Page 7 of Our Secrets and Scars

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Inmate #7492

Idaho State Correctional Institution

13500 Pleasant Valley Rd.

Caldwell, ID 83634

Kinz,

I like to think that if we saw each other on the street, I’d instantly know who you are, that my gut would tell me, or my soul would scream until I realized. Guess the likelihood is that we’d simply pass on by like strangers.

You’ve told me a little about your upbringing before. I know that you were born to immigrant parents, that your mama is Greek and your papa’s Columbian, and they came to the states to have you and Bexley. I don’t know the exact color of your eyes or the shape of your face. I don’t know if your lips slant down at the corners or if they seem to be always smiling.

I wish I knew, Kinsley. I wish I knew the lines of your face as well as I know mine, but you’re right. Chances are, I’ll never know. And yeah, it fucking breaks me, but I have to be okay with it.

I’ve thought countless times about asking if you’d want to visit me here, but I won’t ever allow myself to be so selfish as to make you come to a place like this. Just breathing this air would poison you. You deserve so much more than to sit in one of those shitty metal chairs as I’m escorted over to you by a prison guard. Truthfully, I can’t think of anything worse than you seeing me that way anyway. And if I had to choose between you knowing me in chains and you not knowing me at all, forgive me, but I’d go with the latter.

I want to be good enough for you, Kinsley. But the sad truth is, I’m not.

Always, Fletcher

Six months ago

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Kinsley Garcia

1152 Llamarada Blvd.

Twin Falls, ID 83301

Dear Fletcher,

Prom was this weekend, and I didn’t go. I used to dream of the kind of dress I’d wear. Red, that’s what I wanted. Shane would have worn a matching tie and picked me up at my house with a corsage and charming smile. We’d have gritted our teeth as my parents forced us to take photos in front of our staircase, then taken a stretch limousine to the school and danced under glittering lights.

But I wore track pants and an old, oversized sweater instead. I ate peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon and watched true crime documentaries on Netflix. I pored over the photos that flooded social media of the girls I used to call my friends posing with their dates under balloon arches. And then I cried into my pillow and mourned the girl I used to be.

I could’ve gone, I know that. But I wouldn’t have had a date or friends to dance with. I’d have spent the night alone in a dark corner, trying to avoid the eye of everyone, hoping that no one looked at me too long or bullied me into going home.

Do you ever get sad that you missed your senior prom? Or wouldn’t you have gone anyway?

You probably have more important things to worry about than a stupid dance, but it’s just always been a big deal to me. Bex would be rolling her eyes at me right now or calling me a spoiled princess. She always turned her nose up at the things I liked, but that’s just the way she was. She didn’t understand why dressing up and dates and dances would be so important to me, and that’s okay. I didn’t need her to. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wished that we could have had more in common.

Because she was the person I loved most in the world, and yet I couldn’t connect with her, no matter how hard I tried. There’s this misconception people have that you can’t get a bond more intense than the one between identical twins. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s true for others, but it wasn’t for us. We never finished each other’s sentences or felt each other’s pain. We had no real sense of “twinness.” God, it makes me so sad to say that, but it’s the truth. I loved her with my whole heart, but we were basically strangers. I loved her, but I didn’t like her. And I live with the guilt of that every day.

Between my scars and my secrets, Fletcher, it’s a wonder that you still write back to me at all.

Love, Kinsley

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Inmate #7492

Idaho State Correctional Institution

13500 Pleasant Valley Rd.

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