In grade 6 when I called Sarah Pritchert to ask her to be my girlfriend I was more scared at the thought of talking to her than receiving an answer. I hung-up when her father picked up the phone. When I called the prison to see if you were incarcerated it was the same feeling only I was terrified of the answer. I imagined you shitting in one of those tiny, metal toilets built into the wall of your cell just like I had imagined Sarah Pritchert and I holding hands as we walked to Social Studies class. Your cellmate would ask to have a look at it when you were done. All of my friends would ooh and ah as she and I went down the hall. A voice recording immediately informed me that information on inmates could not be shared due to the privacy act.