37
After a shower, a sandwich and as much procrastination as I can stand, I open up my laptop and log into my email.
On the left, the 'more' tab reveals a folder innocuously titled 'assignments (18)'. I pause and then open it.
This isn't new ground, I've done this plenty of times before, but never with my hands sweating and my heart sounding in my ears. And not once in the past three years.
I glance down the list at the dates they were sent. One a week for the four months or so after she left. And then suddenly…nothing.
I think about then and I think about today. She could be a different person from what I've seen so far. Is there anything to be gained from reading these now after so long?
On a whim I reach down and move my finger across the touchpad. I do it quickly, before I lose my nerve.
Select.
All.
Delete.
18 conversations have been moved to the Trash.
More.
Trash.
Select.
All.
Delete forever.
18 conversations have been deleted.
I sit back in the chair, fingers of doubt prodding at my brain, whispering, 'are you sure you wanted to do that?'
Am I? No. Did I want to read them? I don't know, but there's little point worrying about it now; it's done.
I rub my hand across my mouth, then reach down again and scroll to the folder that now reads 'assignments'. There's no bold type and no number, alerting me to the amount of unread messages it contains.
I open it.
There are no conversations with this label.
Assignments.
Remove label.
Delete the label "assignments"?
Delete
The label "assignments" was removed.
And with that, the last trace of the old Izzy is gone.
My phone buzzes next to me; a message from a number that's not yet programmed in.
It was nice catching up today. I xx
I type a reply back.
Yeah it was. See you soon
I deliberate for a moment, then I add a question mark to the end. I delete it again, stare at the words and add it again.
Send.
~S~