Communication - Part 1

Good morning!

 I have a story! It's a short story that I don't think is worth much. After not writing at all in April, and then editing and rewriting and such on another story, I needed something to just write because all my other stories were stuck. 

They are still stuck, come to think of it.

Anyway, I just grabbed the first words that came and started dumping them on NEO. And this is what came out. Well, here's the first part anyway. The last part will come next week.

Enjoy!

Or don't. I'm just tossing this story here because I wrote something.

 

Communication

Dear B,
    It’s all a mistake, you know. I’m not married. Probably never will be. Bradley never loved me. I know he didn’t. It’s a shame it took me five years to figure it out. I should have noticed the signs, paid attention to the things he said. He left, you know. Went to New Orleans with his uncle two years ago. I never heard from him since.
    I know, I know. You’re asking why on earth I didn’t tell you about all of this sooner. Well, I was still convinced he would come back. That he would write to me. Somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to admit the hard truth that Bradley Mullins and I would never say “I do.”
    Well, it’s time I admitted it and moved on with life.
    Oh, HayleyBee, I wish you weren’t living in far away Alaska! I know that’s still the U.S. but it might as well be China or South Africa for all the good it does me. I need to go get coffee with you and talk for about five hours straight. I know you are doing what you are supposed to be doing and of course that’s where your husband is anyway, so ignore my wishful thinking and pitiful selfishness and keep doing what God has called you to do.
    I’ll keep working here at Gardenia's Garden planting, watering, selling flowers for other people’s homes and gardens and try not to imagine what I would plant at that cute house on the corner with the red door and shutters. And don’t tell me I should buy the house even if it was for sale. That was supposed to be the house that Bradley and I shared. I don’t think I could live in it alone. Besides, it’s been sold. I’ve stopped driving by it. I take the other way to work.
    Just ignore me. I’m tired and miserable. Self-pity does make one feel so blue. And it’s dreary outside. Cold, wet, drizzly, and windy. If it would downright storm it would be better.
    What a pathetic and melancholy letter! I’m tempted to just rip it up and throw it away. I might after I finish it. Maybe it’s good to get the truth out in black and white. It finally forces me to face facts. There’s an alliteration for you, oh lover of words. Or almost one. Can it still be an alliteration if there are two small words between?
    I suppose I haven’t told you how I know Bradley and I were never meant to be together. It’s quite anti climatic, really. No, I didn’t hear he was married, or get invited to his wedding. I didn’t hear anything from or about him since he left. Until yesterday.
    I was working. The sun was shining yesterday and it was lovely. A perfect day to shop for flowers and plants for your garden or yard. I was watering the rose bushes when I saw him. Yes, Hayley, Bradley Mullins was shopping at my store. I would have recognized him anywhere. Besides, I heard him and I think I’ll always remember his voice. He was talking to a girl who wasn’t his sister.
    They were laughing about something, and picking out flowers. She asked his advice about plants around the porch. I don’t remember what he answered. No, I didn’t go up and say hi. I finished watering and then stayed away. But she had a ring on her finger and walked with her hand tucked in his arm. I don’t know if he had a ring, so they might have just been engaged and not married. Well, I’m not going to their wedding.
    What a dreary letter this is. You probably don’t even want to read it. If you are reading it, you are probably laughing at me. Go ahead. At least someone should be able to laugh even if I can’t yet. Perhaps some day I’ll laugh with you about this. Right now my heart is too sore and the hurt is too fresh. You’d think I’d have been smart enough to figure out that; that I was chasing a daydream, a figment of my imagination, a mirage. Hayley, I don’t think I’ll ever be smart enough to figure out life. Not like you have.
    Other than my life shattering news, life goes on as normal. I still live in my little duplex and ride my bike to work if it’s over thirty-five degrees and not raining. I still go to the nursing home twice a week and visit anyone who needs a visitor. Church is the same. No new families, no one even remotely close to my age has come since you left. Now quit telling me I need to make friends with people who aren’t my age! I’ve tried. I don’t belong. One, I don’t have kids. Two, I don’t have a boyfriend. Three, I don’t have any family to hang out with. Four, everyone else seems to be in one of those first three categories or they are kids.
    And now I’m going to make a box of mac and cheese and watch a movie. Such a stimulating evening lies ahead of me!
    Kiss those babies for me.
    Much love,
    ShelbyDoo

*

    Brad sat down on the front steps in the sunshine. His mind was spinning and he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it all. He looked down at the letter in his hand. The envelope had his name and his new address on it. It was stamped and the return address was just a few streets from his new home. But the letter was not for him.
    He hadn’t intended to read it, but on catching sight of his name he was pulled in until he’d reached the end. The question now was, had Shelby meant to send that letter to him? Or had it been a mistake? He couldn’t imagine quiet, shy, Shelby mailing such a letter as that to him.
    “But why does she have my name and my new address on the envelope?” He studied the address again. Yes, they were in the same handwriting as the letter.
    Suddenly he frowned and looked back at the house behind him. Was this house the corner house with the red door she had mentioned in her letter? He wouldn’t call the door red. It was more of a dusty crimson.
    “What if I should walk over and talk to her?” he mused. “I should explain a few things while I’m at it. If she’d talk to me.”
    He continued to sit, his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him and prayed.
    At last he rose, locked his front door, tucked the letter into his pocket, and strode down the street. It was time to make amends for the years of silence.

Well? How bad was it?
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