Act I, Scene III
3798 McKinley Boulevard
I appreciate your effort, even though I fear I cannot take your words to heart.
Four weeks have passed since I wrote my first letter to you. Four weeks in which I buried my beloved, sorted out his belongings and put up the house for sale. I do not know what will happen now. My parents want me to move back in with them for the time, but I donít think I shall. I have been staying there since I sold the house, butÖ I know they mean well, but I feel like I am going mad. I donít think I can be strong, Bill. I never was. But I will try for you. For Ian.
As to what I will do, I am not sure. For these past four weeks I have done what other people wanted, and what other people expected of me. I arranged for him to be cremated, I arranged the service, I even held a speech there Ė knowing that he would have liked it, and that
my parents-in-law his parents would have expected it. Then, I sorted his things, sending most of his personal stuff back to his parents, knowing his mother would have liked it. I arranged all the legal stuff and sold the house, as was expected of me. It was maddening to carry out everyoneís wishes, and yet at the same time, it brought me peace because at least I did not have to think about what I want. I am only 23 but I feel like my life is already over, Bill. I feel like an old woman, who has lost her place in the world and is so, so very tired with life.
I appreciate your offer to call or Skype, but am afraid that I cannot take you up on it. Strange as it may seem, I prefer it this way. You donít know who I am, shall never know even if you passed me in the streets, and there is safety in that, I suppose. I need some safety at this moment.
How are you doing? Perhaps I should have started out my letter with that question. Funnily enough it hasnít occurred to me to ask anyone that question lately. I simply canít find it in myself to care any longer.