To: condorboy
Date: Tuesday, February 21—7:16 AM
Subject: donuts
Dear Connor,
So have you and Jeremy consummated your love yet? Have you met any sexy college girls? Have you been to any wild parties? I know you’re on the road and everything, but don’t you have one of those fancy phones with internet? Can’t you borrow someone’s laptop for a couple minutes to write me a quick note reminding me I’m not alone in the world? I’m at a point where I might even be desperate enough to CALL YOU ON THE PHONE, except, if I remember correctly, I refused to take your number when you offered it to me so many months ago.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to jail just yet. White girls in good neighborhoods can get away with murder these days. All that happens is they get sent to their room to clean up the wreckage (we must keep up appearances, yesyesyes) while the parental units drink organic free-trade coffee with the policeman downstairs. I wonder if he can taste the difference. Do Seattle cops have better taste in coffee? Do they like donuts as much as people say? Or would it be scones here? Croissants? Something fancier? What do cops in Beverly Hills eat? Do they even have donuts in Beverly Hills?
The cop told my parents to be stricter about making me see the shrink. And to make me take a drug test. Ha! In the history of teenagers taking drug tests, I will be the first one that comes out legitimately clean! It’ll be all over the news. I’ll be a hero to kids everywhere. Maybe the assholes at school will actually start talking to me. No, let’s not go too far.
My mom says she doesn’t know what to do with me. So I said, “Why do you have to do anything with me?” Then I had to go back to my room. It’s funny how they think it’s a punishment to be alone in my room with all my beloved stuff, when really that’s the only place I can stand to be in this cruel, horrible world. A real punishment would be making me hang out with them all day. But I guess that would be torture for them, too, so I don’t expect anyone to suggest that option anytime soon.
I don’t think I can keep this up much longer. But it’s like I don’t even have a choice. I wish there was a switch that could just turn me off for a little while, let me recharge. LET ME SLEEP. Do you have any idea how that feels? To be soooooooo tired but no matter what you do, you can’t sleep? When I die and go to hell, that’s what it’s going to be like: Hanging out with my parents and having to do math homework and not being able to sleep.
I wish you were here to sing me lullabies.
Love,
Iz