The Untitled Johnny Project

There are not. You’re lying! Now I have to go on an adventure and fine the sheep. By myself, of course, because I do not go back on my word. My lips are sealed. No telling people about the sheep.

Did you know there’s a song? There is a whole song to help memorize the states and literally the only words are the states in alphabetical order. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it…but I’ll sing it to you anyway. One day while I am making you cookies.

Oh, they go hand in hand? I’m not sure about this logic. Let me guess, though - you don’t bake, do you? Does this mean if you don’t that you never could? Or you would have to learn to talk more should you want to try? 

You won’t go far.  They let ‘em in the streets.

In 10 years, I might actually listen.  Send the cookies along whenever you like.  There’s one about bones my mom hums when she’s stitching me or my brother up.  Ulna, radius, all of them.  You know that one?

I don’t.  Banned from the kitchen most days because I burned things when they taught me.  My logic stands.

Could have easily stopped replying, but you’re still here.

You’re from over here? That’s pretty cool. I’m from Wisconsin…not nearly as fascinating as the land where everyone talks about sheep but no one’s actually seen one, but it’s home. And it has cows. But, anyway.

Cup half full - now we’re talking. You’ve officially hit my level, even though you’re probably being sarcastic…embrace it, Johnny Dupaul. We’re on the road to chronic positivism. That is a real word.

The sheep are there.  I’ve seen them.  Not in the city, of course, not near the schools.  Out by where I live you will find them.  Do not tell people.  I don’t need dragged into conversations I don’t want for evidence.  I had to learn the states to graduate.  I might be the only Scot who can.

No, it is not.

My sister also once bragged about sleeping with a crackhead. She didn’t realize he was a crackhead at the time, but let’s not put anything past her. The bragging about her ass was nothing. But, she’s still good. People generally are good, faults and all. That’s kind of the point.

But fine, you did a really bad thing. An unthinkable thing. And I don’t know why you did it but I’m going to sit here and think maybe you had a reason. Now you have to pay for it and learn from your mistake but I’m not going to tell you to get lost because of it. If that makes me naive then, fine. I’m naive. I’ve been called worse.

Forcing is a strong word, but I’m good. I decorated my room, found a new coffee shop, watched Cupcake Wars on Netflix…it was a very average day in the land of Ava Rose.

Fucking stubborn people everywhere.

Not about prison - I have 3 siblings, a brother and 2 sisters.  Just graduated high school in May.  Originally from Scotland.  That’s three things.  Positive - could be four, Cup Half Full.

I understand just fine. But I’ll have you know that not everything my sister and I do falls on my dad like everyone thinks. Ruthie was bragging about her ass the other day - have you seen that on the news? Absolutely not. She could be out trying to bungee jump without a bungee right now and it wouldn’t the first time she did something crazy. If the worst thing I ever do is sit at a computer and talk to someone who happens to be behind bars, then I think I’m okay.

It could happen to anybody. Don’t read into it.

Your sister bragged about a flat ass.

Not the same.  It doesn’t happen to everyone.  The idea of pardon makes this look bad.  One of us has to not be naive, it looks like it will be me.  This surprises no one.

So.

What gives?! Pardon me…that wasn’t very polite. Let me start over.

You had been the one who told me that we could no longer speak. You walked away, expected me not to mind, and…okay that’s your damage. I can live with that. But then you sit here and remind me that you’re here, that you’re paying attention. What’s the point?

You can’t do that. If you want my attention so badly, you got it. We’re talking. You have no say.

Don’t read into it.  I don’t mind your company.  Thought it’d let you know that.  I thought you understood the rest.  Apparently not.  Your rep and your daddy’s loss.

Well…you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, I guess. I have no reason to judge you - I don’t even know you. But…I get it. The stigma behind the justice system stems farther than just my personal opinion. I know that.

I’m sorry…I always forget not to pull the secret service card - everyone always gets spooked. Like, it’s not even a big deal…

When I decided to come here it was because I wanted to be able to make my own decisions and make my own friends. And you, sir, are making both of those things very difficult for me.

Oopsie. I’ll try to cut it down.

Oh, we always had someone else to do that for us. Before it was our butler - his name is Jeremiah. Nicest man you’ll ever meet, honestly…not sure how well he’d handle a bat in a time of need when it boiled down to it, but he was always willing to try. Now we’ve got the secret service, though. I think they’re a little more trained in bat swinging… 

Sorry, you’re probably groaning again.

You’re probably right. These days there’s a fine line between what’s acceptable and what isn’t, though. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where that line is.

Secret service so...

Look, you seem decent but I need to cut this short.  I’m not the person you want to be seen talking to.  It’s not personal.  Helping you out even... tell your sister the same.

No class but if you want to sound that way, that’s you.  I gave you the heads up.  I did my part.  I don’t give a damn what people think but I know how I come across too.

A little. Okay make a little more than a little. I ramble all the time, actually - always seem to have a story to tell. My sister used to make me crawl into her bed when we were small and tell her a bedtime story if our parents were too busy to do it. Comes naturally, I guess. See? I’m at it again.

Yeah, I can understand where that would be a little boring, if all anyone posted were pictures. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but they’re not always words worth responding to. Oh no, Ava Rose is just my first name. Ava Rose Elizabeth Fitzgerald, at your service - but you can just call me Ava, if you’d like.

I groan with every paragraph I see.

I did something like that... I was supposed to swing the bat if someone came in and my parents were out working.