25. Letter
Letter
Splash,
A fresh batch of the triple chocolate ones should be incoming by Tuesday.
The girl at the bakery asked me today who I was shipping all these boxes to.
I told her they were for a top-secret military asset who protects the free world and also happens to have a serious sugar addiction.
I didn’t tell her that writing these letters to you is the only part of my week where I don’t feel like I’m acting.
A lot of that “Jackson the Joker” performance came in handy last week, especially after I saw what was trending online.
A major sports blogger put out a massive, ugly post saying that gay hockey players don’t belong in the league—that we’re a distraction and soft.
Of course, the trolls tagged me a hundred times.
Logan saw it first and literally hid my phone from me.
I had to wrestle it back, but the damage was done.
It makes you feel like absolute shit, Splash.
Like, no matter how many goals I score or how many shifts I take, all people see is who I share my bed with.
Why does it even matter who someone loves?
It’s completely exhausting having to deal with that kind of hate, and sometimes I wonder if I should just stop giving the media what they want.
We had a team media day yesterday, and I did my usual bit—cracked a few jokes for the cameras, made the room laugh, and gave a kid a high-five. Everyone loves Jackson, the Joker. But when I got back to my hotel room, I just stared at the page you sent last week.
I can see you on the paper, Splash. I read your words, and I try to imagine what your voice sounds like.
Is it deep? Do you talk fast? I watch the guys on my team, and I try to imagine what it’s like for you over there, living in a barracks, having to guard your thoughts and your identity every single second.
It must be so damn lonely to feel like the most dangerous thing in a war zone is just being yourself.
You don’t have to wear the armor in these envelopes. You can just be you with me.
Always,
Jackson