To the men who broke into my car and stole everything:
I hope you don’t find it too difficult to remove the very identifiable stickers. Please forgive me for adhering them so securely, I never expected them to come off.
I hope you truly enjoy the music collection I’ve been building since I was thirteen and that you’re not bothered when it barely plays through the blown-out speakers. Be sure to check out the homemade tracks my friend wrote and performed, which now exist nowhere else.
Before deleting my hard-drive, I hope you will take the time to read all my poetry and short stories; I’m sure you’ll be particularly pleased with the 90-page romance novel I’ve been working on intermittently for three years. My college essays should also make for interesting reading.
Please take the time to browse through my photos, most of which I took myself, and try to appreciate the fact that some of those people in the photos are dead or gone from my life.
If you happen to glance through my bookmarks, I’m sure you’ll be entertained by the erotic literature links. There’s also a few great links to bootleg movies, though they’re all chick-flicks.
As for the $30 iPod Shuffle, which is no doubt what tempted you to crow-bar open my car, it’s corrupted and probably needs to be restored by an Apple technician, so good luck with that.
I have to say, there is one stolen item that does puzzle me: my backpack. Since it was nowhere near my computer and iPod in the car, I can only assume that you took it to be able to carry your booty, a clever plan by all means. I hope my Spanish vocabulary lists and reproductive system worksheets prove especially enlightening to you.
Though there was nothing of material value in my beloved, bright-yellow NYC shoulder bag (should anyone happen to see it), you managed, with chilling accuracy, to take the thing that mattered most to me in the entire world. The journal that was tucked in between my Speech project and my English binder was my single most prized possession. I hope that before you dump the bag in the nearest trash receptacle, you take the time to leaf through it’s pages. Take care to observe the flower from my first lover, pressed between the pages. Also take note of the family photos, of which there are no digital copies anywhere. I hope my entries will provide you with some entertainment, especially the giddy ones about boys. If you’re feeling generous, you might write to all the people I met abroad (whose contact information is in the back) and apologize on my behalf for never contacting them.
Ultimately, you have completely succeeded at thoroughly terrorizing and utterly crushing the spirit of a stressed-out teenage girl. Congratulations. You also have succeeded at being ironic: you chose to steal my computer on the very day I was to quit the restaurant job I hate so I could focus on school. I now remain employed in Hell so I can save up and buy a new one. I can only hope that the money you made by hawking my shit went to feed your kid instead of your drug habit.
Next time, please leave the journal. And the Spanish homework.
Sincerely,
Maria Lawless
P.S. If there’s a God, he’ll put us in the UFC Octagon Ring thing and eat popcorn while I stomp your gonads off and rip out your throat, you son-of-a-bitch.
