Jailbird Tango

Part 20 - Dear Yancy...

I sat on the train, headphones in my ears. I was supposed to be working on my philosophy essay. it sat in front of me, on a triple split screen. I had the source material that I was supposed to be working on in the other window, the final was a blank word document. Checking the time I muttered, stuff it. Half an hour had already passed and I was getting nothing done. It wasn't due for a couple weeks, I could wait.

Closing the windows, I glanced at the sleeping person next to me before clicking on the blank document. I could feel my heartbeat, the sound of the train rattling of the tracks filtered through my headphones. Tapping my fingers against the keyboard I tried to think of what to say. Was it too late to write a response?

Dear Yancy. No, too formal.

To Yancy. No. I wasn't writing a birthday card. Angrily I slapped my fingers against the backspace key, causing the person next to me to fiddle around in their sleep. Sucking in a breath, praying that they wouldn't wake up, I tried to be quiet. I would just say that I was writing a letter for creative writing... but then they'd ask questions. What would they even be looking at my computer for anyway? Shaking my head I tried again.

Hey Yancy. Nope. It wasn't an email or a text. He deserved more than that. I was giving an explanation, not asking him to have coffee. I tried to ignore the jolt in my rib cage.

Yancy. It would have to do.

I'm sorry. My sister forgot to tell me she had collected the mail early last week, so I just thought that there was nothing. No. Scratch that. It sounded like I didn't care. The truth was important, but I couldn't phrase it like that. I tried to push down the anxiety of writing it in public, to ignore the stations that flew by as we sped through. Another forty minutes to go. I missed the letter being delivered, that's why I haven't responded until now. I'm Sorry. I owe you an explanation. My friend, who told me about you. He, wasn't very kind about it. It was a shock for me. It would sound convincing enough to the guards that read it, that I was talking about finding out we were related.

He forced me to come visit, threatening that I couldn't return to my daily life. He is offering you a place to stay once you go on parole, and thinks you'd find family with him and his brothers. I think it would be a good place to go for you, so you can get used to the outside world a bit better. But anyway, he has been interrogating me on how our visits have gone. I spend most of the time at the manor that he lives in, with his brothers, his partner and his daughter. He is, to me, a little controlling and that's why I listened to him. But, he said that once you are free, I can go back to staying home like usual and not spending time in the manor. I am sorry if you feel like I was using you.

I do miss being at home and my regular routine. I think you would do well with everyone in the manor and find another sense of community. They keep to themselves and don't really have any neighbours, so there wouldn't be too many questions asked.

I'm sorry that I used you and that you hate me. I'll stop writing and visiting you.

I slipped off my new glasses, putting them back into the case. Hopefully, once he got the letter, he would understand that I was selfish and the guilt would leave. All I wanted was the guilt to leave.

Shaking my head, I slipped my laptop back into the case and stared at the screen showing the next stop. Home was the next stop. Skipping the next three songs on my phone, I settled on a song from a musical. It was hard to not sing along to the catchy balad from a horror musical, I couldn't remember the name. One day I'd see it, but for now, the pirated soundtrack and low quality clips on youtube would do.

Theatre always looked so enjoyable, but throughout school I was always too scared to try. Laura did theatre and dance, loved them both and was the confident understudy of the lead in almost every highschool production. I remember having to sit in on one of her rehearsals and feeling awfully jealous. I couldn't dance, sing or act. So I never tried and never got called gay. It was a win win.