Dear, Judith

Dear, Judith,

I just wanted to say, I don’t believe it was an accident that you stumbled into my life. If it was then it is the most wonderful, luckiest accident anybody could have had the misfortune of suffering.

You may think you’re the clumsiest woman in the world — those are your own words. But I don’t care, I love you the way you are. And I always will.

Do you remember that time we were halfway across Charles Bridge in Prague that spring, one shoe already hanging off, you’d lost your purse somewhere, you limped around panicking? And the time we got married and you stumbled down the aisle on your dress that was too long?

Nothing would have changed how much I adored you then and how much more I adore you now. I know you worry about your clumsiness, I know you say it has stopped you doing all the things in life you wanted to. But I’m glad it made you stumble into my arms.

There we were, Regents Park, the summer of ’85, open theatre, A Midsummer’s Night Dream. In the middle of Bottom’s Dream you came tripping and stumbling through the crowds. Everybody shirked their legs away, tutting and swaying, but I saw you coming. I waited for you with open arms and I caught you. And that’s when I knew you were the one for me.

And I’m glad for all the many clumsy years we’ve shared together. I love you just the way you are.

I couldn’t believe it when they called me from your work. I thought you’d hurt your leg — it wouldn’t have been the first time! Suzie said there had been a leak in the ladies, somebody was meant to fix it, but didn’t. You were wearing those new Bally court shoes I’d bought you for your birthday. Maybe if I didn’t buy them, things would be different.

Suzie said she didn’t know what happened, but your colleague, Rachael, found you. Said you must have slipped and hit your head.

I came to see your today. It broke my heart to see your lying helpless there. But the hospital says you’re in a stable condition. And I know you always enjoyed hand written letters so I’m going to write some for you and when you wake, we’ll read them together. We’ll snuggle by the fire or sit outside in your favourite bench in Hyde Park and remember all our clumsy times together.

Get some rest and have some sweet dreams my darling. I will visit you again after work tomorrow and write more later.

Your loving husband,

Steve.

x

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7 Replies to “Dear, Judith”

    1. Thank you. It looks like you’re having a wonderful time in Europe. Hope our British weather’s not too rainy for you!

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  1. oh David, the words in the letter are so precious! I loved that they went to Charles Bridge in Prague, one of the places on my bucket list and she was so clumsy it landed her in hospital! I wasn’t sure what to feel, there was such romantic love, then pity at her clumsiness and finally I wasn’t sure if she was going to wake up again, this is classic and so well paced and leaves so much for the reader to mull over, genius story telling.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Gina. I think your uncertainty is because it’s a mixed up piece. I wrote quickly without much editing, which means it ended up being a rather confused — somewhere between romance and tragedy. Still, I’m glad you enjoyed it.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I did! Though I think the dark humour was more evident, a little confusing at the end only really as I wasn’t sure if he was just happy that he got to be with her in her comatose state and just write the letters as their ways of communication. It did entertain me!

        Liked by 1 person

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