The Seven Stages

Beth,

I understand why you’re not taking any calls, even mine, but please, please read this letter.

I still can’t quite believe what happened. It’s like a nightmare. I keep desperately hoping I’ll wake up. Everyone goes through nerves on their wedding day, a moment of cold feet, even. I stood at the church, just waiting for the music to start, to turn round and see you walking up the aisle. I thought perhaps you’d had a momentary panic attack, a crazy few seconds of self-doubt. I thought, I’ll turn round now, and she’ll be there, giggling like a schoolgirl at the joke. Well, you got me. Ha ha. Joke over. Even after Chloe told me, I didn’t believe it. I mean, I know she’s your sister, but I thought if you were going to text anyone, it would be me.

You want to marry me. I know that. You’re not the sort of person to throw three years away with a second-hand text. You’re not that cruel. I know you want it, even more than me. You remember when I asked you? You cried, Beth, real tears, tears of happiness. Did you even have to think about it? So I don’t know what’s going on in your head at the moment, but whatever it is, it’s not you. You’re confused. Maybe it’s that Mary, she never liked me. What did she say? Whatever it is, don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what you want. You know, and so do I. You want to marry me, Beth, and live happy ever after.

Okay, okay, so things may not have been perfect, but who ever heard of a perfect relationship? But tell me what’s wrong, love, and I will change. You don’t want me to go out with the lads on a Saturday night? That’s okay. Why would I want to leave you alone, my new wife? Let them have their fun, I’ll have more with you. Is it financial? If you want, we can have separate accounts. I understand if you want your independence. Hell, we don’t even have to get married, not if you don’t want it. We can carry on as we were, just so long as we’re still together.

But you obviously don’t want to. Why else would you be refusing to talk? It’s me, isn’t it. I’m too clingy. I’m sorry. I know I’m not what you deserve. When you agreed to go out with me, that first Saturday, I couldn’t believe my luck. I was walking on air. And every date since. I should have tried harder. I should have paid you more attention, tried harder to get on with your friends, even Mary. Why would you talk to me, let alone marry me?

However, you could have fed me a clue earlier, you know? I was stood there, in front of everyone: your family, mine, our friends. I had to stand up in front of everyone and tell them their gifts were a waste of money and their journey a waste of time. You know my Uncle Norman drove for six hours to get there, don’t you? Hey everyone. Thanks for coming, but if you could all just piss off now, because my bitch of a fiancee has decided to do a runner. Thanks. No, really, thanks. Thanks for throwing three years together away, thanks for making me look a total idiot in front of everyone. Oh, and the caterers thank you for paying for a buffet for a hundred and twenty people that no-one ate. Thank you so much. I hope you’ll be very happy, you and that lesbian cow, Mary.

What’s the point? Can you tell me? No, seriously, this isn’t a rhetorical question. Just what the hell is the point? You’re gone, and everything that means anything with you. How can I even go into work next week? They’ll know, everyone will. And even if they didn’t, what would be the point? Why work hard, get a paycheck, work my way up the ladder? It’s not like I have anyone to spend it on, no future plans to work towards. Ted wanted me to go out and drown my sorrows with the lads, but I’d just be the ghost at the party. Besides, they don’t want me there, not really. They want to talk about me, snigger into their beer, take bets on who will bed you next. They can’t do that with me moping in front of them.

Okay, so we’re not getting married. Fair enough. If I was Doctor Who… but I’m not, and what’s done is done. I don’t know why, and the more I ask myself the more confused I get. Only you can explain it to me, and you’re not picking up your phone, so it’s pointless me keep asking myself, because myself hasn’t a clue.

So Beth, you have my number. You know where I live. I guess I’ll survive. At least I won’t starve. Do you know how filling wedding cake is? When you’re ready, give me a call. We can meet somewhere if you want, a restaurant maybe. Neutral ground. Sort things out, one way or the other. It’s the least we owe each other.

With love

Charlie.

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About snodlander
Snodlander is the nom de plume of Bob Simms. He is an IT trainer, but it's not as glamourous as it sounds. When he's not enthralling classes with adventures through SQL Server, he writes, draws and drinks his own home-brew. Buy his novel on Amazon Kindle at The Young Demon Keeper, It's 74p, for crying out loud!

One Response to The Seven Stages

  1. treepanda says:

    Will your next one be Beth’s letter to Mary, talking about Charlie?

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