Letter From America

Picks up phone. Dials. Rings. Waits.

Sips coffee. Yawns. Phone rings. Walks. Answers phone.

“Hello?”
“Hey Elle, how’re you doing, hun?”
“Who’s this?”
“Oh c’mon, it’s David.”
“David?”
“David. British David. Long distance relationship David. The David that bought your first ice cream.”

Waits. Swallows. Sits down.

Gasps. Sips coffee. Exhales.

“Oh… Dave.”
“I’ve been worried, Elle, you haven’t called in three weeks.”
“Well I, uh, I’ve been busy.”
“So how are things in New Haven?”
“Things are good, everything’s good.”
“Hey, do you remember those plans we had for you to move back over here and teach at Cambridge? I miss you, Elle.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you do that for me? It’d be as if we were never apart.”

Blinks. Taps feet. Cracks knuckles. Chews lip.

Closes eyes. Lowers phone. Sighs.

“David…”
“Elle, I’ve gotta tell you. I bought plane tickets. New Haven to Cambridge. I even spoke to the guys at the uni and they’d love to have you teaching there.”
“Dave.”
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t you get my letter?”

Frowns. Stands.

Breathes. Paces.

“Letters still exist?”
“Yes.”
“No letters here.”
“Just… Please, when you get it, read. I…”
“Of course Elle, anything.”
“I’d just prefer it if–”

Phone flatlines. Freezes. Drops phone.

Hand trembles. Releases button. Puts phone down.

Bike outside. Click swoosh. Letter box opened.

Wipes eye. Straightens. Leaves for work.

Walks to front door. Stops. Picks up letter. Opens. Reads. Crashes. Falls. Breaks.

Disappears.