Hi Bianca,
Just wanted to drop a line and let you know the letter I sent to Gary came back to me the other day 'Return to Sender' for reasons of 'too much weight.' The thing of it was you could tell it had been gone through and read. But with as long as that took to return, you'd think the letter was lost to Gary's locker and forgotten about or something.

I'm fairly baffled as to why it was sent back. The weight offense is obviously a cop out. Prison rules don't apply to guards, silly! I'd certainly be apt to think it could have been because of a page in the letter that basically questioned Gary's gender, 'on account of being a bit confused about the whole 'Female prison guard named Gary' thing; the adjective 'Female' either relating to Gary's gender or employment at a Female Prison.

I mean, obviously, Gary works at a female prison, but I still didn't want to knowingly 'Josh' up gender identity, incase Gary's a female too. But even after I finally worked up the nerve to put the question to paper, on about page 17, I ultimately decided to omit it. My vamping nostalgic about gum, both bubble and chewing coming off a bit too pretentious and seemingly forced.

So at the end of the day I can't even suppose I'm just another casualty of adjective confusion,

 since I didn't even send that page.

Have you ever called a woman 'Sir' on accident? Foregoing the fact all of a sudden it's like you're culpable for worldwide, Islamic Jihad or someone's cat having been the victim of said Jihad, I really don't like putting people through the god given heartbreak of having to hear they resemble the opposite sex, though maybe 'Heart-Brake' is more applicable as frozen in their tracks as they get.

(Automotive Heart Brake emoji)

But really, why do I get the stink eye or made to feel bad for having been confused of a person's gender? Sure, the situation needs to be rectified, but it’s not as if I should be treated like I called said person out for appearing either manly or womanly with malice or the intent to make them feel awkward on purpose. It’s a mistake on par with what can happen when the elementary playground rules of experience with previous generalities are employed with first impressions and introductions.

'Cause really, what's the alternative when even a person's name doesn't provide any clues?
e.g.:certain Female prison guard's named Gary. 

What if you had to ask for identification for verification?
"No, Sir/Ma'am I just want to ensure your features are commensurate with what I am subjectively

 identifying."; "And just what are my features telling you," they'd most certainly reply.
"Umm... Drr..." you might flummox.
It'd be Calamity.

Moving on from the thought I was wrong in thinking Gary and I might kick off some 'grand' sort of 'platonic' friendship and someday chance meeting up for "a pint or somefin-" as my friends across the Atlantic in Spain are all too well known for saying.
They're British.

But, if I were to examine it for just a moment, I suppose I'd dig deep and say; or 'write,' more accurately, Gary's seeming lack of interest to return correspondence that isn't my own, has left me feeling more than a little vulnerable inside. I would have sworn on any holy book written by Bertrand Russell if there were anyone that would write back it would be the down to earth, blue collar type, like that of a female prison guard; even though they may not be real police, regardless respective adjective confusion. Instead I'm treated like some trashy, abusive ex boyfriend whose texts are just ignored.

I suppose it [is] a good thing Bertrand was an atheist in that regard, huh? That oath would have cost me had the swear been placed on the book of some theologian.

I don't know, more and more often it seems the... 'seemingly' different and artsy people; people

like my impression of Chester, I suppose, that come to bat when treating people like people is on the line.
(I still say it's good you wrote him and have him in your camp.)

I guess it's just another feather taken from the cap of the ‘vocally represented’ aspect of the conservative community, it seems like the private ones are a whole lot more grounded and reasonable.
I suppose I could blame the liberals for making the conservatives so embittered; but maybe it's just the times and the slow drip percolation of realizing the American dream isn't all it's cracked up to be.
(Not forgetting the fact the non-vocal liberals are probably the ones that aren't out to lunch; should any actually exist.)

Back to the topic of 'cagey' female prison guards, hopefully [they] had a good reason, I can't think of what it - You know, I was just thinking, maybe [they’re] not allowed to write to people that write to [them] at the prison.

I bet dollars to real police donuts that might be the issue. It has to be... Otherwise, what is this world coming to? Female prison guards that don't correspond in kind with the inquisitive minds of the potentially adoring public?

It's abhorrent. Deplorable even.

I know it probably seems like it, but I'm not 'too' disenfranchised by the whole thing. I realize Gary's just one... person. I also know real police would reply to such a letter, so not all is lost and I’m not losing all that much sleep over it...

Anymore anyway.

Both my Grandfathers were real police. Don't remember if I mentioned that before or not. I actually find it interesting to know they had these almost entirely different lives before they became Police. To say, I don't even know if I could picture them as the sort of people that would take up a line of work like that. Something about that is interesting to me, if not peculiar. Albeit... 'Real' you might say. It smacks of a down to earth selflessness.

Anyhow, eventually, they began walking beats, finding and convicting child abusers, busting out driver side windows to pull drunk and reckless drivers, endangering other people's lives out from behind the wheel- And did it as if doors capable of being opened and sharp bits of glass weren't of any real concern or danger.

