I’m fairly pointless, don’t you think? I am nothing to anyone anymore. When my husband left me, he took all my friends, even the ones I’ve had for years. They said that it wasn’t personal, that it was business. It still stings, stings the way a saber stings the aorta of a baby bird. Fuck that. It doesn’t sting, it burns.

I am nothing to everyone. I have no husband, no friends, no children. This wasn’t what I dreamed of when he asked me to marry him in college. This wasn’t the life I had in mind, and there was none of this humiliation. God, the way the tabloids talk about me. Sad, depressed, suicidal. How much those bitches would pay to know they were completely right.

He tore me apart when he left me. He ripped out my heart when he looked at me with no kindness and told me that I was no longer someone he could love. It was me, I had changed. For days, that’s all I heard in my head. It was me.

I want to get back at him now. I drink my heavy liquor and give Theresa my pearls and those nice notes to mail to the girls. As I gather that expensive mink he bought me when he could still love me, I miss them so. We were young when we promised to never lose touch. We made a lot of promises then, to ourselves and each other. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that they don’t amount to much. At least, not anything more than the vow a husband makes to a wife. They’re rather trivial actually.

I walk onto the balcony holding the heavy glass tumbler in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I wave to a neighbor. I must be sight to see. I’ve locked myself indoors for the past two weeks. I’m pale as a ghost. The New York chills makes me red and my hair blows in my eyes. I stand on the sturdy iron bench that came with the penthouse and look down at all the little people who will read about me this afternoon. Me and my reasons, and my lonely bitterness. And my husband and his four-year old wife.

I wish them all the happiness in the world. Then, I put out my cigarette and step over the railing. The expression of the pavement coming up to meet me is kinder than the one my husband left me to remember.

I hope my notes make it to the girls and I hope --

…for nothing more.

 

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