Dear Harriet.
I guess this is it then, the end of the line.
You know why I hired you? Because convincing a halfway decent person to go out with me is an impossibility.
Recall Sam Jackson yelling and waving a gun in some poor bastard’s face. All the poor bastard can do is say “what” over and over again because he’s too terrified to even think.
That’s me. I struggle with job interviews and talking to strangers. My mind goes blank, I stammer, and stutter so people pass me off as stupid.
Hence, I hired you.
I needed a pretty woman at the wedding to save face, people in my town mutter in disapproval if a guy goes dateless to one too many events.
I know you said I treated you like a queen, but c’mon, giving you my coat when it rained, opening your side of the car, never attempting any ungentlemanly things? That’s just basic decency if you ask me.
I’ll say this though, hanging out with you that day, and those meetups later, made me happy, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Paradoxically, knowing this was all an act, made me honest. I found I could be stupid little old me in front of you.
I never judged you for your line of work. God we’ve all got to do what we’ve got to do.
It’s not that you’re beneath me, Jesus no, if anything the more I learnt about you, the more I felt you were too good for me. You’re a PhD candidate who’s moonlighting on the side as an escort. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I know you’ll make an excellent GP.
Me? I’m the simpleton, I’m the spaz, I’m one of God’s horrible little mistakes, a defective piece of hardware, rolled off the assembly line, never to be sent back for repairs. Trust me, I’m beneath you.
Macbeth committed murder to seize the throne, but his guilt gnawed away at him to the point of madness. He, sinful killer that he was, didn’t deserve the crown and he knew it.
That’s how I feel when anybody’s nice to me. When you hugged me last week, I was Macbeth. When you said you loved me, all I felt was a tremendous amount of shame. My God woman, don’t you see, there’s a billion men out there, all a shit ton smarter, handsomer and funnier, than moi. Don’t waste your time with this retarded bastard.
I just hope that in a few years, you have that job you want, you’re in a great relationship and so on. That’ll make me happy for you.
As for my future? Christ almighty, I have no goddamn future, staring at the four corners of my bedroom is my future.
Yeah, for some of us, there is no tomorrow because we check out early and thank God for that.
Yours
Daniel
