"Just a Short Note"

From: Emily —----------------

To:   Mac —--------------

Date: December 31, 1998

Subject:     “Hello, Goodbye.”

Dear Mac:

“Hello!”

Em’ here – just writing to let you know: “I’m out” - “We’re done.” -“That’s it.” 

I’ve been thinking about it for a very long time and I just can’t go through with the whole thing. You know what I mean, right? It’s over! We’re through. That’s all.

I don’t want you standing at the altar either. That would not be fun. Just standing there.  

Like some kind of a statue. Staring at the bouquets and bouquets of flowers we’ll probably get from all our wonderful friends and family members. Searching back and forth to the door. Watching for me. Waiting for me. I can imagine that that might not be such a great time.  

So I’m glad I got this note to you – ahead of that whole crazed event!

Just so you know, FYI, like, I did call and leave a rather lengthy message in the general voicemail box at your work. It was really quite long. Probably like this email will be. I hope the other diesel mechanics don’t tease you about it.

But truthfully, I’ve given it some real deep thought, and fact of the matter is, I’ve been sleep walking through this entire relationship. Not thinking about me for one second.  

I mean I wasn’t thinking of our future when we were dating. I just kept bumpin’ along, goin’ along until the next dinner out, I guess. I think that’s probably not what you wanted to hear. They were good dinners though.

You were so kind with your hard-earned money. Taking me out to special social engagements. Jazz on Wednesday nights at the Blues Notes Cafe for example.  

Of course, who could forget the wonderful flowers at every holiday. Even on Halloween. Silly willy!

And those snow bird trips to Florida every year – a godsend reprieve in the waning months of a tortuous New England winter.  

And my car. All those free grease and oil changes. And the monthly maintenance you did for me. Really, really sweet of you.

Plus all that other stuff you did on the rig that you really can’t afford. In fact, the truck is still so beautiful. Hardly a scratch or nick. Rock solid. Ever since you swapped out the timing belt and had the water pump replaced, put new tires on, did an overhaul of the gas and brake lines, completely reupholstered the inside so that there’s not one hole that the eye can see – those were the details that made the difference.

It’s been running so well. 

Thank you again.

I just hope that this note gets to you. In time. And I don’t forget to press the Send button. Like I do for all the most important messages in my life. They always end up in an electronic mail purgatory kind of hell – also known as ‘Drafts.’ I don’t know why they call it that; ‘Drafts.’ Not all of the messages I send are ‘cold.’  

In fact, most of ‘em were pretty ‘hot!’ And I’m keeping those private photos from you that you made for me in a special folder. And no, I could never extort you. For anything. I don’t think. I’m pretty sure I’m not that kind of girl.

But pressing the ‘Send’ button always seems like some crazy hurdle. I don’t know why. It’s just a button, you know?

Pressing ‘submit,’ or pressing ‘back,’ those buttons are never a problem. Just ‘send’ it seems.

Anyway.

We always, ALWAYS had fun together. What with our love of practical jokes. I could do just about anything to you and you would be receptive.  

Oh, that paint can full of shaving cream that I had fall on your head when you came round the corner into the living room on your fortieth birthday – just hilarious! You wiping up soap bubbles for days. That turned into weeks. I didn’t know they could last that long!

I’m sure you’ll understand all this. You always did.  

You’re always so nice and kind. I really liked that about you.

In fact, I can’t tell you how many times my parents looked forward to you coming over to their house. Just to say, “Hello.”

Or help them out with chores around the house. Like the back breaking work my Dad always lined up for you. Wood that needed splitting and stacking. Lawns that needed mowing. You were so much like their own personal indentured servant. My Dad really liked that about you.

Taking out the bags and bags and bags of nasty trash after we cleaned the basement out that one time. After the floods. Oh, and the garage too! So much gross stuff in so many places. But you were there to throw it all away.

I really loved telling my parents about you and how you treat me each week. So much like a Queen, really. Royalty.   

I mean I never had someone at my beckon call either – at the jingle of a hand bell. Until I met you.  

My previous husbands, those three lugnuts, just couldn’t handle me. But you could. That’s something I’m really, really going to miss. I don’t know where I’ll find an object of my love that will do and buy for me everything I could ever want in the near future.

Always so kind.

When my mental issues went back and forth. Left and right, up and down. My not being diagnosed for all that time sure must have got tiring. Making the time we spend together even more difficult. Like ‘doing time’ really.

And I never could find it in me to say, “I’m sorry,” either.  

I still can’t. Those words are not part of my vocabulary. And they never will leave my mouth. It’s bad enough I’ve typed them onto this piece of paper.  

I can’t admit guilt for anything.

Like taking you down several notches with scathing verbal jabs out in public.  

Personally, I’d rather have a long drawn out battle in court. I mean, I am keeping everything. Including the ring. I more than deserve it. I know I do.

If times get tough, I can always hock it for a couple bucks. Or some really strong bourbon.  

All of it though, always, always better than lifting any finger and doing work for ‘the man.’ Which I vowed that I never would do. That’s why I had you, right? Mondays were for sleeping in. Tuesdays too!

Well that’s all I can bare to type. There’s really nothing else left to say.  

Plus, I hardly ever write over 200 words.

“Goodbye,” my love,

– Emmy.

P.S. Don’t forget to leave the passwords to the wifi and the television parental controls on the counter!