Page 5 of Our Secrets and Scars

Guess I should be thankful that the burns on my face make it a little easier for my parents to look at me. They don’t have to see Bexley every time they glance in my direction. If my scars bring them just that little bit of peace, then I can appreciate them for that. But only that, Fletcher. Because as much as I’d love to share your belief that scars are beautiful and strong and blah blah blah, I can’t. Not when I look in the mirror every day and mourn how I once looked. Maybe one day, I’ll grow to accept them, but today is not that day.

Love, Kinsley

P.S. You didn’t answer my question.

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Inmate #7492

Idaho State Correctional Institution

13500 Pleasant Valley Rd.

Caldwell, ID 83634

Kinz,

A fight broke out in the dining hall today. It’s not the first one to happen since I’ve been here, of course, but it’s the first time someone has died. I don’t even know what happened. One second, I was pushing my mashed potatoes around on my plate, and the next, the guards were yelling because some guy had been stabbed through the neck with a shivvie.

I don’t know, maybe I should be used to this kind of thing by now. I’ve been in prison for four years now, like what did I expect? But God, I’d been speaking to the guy in the food line just ten minutes before, and then suddenly, he was hunched over his dinner with a knife buried in his throat.

It was a reality check, I guess.

The dude who did it has been taken to solitary confinement. And I think he’s gonna be transferred to a higher security prison at some point next week. That’s what I heard the guards saying, anyway. I’m not sorry to see him go, he’s always been an asshole, but I can’t say that I expected him to stab someone during dinner.

Maybe that’s why I’m so shaken because I wasn’t prepared for it. And it’s why I’ve had to fight the urge to vomit since it happened and force my face to go blank whenever anyone looks at me. Because no one can know that I’m affected. Showing weakness is the worst thing you can do in a place like this, and I’d be signing my own death warrant if someone caught on that I gave a shit. So, somehow, I have to act as if watching a man choke to death on his own blood is a totally normal thing for me.

When the truth is, it’s not. It’s not even close.

So, tell me something, Kinz. Tell me anything. Shine your light on me through your letters; it’s the only thing I need right now. Because even though you might not think so, I’ve never known anything as beautiful as your light.

Always, Fletcher

P.S. I’m fine.

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Kinsley Garcia

1152 Llamarada Blvd.

Twin Falls, ID 83301

Dear Fletcher,

The rain came today.

For weeks, I’ve been staring out of my bedroom window, praying that a cloud will finally take pity on us and burst. Drought season sucks. I went almost the entire week without a shower, and the humidity has been unbearable. The basement flooded twice, much to my papa’s displeasure, something to do with surface tension, I don’t know. He tried explaining it to me, but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy asking the sky for a miracle.

And finally, it gave me one.

Boy, did it give me one.

The first fall of rain came during the early hours of this morning, and it hasn’t stopped since. Rainstorm after rainstorm, it’s been ceaseless. The sky is so dark, you could mistake it for being night. But it’s early evening as I write this, sitting at the desk in my bedroom that faces the window. I’m watching the raindrops as they splash onto the glass and chase each other down, all the while thinking of you. Wondering if you can see it too.

Can you?

Can you see the rain, Fletcher?

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