ONE
CADE
Obsession.
The dictionary defines the term as an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s mind.
The concept of obsession has never held much of my consideration since I prefer to take what I want when I want it, well before it reaches an obsessive—some may even argue unhealthy—level.
That’s how I ended up in my current predicament with three stone walls and a row of metal bars to call my own.
But today when those bars open, there will be something good waiting for me on the other side. Someonegood.
Today, I’ll finally get to meet the woman who’s been preoccupying my mind the past few weeks. It’s not quite an obsession, but a deep-rooted sensation—a tug in my gut—suggests that’s about to change.
After nine years of sitting in prison, bored out of my ever-living fucking mind, I signed up for the pen pal program the warden’s constantly pushing. It’s a dumb concept, and I saidas much when he first harassed me about it. My feelings didn’t change, but I was intrigued enough to finally end my boredom.
My opinion shifted around the time her first letter was delivered.
Then came her second.
And her third.
Months later, I reread them almost every free minute of my day—which is often, since I have plenty of time doing absolutely fucking nothing in this place. They remain concealed beneath my pillow during guards’ walk-arounds, because I’ll be damned before giving them any more ammunition—something they can take away when the need to lord their authority over me strikes.
If only they knew what real power felt like. The tattoo on my left inner wrist is a symbol of the power I once held before stupidity stole it. A lesson learned and not to be repeated because stupidity will not take her letters from me. Any asshole who attempts to try can kiss their life goodbye.
What’s that say about my feelings for a woman I’ve never met?
My soul met her, though, as fucked up as that may sound. In only five letters, she’s wormed her way into beingsomethingto me. Hopefully today will give me an idea of what exactly that is.
In the hour before visitation, all her letters are spread out on my cot. They’ve been folded and unfolded so many times; I may need to trade for tape soon to keep them intact. Without them, this place will get a whole lot lonelier. I won’t handle not having them to keep me going.
Our pen pal match was chosen by the program’s directors, so how or why this woman got paired with me, I’ll never know, but it’s probably the one good fucking thing that’s happened to me in this place.
She’s mine now, and that’s all there is to it.
As part of my daily routine, I reread them, my finger tracing the places her pen dug in a bit harder or where the letters connect from one word to the next, like she was on a roll and couldn’t slow her thoughts.
I like that. It means she was confident in what she wanted to say and did so without hesitation, almost like she’s as consumed with me as I am with her.
The first letter was delivered in the middle of September, a few weeks after I signed up for the program.
Hi Cade,
It’s good to “meet” you. Hopefully, this letter brings you some enjoyment. I’m going to pre-apologize if I write something out of line. Ignore anything you don’t want to answer. I won’t be offended. I promise.
It’s weird writing to a stranger, but if we’re going to make this work, it means jumping right into it, don’t you think?
My name is Aspen. I’m twenty-four. I live in Ottawa and work at a flower shop. I have a one-eyed cat named Millie, who I adopted from a shelter two years ago. For fun, I watch movies and do puzzles—nothing exciting. Hmmm…what else? My favourite colour is emerald green. I know, pretty specific, but there are too many greens to just say “green.”
Tell me about you. Fair’s fair.
Your pen pal,
Aspen
That first letter made me smile for the first time in years. It made me consider a colour that isn’t grey and hobbies that aren’t counting to one thousand over and over. It made me think about pets and the kind of company they provide—something I’m sorely lacking, despite the numerous men in my cell block.
