Letters

Ronnie,

Yes, you did in fact use a smiley face in a letter. No worries, though, smiley faces are cute. I use them a lot in my line of work.

My tattoo is three red roses on a vine, along with a red butterfly. I'm not really sure how to describe it, it's just one of those things you'd have to see. ...Now that I think about that last statement, I realize how forward I sounded. I'm sorry, I don't mean to, I was just simply stating that it would be easier to see than to describe. You probably think that I'm like.. ridiculous now, and I'm sorry that I'm starting to ramble, but whenever I get nervous, I start talking. A Lot. That's the only time I ever talk a lot, though.

Jesus, just ignore that whole last paragraph.

Anyway, the kind of music I like? I'm into old rock. For the most part, anyway. Everything from The Beatles to Guns 'n Roses. My favorite song being Sweet Child O' Mine. I've been told that makes me a badass, but that was mostly by the cheerleaders I went to high school with. Oh, well. This is my life.

What about you? What kind of music do you listen to? What do you do in your spare time?

Can't wait to hear back from you!

Love always,
Willow

I laugh softly as I look back over Willow's letter, slowly shaking my head and tracing the flowers on the stationery with the tip of my index finger. She really seems sweet, kind, caring, and funny, and every time I think about her, I get butterflies in my stomach.

I can't really help it, though.

So she's into some of the same kinds of music that I am, just the older stuff instead of the new stuff. I can work with that.

Work with that? What the hell, Ronald. You don't even know this girl. She could weigh 500 pounds and look like Sasquatch for all you know.

But do you really care? I'm beginning not to... Since I've gotten out of prison, I've been trying to teach myself that it's better to love a person for how they are on the inside, instead of just their outside appearance. I guess it isn't really showing, though.

"Dude," my brother Anthony interrupts my thoughts, stepping in front of me where I sit on the couch in the front of my band's tour bus. "What's got you so deep in thought? We were supposed to hang out today, but you've done nothing but sit there and daydream."

"Sorry, bro," I sigh, reaching up and scrubbing a hand through my hair, folding the letter back up. It's the last one I got before we headed out onto the road for Warped Tour and I won't be getting any more until I return. So I'm waiting a little while to reply to her so that there won't be a big of a gap between it and my next letter. "I'm just reading over this letter I got from a friend."

You'd think I'd want to be spending some time with my brother here in Kansas City, since I only get to see him maybe once a year; but NOOOOOO. Not Ronnie. Ronnie would rather be sitting here reading a letter from a girl he's never met before. What a dope.

Anthony sits down beside me and sighs quietly, reaching over and taking the letter from my hands. Reluctantly, I let it go and swallow quietly, doing my best not to snatch it back. I have become overly attached to these letters from this girl and it bugs me to know that I can't just let my brother read one without the threat of spazzing out all over him, bitch slapping him like a girl, and ripping the letter back. What have I become.

I watch with wide eyes as he skims over her perfect penmenship, my teeth nervously chewing on the skin of my bottom lip. He laughs softly and shakes his head, glancing up from the words on the paper for just a moment when the door of the bus opens and the rest of the guys from my band walk on.

"S'toime tew goh, Radkeh," my very British lead guitarist, Jacky, says, raising his eyebrows over at me and rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt. I look up at him and nod my head subtly, sighing softly and pulling myself to my feet.

"We're on in ten minutes," my drummer, Ryan, adds, grinning over at me.

"Alright," I nod, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck as I slide my feet into my Vans. "I'm ready."

All four of them nod, stepping back off of the bus and almost melting in front of my eyes from the intensity of the heat. Sighing, I follow along quietly behind them. The walk to the stage is quiet and uneventful; we're back in the VIP section so I don't have fans following me around and begging me for an autograph. Which is a nice change from being surrounded by people I don't know. I'm thankful for my fans and for them helping me achieve my dreams, but at the same time, they can get to be a little bit overwhelming.

"Here goes nothin'!" Derek, my rhythm guitarist shouts as a roadie wheels him up onto the stage in his wheelchair. I laugh softly at the sight, thankful that he wasn't any more hurt than he was when he took his little spill on stage, and grab a mic from the tech guy standing beside me.

I murmur my thanks and run up the stairs onto the stage, the crowd immediately starting to scream with excitement as they set eyes on me. "Hey, guys," I laugh softly, stopping in the middle of the stage and waiting for my band to get in their respective places. "Guess what!"

I wait a couple of beats, a wide smile on my face as they scream my name.

"I'M BAAAAAAAACK."