Letter To America
Entry by: EmmaM
20th October 2016
Gabi pressed the "refresh" key at the top of the page and waited while the icon whirled round and round like a dog chasing its tail. It stopped and for half a heartbeat Gabi clutched at hope when a new email appeared on the screen, highlighted in bold. Then she realised that it was just spam from a local supermarket and disappointment punched her in the stomach.
She thought about sending him another email. Maybe he hadn't received her other emails. Maybe he couldn't access his account. Computers went wrong all the time. If only she had another way to contact him, but he had rebuffed her suggestion that they exchange telephone numbers, claiming that it was too risky because his wife sometimes looked at his phone. She had entered his name into a google search engine, but there were so many David Roberts living in America that the search was futile. A niggling doubt whispered to her that perhaps that wasn't even his real name.
It was now ten days since she'd heard from him, which was the longest ever. She'd continued to send him an email every day, forcing herself to thread a light-hearted tone throughout each message. She wrote about the little things she was up to each day, and casually asked how he was and whether there was any update on his plans. But her emails remained unanswered, inhaled into cyberspace and lost within its vast virtual anatomy.
She'd taken to re-reading his emails from the last few months, a detective reviewing old evidence for clues. She held each word in her mind, analysing it from each angle, squeezing it for potential meanings. She roamed through sentences, clambered over punctuation marks and explored the spaces between words, anxiously searching for a reason for his silence.
His early emails had been infused with hope and promise, illustrating in soft pastel colours the future they would have together. Gabi had drawn strength from those words, stitching them into a shield of protection against her daily reality. But now she saw that the fervour had leaked from his more recent emails, leaving only ghosts of promises. He still wrote about their future, but his words were hollow, just the murmur of a dream that nobody believed in.
The digital clock on the laptop read 17.30. Carl would be home soon. She really ought to start tidying up and preparing dinner - the slightest mess could provoke him. His rage sizzled below the brim of his temper, spitting regularly and occasionally erupting in flames of fury. Last night had been particularly bad. Gabi had left a dirty plate on the coffee table in the lounge and, as soon as he had seen it, Carl had snatched it up and hurled it against the wall. He had grabbed Gabi by her hair and forced her on to the floor to clear it up.
"You stupid bitch," he'd hissed. "I go to work all day to pay for your upkeep and this is what I come home to."
Crawling on the floor, collecting jagged pieces of porcelain, Gabi had pressed back her tears and hoped that tomorrow David would email with a plan.
But once again she hadn't heard from him and, with every passing day, Gabi's hope was bleached one shade paler.
She had never been keen on the internet before she'd got married. She had been a hairdresser, so hadn't had much need for computers. Once she'd married Carl and moved far away from her home town to be with him, she'd started using the internet as a way to manage the crushing boredom of being alone all day. At first she had approached with hesitation, reading only the news and a few blogs aimed at bored housewives. Then slowly she had gained confidence and begun venturing deeper and further down the internet's interweaving, intertwining trails. She'd leapt from link to link, page to page, entangling herself further in the world wide web. She'd joined chat rooms and forums, begun commenting and chatting and discussing with invisible people. Carl prevented her from having real friends, but he couldn't stop her making virtual friends. Soon she was spending all day on the internet, waiting impatiently for Carl to leave every morning so that she could log on and greet her new companions.
She had met David in one of these chat rooms. They had chatted for a while as part of a group and then he had suggested exchanging email addresses so that they could send private messages. From there, their relationship had developed, streams of emails each day, drenched in their dreams and fears. Gabi had told him about Carl, things that she was too afraid, and too ashamed, to tell anyone else. Her desolation was decanted into her emails and, with the click of a button, released from her heart into the digital ether. David had been caring and understanding, hope in a world where hope had died. He was unhappy too - he had moved to America with his wife, but their relationship was disintegrating. He wanted to come back home to England. It was he who had suggested that they make a new life, that he come back, collect her, and they run away together. "Into the sunset," he'd written.
She pressed "refresh" again and her heart swirled in unison with the little icon. Nothing. She glanced at the clock again - 17.55. She really should get ready for Carl.
