Charged by the Character

Dear Joey,

It’s me. You’ll find it hard to believe, but I’m writing you from the future. Won’t explain how. (I’m charged by the character.) You just got out of juvy, and if I set it up right, you’ll get this along with the rest of your junk. I know, you’ll wish I shared something useful, like what crypto to buy or what to tell Sonia, but they screen what comes over the line.

Right now, you’re alone. Everything feels out of your control — mostly because it is. Now you’re out you’ll get moved from home to home, school to school. You haven’t made any friends yet, except the losers from the inside, and most of them will end up screwing you. One of them’s a good one; you won’t know which.

You’ll struggle in class and your classmates won’t let you play basketball with them. A few especially insecure ones will call you a faggot and try to knock you around. Let them, for now.

Mom and dad are in prison. And broke, and so are you. You’ll need to dig through donation bins and withdraw beans from the food bank. Fuck, I’m embarrassed just thinking about it again. You’re holding onto a lot of resentment: to what or who in particular, you don’t know. Everything sucks and you’re angry about it — the situation you’re in isn’t at all normal. You won’t know that for a while, though.

If I remember correctly, you’re crying right now looking at that baby-faced mugshot from when they put you in. Man, that’s why I’m reaching out to you, or us, or whatever. It’s not your fault. Your parents failed you. The adults around you failed you! Everyone around you made terrible choices. So did you, but you’re a kid, so don’t beat yourself up too much. (Plenty of other kids will do that for you.)

All the stuff you’re going through shouldn’t be a kid’s responsibility. You shouldn’t have to look for a place to sleep. Or scrounge around for food like an animal. And other self-righteous grown-ups will tell you you can’t sign a lease, or work this or that job, and so on.

Yet, you’ll still have to do it, because nobody else will. And you will. You’ll never want to wash another dish again, but you’ll do it to get out of the dump you’re in.

It’s going to be really hard, and no offense, it’s because you’re a kid trying to do adult things. Most of the time it’ll feel like you’re doing everything you can and nothing gets better. Sometimes it’ll get much worse (hint: don’t steal gma’s ——. And Sonia ain’t coming back.)

But give it a few years and people will stop treating you like a kid. Suddenly you’ll be an adult, and nobody wants to help you anymore, but trust me, it’s a relief when you get to make your own choices.

You’ll meet a few good people who’ll actually give you a chance. You’ll get fancier jobs. (Sitting at a desk isn’t too rough on the hands, either.) And as the years add up, each one will mostly get better than the last. You’ll flip on the TV and laugh when you see the news about your bully boy. He won’t be knocking anyone around anymore. Then you’ll plod upstairs and cry about it next to your own baby boy. Eventually, you’ll do so well you’ll be bored out of your gourd and wish things weren’t so easy. Hard to believe. I know. I can’t tell you how the story ends, but you have great things ahead.

Okay, okay, you’re probably itching for me to get to the point. Here it is: There comes a day when you finally make peace with yourself, despite all the shit you’ve been through. But even if you don’t, I want you to know that I love you. I’m proud of you. Everything will turn out okay.

I get it, it’s all words on paper. It’ll take a long time before it sticks. But if you ever need someone to vent to, go ahead and leave me a message in our spot under the floorboards of the schoolyard shed. I’ll read every one — and if the powers that be cooperate — respond even.

Give yourself some slack. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll make peace with yourself a little earlier than I did.

Yours truly,
Joey

P.S. I don’t remember the letter helping all that much when I got mine, so I made some revisions. Fingers crossed.