A Final Letter From Your Lover

Untitled Part 1

A Final Letter From Your Lover.

Let me entertain you. I will need you to bear with me though, I know the exact way this story ends- morose and eventful, but my memory isn't so strong over how it began.

The small southern town of Basin, Alabama left nothing to the notion of privacy. Gossip spread quick like a flu; everyone knew everyone and everything regarding them. It wasn't a secret that Old Madam Darya, who lives on the western-most edge of town, moved to America in the 60's after the Russian brothel she ran closed and left her starved. It also wasn't a secret that Mims Saylor was a heavy God-hater. And even I, Bo' Claiborne- package man extraordinare, have a cold tendency to open mail before delivering it. Everyone knows, but no one seems to really care.

I woke up sweaty and shivering, horrified of the nightmares which have plagued me for the past hundred nights. Completing my morning routine I: Showered. Changed my clothes. Made coffee. Drank coffee. Cleaned dishes. Brushed my teeth and went on to perform my greatest duty, unaware of what exact service I might perform next. Be it dropping off the check which allows a single mother to keep her family's home or a letter from 'Claus whose words would light up a youngsters face, I knew one thing; I was Basins silent saviour.

It was dark, but just enough moonlight shot through the chill drizzle to illuminate my way. The light rustle of the wind against the leaves whispered to me messages of greed and insatiability ; Read the letters. Open the packages. Read the letters. Open the packages. As always I would eventually give in and devour the words like sugar. Reaching into my satchel I picked an aging envelope closed with a red wax seal. A silver necklace fell out and landed on the floor. I gripped the muddy jewel in my palm and read the letter.

➰

Dated: Sunday, January 28th, 1945

To my dearest Emily-Anne,

Mamma and George retired hours ago leaving me alone to share with you my most ardent of thoughts. The night has far advanced and the wooden porch is silent. I would first inform you how deeply my love persists. It would leave me empty to find the 'Em I once knew were any less eloquent in her words or in the way she danced through my mind from the moment I woke by her side to the last touch of our lips. I no less recall how incontestable you were when using that euphonious voice. This may seem rather inane but what most pains me is the absence of your moonlight eyes; the shade which best represents pure and utter joy. Each ticking moment away from you leaves me less than human, less than sane. This is why I fear that if I do not soon return to my beloved, I may turn hysterical.

I do apologize if some of my words are too absurd for your liking; you always did despise how descriptive I sometimes choose to be. You are holding back a slight smirk now. I know it. You seemed to constantly notice the oddest of things such as my overuse of the words "My apologies!" or the way I lean slightly to the left when I am excited (as I am most certainly doing now).I am verbose and you are perceptive.

I miss our relationship being the only esoteric anything in this gossip-crazed community. I miss your retreat in moments of conflict, your vulnerability. I absolutely rue the moment you left my arms. It's been 182 days since you passed away. 182 days of nothing but dropped tears and broken vases.

Now I should let you know, my beloved Miss Beaudoine, that I have acquired quite a bounty of alcoholic beverage and I indeed feel awfully tipsy. I think I might just go for a swift swim in the Montgomery. ​

​​​​ ​ We'll be reunited soon;

​​​​​ ​​William Rose.

Leant against a moss-covered oak tree I sat dumbfounded, the letter finished. For forty minutes the idea of spreading this letter ran through my mind. After much contemplation I came to a safe conclusion: this message was meant to be kept confident. Although I was given a tool to bring boring Basin into a quick uproar with ease, the letter would lose its magic, it's mystery. It will stay forever between the three of us; the mailman, and the two lovers stuck in time. But yet curiosity grips me. This journey shan't end here. I will learn more of William and Emily-Anne. I must.

➰

On Gravestone 12, Strength of Christ Cemetery, Basin, Alabama:

"Emily Anne Beaudoine-Abrams (1922 - 1944) bastard daughter of Augustine Beaudoine (1901 - 1939) and father unknown, eternal wife of Thomas Abrams."

On Gravestone 39, Strength of Christ Cemetery, Basin, Alabama:

"Here lies William Exodus Rose, son of Enoch and Lena Rose, born on May 24th, 1920 and died on January 28th, 1945. Never wed."