She would jokingly ask if I need more shampoo, or if I need bottled soap instead.

This weird feeling about her letters would go on for about a few months, until somewhere during the summer, when she would tell me that she got a puppy. 

I thought, at first. 'Aww! How cute! Yeah, dog's are great for your mental health.', and in that envelope along with the note was a photo, and then my smile vanished. I recognized the breed just by looking at the snout because I read about them.

The puppy was an Anatolian Shepherd breed, and she didn't adopt it just because she wanted company. In the note about him, she told me that the puppy was already in a training program to learn how to become a guard dog.