Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Reading’s not something I did in my previous life. I could blame growing up on a ranch for that, but it was all me. I’d take mucking the stalls or mending fences over sitting still any day. Not a good thing when you’re trapped behind bars with a bunch of guys who have more testosterone running through their veins than blood and have a history of a short fuse. Reading keeps you busy and from creating havoc. So it’s more of a necessity than a hobby.
Anyway, thanks for the heads-up. I will be sitting on the edge of my seat for all your questions.
Bo
PS: So how’d I do? Am I polite enough for you?
To: Bo Porter
From: Peyton Turner
Dear Bo,
So you’re a cowboy.
You never mentioned that on your profile but I should’ve known. All signs were there. You guys tend to be a little abrasive. I guess all that mucking and mending is injurious to good manners. I grew up with cowboys. Well, until we moved away to the city when I was eleven, but I know cowboys. In fact, if I had known that you were a cowboy, I probably never would’ve sent you a letter.
But we already know I’m stuck with you so it’s neither here nor there.
So tell me about your ranch.
Do you miss it? What’s the thing you miss the most?
I miss where I grew up too. Even though a ranch means cowboys and they aren’t my cup of tea, I still miss the land. All that space, the rolling plains and the woods. The fact that I could get lost when and if I wanted to. I could walk and walk for miles and never see another soul. I could sit in my favorite spot and read for hours and no one would come bother me. I miss reading in my favorite spot. I guess that’s the thing I miss the most.
I’d go back if I could.
But it’s okay. I’m happy here too. I have my school, my books, my job. My life is good and safe, careful. Like I always wanted it to be. A little unadventurous but at least there are no cowboys. Or rather, the only cowboy that I have to deal with comes on a folded piece of paper, tucked inside a white envelope.
Without further ado, please find the list of questions on the next page. I’m trying to write about the prison education system and I’m going to be honest, I absolutely hate sociology. And so even though I don’t like you very much and don’t care if you find my questions annoying, I’m sorry for such a long list. I almost fell asleep writing it so I totally do not envy you for having to answer them.
Until next time,
Peyton
PS: Surprisingly, you’re getting there. For an asshole cowboy, you’re a fast learner.
To: Peyton Turner
From: Bo Porter
Peyton,
Who is he?
I’m guessing he’s a cowboy. The one who made you live a careful life. Isn’t that what you called it? A careful, unadventurous life. So who is it? An ex-boyfriend, your daddy?
Did he hurt you? What’d he do?
Because in my experience when a girl plays it safe, it always has to do with a man in her life. Is that why you can’t go back to your ranch? Because of that asshole?
As for mine, I miss it, yeah, but not a favorite spot—although if I could call something my favorite spot it would be the creek running on the north end of the property—or something similar. I miss the real things, the everyday things. The dirt that gets on your boots, your clothes, under your nails; the smell of hay and leather; the splinters that get into your hands when you’re mending fences no matter how good you glove up. The wind in my hair when Rebel, my thoroughbred, gallops through the fields, his shifting sleek muscles between my legs.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, behind bars and away from everything I’d ever known.
Anyway, I answered all your questions. They were annoying but you’ll be happy to know I managed to stay awake through them. At the risk of sounding full of myself, I do think you’ll scrape a passing grade this time around.
Bo
PS: Maybe all I needed was someone to teach me. And for a little college girl, you’re a good teacher.
That was it.
That was the moment. When he asked me about my careful life. About who hurt me.
That was when something shifted inside of me. Of course, I didn’t know it back then, but I know it now. That was the very first night when his words wouldn’t let me sleep. I tossed and turned until I gave up and sat down at my desk to write him a response. To tell him things about me that I don’t usually tell anyone.