Then we all looked at Barber, expecting him to have someone to write to as well. “I only have my mom. She knows how I feel about her,” he said, and I wondered if I should be happy about that or sad because his mother was all he had. “I’m glad,” I told him. “I wish more people took the time to make their feelings known.” “Yeah. I’ve hated her guts since I was ten. There’s really not much else to put in a letter.”
