It’s June 22nd, and as the familiar chirping of the birds ring out, I find that there’s still no letter in my mailbox. I bang my head lightly against the wall. A deadly mix of impatience and frustration envelops me and I begin to break into a sweat.
Did he forget? No. He couldn’t have. He promised me he wouldn’t. That was the last thing he mentioned before he got into his automobile and drove off, leaving behind a cloud of dust and an inconsolable wife.
Years ago when we met in the university, he looked at me with a tenderness that only he could, and when he asked me to be his girlfriend I was ecstatic. A shotgun wedding would be in place and an unborn child would die. It was fear at first, then came dread, anxiety and fear again. I adjust my shawl and fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. I could picture
him teasing me about how much of a crybaby I was. He would be right. Our wedding would be on May 11 and his best man’s speech would sadly be the highlight of the entire wedding and a part of his speech I quote, “I knew deep down in my heart that these two would get married the moment they got engaged.”
A coarse voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Hello madam, are you alright?”