Josie,
Look! Postcards! Aren’t we adorable. You’ll probably get these after I’m home, but whatever. The flight was hellacious. For 12 hours, Mark snored and a baby shrieked behind me. I got stuck in the airplane lavatory. The lock jammed. An attendant jiggled it loose with a screwdriver. I didn’t breathe the rest of the flight—you know me and small spaces—but on the plus side, free drinks. Four rum and cokes later, we landed in the rain. By the time we arrived at the St. Pancras, we were soaked to the skin. Mark griped about the room—not the view he paid for. Three hours later: We’ve been upgraded to a suite. Hopefully the honeymoon will improve, but if it doesn’t, here’s a pic of a happy couple. The Queen and the Duke, 65 years and still going strong. I bet the Duke doesn’t snore.
Tell mom we made it. I’ll call her soon, maybe, just not yet.
All love,
Mel
• • •
Josie,
We plan on being excellent tourists. Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, The Tower, selfies, souvenir shot glasses, trying to make a Beefeater guard laugh—all the clichés. First stop: The Tower. I stood where Anne Boleyn had her head chopped off. Of course, other people died there, too, but Anne Boleyn’s the only one that really matters. Mark stood behind me with a prop sword and the tour guide snapped some photos. Gruesome, huh? Mom and Anne Boleyn would have gotten along, been besties, don’t you think? Anne would approve of her. They’re both charming and dramatic and manipulative. Maybe mom is Anne incarnate. That’s what happened, a possession.
All love,
Mel
• • •
Josie,
We were on our way to Westminster Abbey when we stopped in a pub and got day drunk on Newcastles, so we moseyed up and down Covent Garden instead. Mark found a set of antique screwdrivers with polished wood handles inlaid in the steel. Lucky, right? He said they might be needed on the flight back so it was worth the investment. They look like Grandpa’s. I wonder if Dad ever got those back. Remember how he’d go on and on about how they were hardened properly for long term use. I still don’t know what that means. I always thought Mom would have given them up, especially after Grandpa died, but after the wedding I’m not sure. She doesn’t seem so willing to give things up.
All love,
Mel
• • •
Josie,
As a newly married woman, I try to imagine myself divorced. Not just divorced, but left. I think of Mark and all his shit that I’ve claimed. He drinks too much. He’s an impulse shopper. He won’t go to the dentist and in 10 years, I’m certain all his teeth will rot out. These are my problems. Mine. Then I think of Mom, a museum of useless information, empty and full, all those claimed things now belonging to another woman.
I’m Mom. I see my husband’s wife, Margaret, bring him a drink. Red wine. He’s self-conscious about the way it stains his teeth. My daughter hands me her bouquet as she’s pulled onto the dance floor. It’s beautiful: peach Peonies and mint-colored succulents wrapped in lace from my wedding—her something old. Then I see it: the gold band and diamond tied in the lace, my husband’s wife’s wedding ring—my daughter’s something borrowed.
And that’s where I stop.
• • •
Josie,
We leave tomorrow. A ride on a double-decker bus and we’re out. The tourists plan complete. The screwdrivers will have to be shipped back though—they won’t fit in the bags. Don’t know if I should take this as an omen.
It’s lucky she didn’t throw the ring but just let it drop by the trees. Maybe it’s an “All’s well that ends well” kind of situation. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so harsh. Perhaps I should be grateful her motivations are so foreign to me. Perhaps there were more good years than bad for her. Perhaps he was too impatient through the bad, couldn’t wait for the ratio to right itself.
By the way, I was wrong about the Queen and her Duke; they’ve been married 70 years. I don’t know about their happy-to-unhappy ratio, but after 70 years, I don’t know if it matters.
All love,
Mel
Cheyenne Autry is an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and Development Director for the The Arkansas International. Her work has appeared in SmokeLong Quarterly and the Doctor T. J. Eckleburg Review. You can find her on Twitter at @cheyautry.