A letter to the guy who stole my black book with poems in

Michael James Elstad,
SID# 5978390
Marion County Corrections Facility
4000 Aumsville Hwy SE
Salem, OR 97317

Dear Michael James Elstad,
You should remember me. We met in 2005 a few days before Thanksgiving. At Big Shots in Salem. I misplaced my keys and you pretended to care… gave me cigarettes, helped me break into my brother’s car to look for my keys. While the entire time you had them in your pocket. Or at least at some point, you found them and failed to mention it to me.
Regardless, this letter isn’t about that. You admitted it to the Police and, from what I understand; you did your time for the theft of my Brother’s car. This is about my Poems.
I’m not sure if you were aware that all of my personal belongings were in that car when you took it. I did not own much at that time. Still - Everything that I owned was in that car. Just stuff a person would keep in their bedroom and bathroom was all that I had packed in that car. Ironically, the few scattered things that returned with car, and were not ruined were shit I couldn’t wear or didn’t want anymore.
The clothes and shoes, make up, etc, were eventually replaceable but, the one thing that that was not and is still not replaceable, (the thing I could leave in my will, which was all I had to leave as a legacy), was that Binder of my original poetry, writing and drawings. It was a Black notebook binder. I left it on the floor behind the driver’s seat. There was a sketch I drew in 1990 in the cover. A very prophetic sketch of 9/11 that I had drawn eleven years before the fact.
The collection was titled: “Notions of Emotions – Soul Purpose Poetry”
By Melinda Lantz-Theissen Marinko
Do you remember it?
I remember so clearly that night when I finally locked up the car and decided it was too cold to stay with it, (temp. got down into the 20’s that night), and I stared at that binder before shutting the door. I almost took it with me. I didn’t because I didn’t want to risk losing it. It was all I had of my original works dating almost 20 years back. I stupidly thought it was safer inside the car. That no one would steal the car under the surveillance cameras and across the street from the cop shop.
Once the car was returned and you were in jail, I didn’t seize the opportunity I might have had to contact you to ask where that binder ended up. If you even knew or remembered. I regret this. I know that even then, you probably didn’t remember or most likely, it was in a dumpster somewhere. Still I didn’t even try because I blamed myself for being so gullible and naïve that night and for stopping at the damn bar to gamble my only and last $5.00. Regardless, I didn’t think contacting you would help me get the binder back.
The loss of everything at the worst possible time as it were, put me into a deep depression for quite a while. I only had the clothes on my back and no way to replace everything for a very long time to come. My family was in no position to help me. I come from poverty. I was so distraught over it all that I didn’t even take the time when they sent the paperwork to claim my losses with the court so any money you might earn would have payments taken out as reimbursement. Also, the only thing I really wanted back was that notebook and I couldn’t put a monetary worth on it.
(And, knowing what I know about how hard it is to get ahead or even stay afloat financially in Oregon, garnishments would make it very hard to get back on your feet. It would put you in the position to have to steal again, maybe. I thought you were destitute like me and that’s why you took the car.)
So now I ask you, do you know where that binder is? Did it end up in a dumpster? I know you don’t care what losing everything I owned at such a low point in my life did to me - still - I wonder if you were conscious of that binder, what you had done with it.
When I try to remember my poems and write them down, I have found most times my memory starts to fade after a few lines in. I have remembered many, however. Still less than half completely. And definitely, the original sketches in that binder can’t be re-done. They were prophetic, automatic psychic drawings by me and I can’t otherwise draw.
I saw your name on Salem’s inmate roster and I thought I would take my last chance to ask you about it. My last chance to tell you what a terrible effect you stealing that car that night had on me. Again, I know you probably don’t care but, on the slight chance, you found Jesus in there, you would feel bad enough to think before you steal again.

Your victim of theft,
Melinda