The tapes are cold. They’ve been sitting against the window since he took them out of the envelope a week ago. He decided to finally play them after he got the wedding invitation.

Now the plastic is cold in his hand as he slips the first one into the tape deck and shuts the cover.

He watches through the window as its dual centers spin.

The static starts. He hears her take a deep breath.

Hi, John.

I don’t know where to start.

Remember when spring break began and you said you couldn’t wait for it to end so you could see my face again?

Half-laugh, half-cry- maybe she’s just catching her breath.

The irony of that.

Static.

Blake and I are getting married.

I don’t know if my mom sent you an invitation or not, but please don’t come.

It’s embarrassing. I hate him.

Mom was just glad there was someone I could be with. That’s the most embarrassing part.

Do you remember Blake?

He was the one who got attacked by the dog and was brought to the hospital about the same time as I was. Everyone thought he would be alright, but he lost that eye and his face is still just as lopsided as it was three years ago.

Everyday, I hate looking at his stupid yellow face. It looks wet and soggy just the way it’s chewed up.

It’s awful. We had sex and I hate him. I want to scream at him. Tell him I don’t deserve this. He’s so ugly and I used to be pretty. I was pretty, this isn’t right.

I know how horrible it is to think that, even as I haven’t been able to look at myself since the accident. I hate him for how ugly he is and how unfair it is that we’re together- because his old girlfriend just had a baby with someone else and because you couldn’t look at me.

He pretends to be happy. Flowers, pancakes for breakfast- the days squeeze by one at a time.

Every tired try he makes, I can only think that you made waffles, or the flowers you got were better and sometimes you even made them from paper.

This gray face isn’t mine. These stumps for hands I have after everything in my fingers died, these aren’t mine. This burned, earless scalp isn’t mine.

These stupid pancakes and this stupid mirror-less house and this life where you deserted me isn’t mine.

She takes a deep breath.

John. I don’t know if I’m even talking to anybody anymore. I don’t know if I’m filling these empty tapes and you’re leaving them untouched forever, if they sit by your trash bin and you’re completely gone.

I still love you but this is what I got.

Even if it wasn’t with you, if I had a wedding, ever, I would ask you to come.

It’s my name on those invitations, but it’s not your old friend who’s getting married.