5. Ryan
Ryan
It’s been weeks since I wrote that initial letter. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure where it went. Brody had ripped it out of my hands the minute I told him I was done writing. But to my surprise, there is an envelope waiting on my bunk today.
In an instant, the sheer anticipation of knowing someone actually took the time to write to me feels overwhelming. Brody’s smug grin follows me all the way to my bed.
I sit down and read, then re-read Jackson’s letter.
Jackson. The name sounds like a guy. God, I hope it’s a guy.
He’s not only funny, but it seems like he might actually need me as much as I possibly need him.
It’s exactly what I need, but I can feel Brody’s eyes boring into me, so I slip the letter back into its envelope and gather my things.
I feel a sudden, crushing wave of isolation hit me as I walk toward the showers.
Out here, loneliness isn’t just an emotion; it’s a physical presence, a cold draft in the middle of a desert heatwave.
Brody is my only tether to anything resembling a soul, the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m just another serial number on a manifest. But even with him, there are parts of me locked away in a reinforced vault.
Without him, I’d be a ghost in a machine.
This letter from Jackson, a total stranger, feels like a sudden, impossible crack in that vault.
The realization that someone out there, someone completely untainted by this grease and grit, is reaching out specifically to me is overwhelming.
This letter is a terrifying and sudden, unexpected source of light and happiness in a future I didn’t think I was permitted to claim.
I head to the shower room. Knowing what time it is, I’ll have to put up with whatever lukewarm water is left over, but a genuine smile stretches across my face.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve felt even a little bit happy, and I have a person named Jackson to thank for that.