J is for Jeff.

Dear Jeff,
It's funny, isn't it? J will always be for you. After 16 years it's the first thing I think of whenever anyone asks me to name anything j.
No big surprise, bro. You were only the best person I've ever met. Truly.
Let me tell you about something I remembered the other day:

I was probably around 9, I think? Anyway, mom sent me off AGAIN to that slow burning hell that was girl scout camp. You know, I was terrible at making friends. Everyone always made fun of me because I was weird and my legs were too skinny and I wouldn't put up with anybody's shit.
It was the middle of that second hell week. I had already been ostracized because they blamed me for the lizards that showed up in that bitch, Candy's, shower tote, when someone put glue in the cabin's sunscreen bottles because they can't take a joke, and then they freaked on me for sinking the canoe (even though we were all wearing life vests and it totally wasn't my fault, they were the ones thrashing about because I pointed out that it was named Crystal Lake).
Anyway, I was particularly blue. No one had come to my rescue, even though I sent Mom numerous correspondences about how every bone in my body was broken.
The girls were particularly cruel that day. They started calling me hotdog and wouldn't share any of the good colored paints.
But you knew, some how. I got a letter that day from you.

You told me I was dumb, you didn't miss me at all, and I shouldn't ever come back.

So I did what any loyal and loving little sister would do. I used my shiny new fire starting knowledge on Candy's dumb bird house. I got kicked out of girl scout camp forever, and even though I was grounded when I got home, we hung out in your room and you read me Batman comics while I ate the brick of cheese you stole for me from the fridge.

Totally worth it.

I miss you, dude.

Love,
Kendra