As she made her way downstairs, she looked out of the window and saw that the sun was sliding towards the horizon, like orange paint dripping down a canvas. Maybe tomorrow she'd hear from David.
She thought about sending him another email. Maybe he hadn't received her other emails. Maybe he couldn't access his account. Computers went wrong all the time. If only she had another way to contact him, but he had rebuffed her suggestion that they exchange telephone numbers, claiming that it was too risky because his wife sometimes looked at his phone. She had entered his name into a google search engine, but there were so many David Roberts living in America that the search was futile. A niggling doubt whispered to her that perhaps that wasn't even his real name.
It was now ten days since she'd heard from him, which was the longest ever. She'd continued to send him an email every day, forcing herself to thread a light-hearted tone throughout each message. She wrote about the little things she was up to each day, and casually asked how he was and whether there was any update on his plans. But her emails remained unanswered, inhaled into cyberspace and lost within its vast virtual anatomy.
She'd taken to re-reading his emails from the last few months, a detective reviewing old evidence for clues. She held each word in her mind, analysing it from each angle, squeezing it for potential meanings. She roamed through sentences, clambered over punctuation marks and explored the spaces between words, anxiously searching for a reason for his silence.
His early emails had been infused with hope and promise, illustrating in soft pastel colours the future they would have together. Gabi had drawn strength from those words, stitching them into a shield of protection against her daily reality. But now she saw that the fervour had leaked from his more recent emails, leaving only ghosts of promises. He still wrote about their future, but his words were hollow, just the murmur of a dream that nobody believed in.
The digital clock on the laptop read 17.30. Carl would be home soon. She really ought to start tidying up and preparing dinner - the slightest mess could provoke him. His rage sizzled below the brim of his temper, spitting regularly and occasionally erupting in flames of fury. Last night had been particularly bad. Gabi had left a dirty plate on the coffee table in the lounge and, as soon as he had seen it, Carl had snatched it up and hurled it against the wall. He had grabbed Gabi by her hair and forced her on to the floor to clear it up.
"You stupid bitch," he'd hissed. "I go to work all day to pay for your upkeep and this is what I come home to."
Crawling on the floor, collecting jagged pieces of porcelain, Gabi had pressed back her tears and hoped that tomorrow David would email with a plan.
But once again she hadn't heard from him and, with every passing day, Gabi's hope was bleached one shade paler.
She had never been keen on the internet before she'd got married. She had been a hairdresser, so hadn't had much need for computers. Once she'd married Carl and moved far away from her home town to be with him, she'd started using the internet as a way to manage the crushing boredom of being alone all day. At first she had approached with hesitation, reading only the news and a few blogs aimed at bored housewives. Then slowly she had gained confidence and begun venturing deeper and further down the internet's interweaving, intertwining trails. She'd leapt from link to link, page to page, entangling herself further in the world wide web. She'd joined chat rooms and forums, begun commenting and chatting and discussing with invisible people. Carl prevented her from having real friends, but he couldn't stop her making virtual friends. Soon she was spending all day on the internet, waiting impatiently for Carl to leave every morning so that she could log on and greet her new companions.
She had met David in one of these chat rooms. They had chatted for a while as part of a group and then he had suggested exchanging email addresses so that they could send private messages. From there, their relationship had developed, streams of emails each day, drenched in their dreams and fears. Gabi had told him about Carl, things that she was too afraid, and too ashamed, to tell anyone else. Her desolation was decanted into her emails and, with the click of a button, released from her heart into the digital ether. David had been caring and understanding, hope in a world where hope had died. He was unhappy too - he had moved to America with his wife, but their relationship was disintegrating. He wanted to come back home to England. It was he who had suggested that they make a new life, that he come back, collect her, and they run away together. "Into the sunset," he'd written.
She pressed "refresh" again and her heart swirled in unison with the little icon. Nothing. She glanced at the clock again - 17.55. She really should get ready for Carl.
As she made her way downstairs, she looked out of the window and saw that the sun was sliding towards the horizon, like orange paint dripping down a canvas. Maybe tomorrow she'd hear from David.
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