a letter to billy the kid

Dear Mr. Bonney,

You probably don't know me, so let me introduce myself.

I'm 34 years old and I've never killed anybody.

I was born in July and I write poems at the dinner table.

I hope you weren't watching last Saturday when I tried to put Christmas lights on my house, Mr. Bonney. My fingers were cold and my wife had to help me. I hope you weren't watching when my son asked me to kill the spider on his ceiling. Because I probably didn't look like much of a man.

I let my daughter paint my toenails and our favorite game to play together is called Snuggles.

I've read a lot about you, Mr. Bonney. So I know how young you were when you first killed someone (12). And I know how many men you've killed (21). I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared of you.

I shot a pot gut once, Bonney. It's like a squirrel, but with smaller ears. I was 14 and I used my friend Justin's gun. I turned it to the side because that's what gangsters do and I blasted that little sucker. BOOM. The bullet went straight through his chest. As he fell back, his wallet fell out of his pocket. There were pictures of his kids and a ticket stub to a 7:00 movie. I think it was his anniversary. He looked up at me, confused. His lips mouthed the words Why? and I didn't know the answer. I haven't killed anything since.

Sometimes I dance in front of the mirror, Mr. Kid. Do you ever do that?

The last movie I watched had George Clooney and Sandra Bullock in it. And I cried. Have you seen that movie, Billy?I've always wanted to go to Space Camp, but I'm afraid of heights.

Oh, Billy. I pluck my eyebrows, Billy. I trim my nosehairs.And I drive a minivan. Help me! Help me, Billy! Tell me what it means to be a man.

Cause my hands are too soft. They don't have dirt on them. They don't have blood on them- unless you count all the hearts I've touched. But inspiration don't make no men. And that don't make no sense. So come on now Billy and answer me this. Can I still be a man if folks ain't scared of me? If folks ain't put no bounty on my head for 500 dollars? I don't shoot no guns, Billy. So what you saying: I ain't notorious? I ain't never lived in New Mexico, but I'm still an outlaw in my heart. I'm a cowboy. And I'm wanted, WANTED, dead or alive.

Sincerely,

Kyle J. Nelson, the first

p.s. That song was by Bon Jovi, I think.

p.p.s. I'm not really a cowboy.

p.p.p.s. What's heaven like? Oh wait, you're probably not there.

p.p.p.p.s. I'm tired of comparing myself to you, Billy.

p.p.p.p.p.s. Write back soon.