Just bravery at its finest, I suppose.
These were real men.
Salt of the earth.
They also knew in their bones the appropriate speed required of the cruiser and how to pump the brakes just so, so as to create 'waffle' marks on problematic perps faces for mug shots.
How to ricochet buckshot off walls and asphalt so people crouching behind dumpsters and cars, respectively, could be neutralized was also an instilled skill set.

One even told a story of pizzas being ordered and directed to phony addresses late at night, knowing when the delivery guy couldn't find the address they'd bring the pizzas by the precinct for the night shift so as not to let the food go to waste.

There was even a tale of a gay bar in the seventies opening and closing for business the same night 'cause there weren't but two cops on the night shift to contend with an entire gang of Rodeo dudes from a bar up the street; they were apparently jealous on account of their own closeted repression, as if bloodying their knuckles on openly gay faces would make them feel better.

I don’t know, it just takes guts and [an even] head to know which battles to step

back from. Live to protect and serve another day an all that, I suppose.

They were just... Well, you know... The men that made this country great. At least as far as the story's of old time lore go anyhow. You can't really justify those kinds of antics nowadays, what with people actually- like- taking laws seriously and Pizza-Google-Address-GPS check and all.

I mean nowadays if you heard stories like that, there's no way you could really know how many of them were true; millen[n]ials and their tall of tales.
But coming from men of 'their' generation. There was just no questioning those sorts of things... probably occurred. You'd probably find yourself on the receiving end of a powderized jaw bone [if you did].
Not to hold a figurative torch up to these guys for holding a torch's sake, but you want to talk about how the 'real' west was won? You gotta let half a dozen or so questionable omelets get skilleted up. And I'm not [writing] about those omelets where you just throw all the ingredients in with the whisked up eggs. I'm writing about those omelets where you kind of like- fashion the egg into a tortilla or crepe and then wrap it around the chopped up ingredients you've chosen.

You gotta invest the time.
And on occasion, depending on how thick that

egg tortilla/crepe might be; on account of the number of eggs you might decide to use versus the surface area of the pan, that egg tortilla/crepe might rip or tear, exposing all the ingredients to the naked eye. Sure, it might not taste any different, but as I'm sure you know, working in the kitchen and all, there's a lot to be said for presentation.

And I guess that's what leads me back to why it is I'm writing you.

I hate to put you out, Bianca. Or make this whole thing seem like one of those 'Iowa cornier' episodes of Friday Night Lights; that really had nothing to do with football, but maybe if you see Gary Lee in the halls, you could ask if like- we're cool and all. Or if maybe they might be interested in writing me from home and not the jail.

You know- so it didn't interfere with official duties and the like; if'n that was the problem.

Knowing Gary's probably reading this now, since searching for evidence of contraband in the mail is a designated guard duty, if you don't mind too much, not that I am asking permission, I just want to take a moment to write:

Hey, Gare',

I'm hopin' I didn't set a potential life long friendship off on the wrong foot with something I wrote or included in the letter I'm assuming you returned. Yes, I will admit to sometimes being a bit 'too' brief in the subjects I broached, and I can see how that might be annoying, but I implore you to understand I do that for the sake of what I've heard is called brevity, but that I like to call being concise, for the sake of holding one's attention (I've read it's an important thing for a writer to do).

Disregarding my own feelings finding the letter in my mailbox, I'm hopin' the letter was returned mostly on account of the decrees you are held to and the professionalisms and official capacities held therein; as per like- the requirements of your duties... as it were. And was that in fact the case, I present to you the return address in the corner of this letter's envelope and invite you formally to write in your own time from a location 'off campus' so to speak, on account of professionalism being the burden it all too often can be.
Humblest regards-
Brian

Thanks Bianca,
With that written for Gary, I want to present my warmest regards regards to you as well, with my sincerest hope you find continued enjoyment from my letters and the short stories I'm occasionally able to include with them from time to extended period of time. Chapter Twelve's gonna be a doozy!
I hope anyway.
It isn't written yet.
So hopefully that statement is more of a self-fulfilling [prophecy].

And with that, here is to the salt of the earth and purveyors of the new-old West that my Grandfathers and men of their ilk helped to explore and hence tame through ‘real’ policing.
-Brian

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CHANNILLO

Brian's Sixth Letter to Bianca
Series Info | Table of Contents

Hi Bianca,
Just wanted to drop a line and let you know the letter I sent to Gary came back to me the other day 'Return to Sender' for reasons of 'too much weight.' The thing of it was you could tell it had been gone through and read. But with as long as that took to return, you'd think the letter was lost to Gary's locker and forgotten about or something.

I'm fairly baffled as to why it was sent back. The weight offense is obviously a cop out. Prison rules don't apply to guards, silly! I'd certainly be apt to think it could h...

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