The rest of that night is a blur. Eventually she whispered in my ear, asking me to follow her. I did, of course. I'm sure you understand, after all you know how she can be. We walked up the left staircase up to the second floor balcony. In all the excitement I had left your bottles of wine on the table. As she led me up the stairs, my hand in hers, I looked back at the bottles. The partygoers had promptly emptied them for me. I turned my head back towards her, and across the room on the adjacent staircase I caught a glimpse of you. Surely you remember because you were staring right at me. For a second, before Verona pulled me around a corner at the top of the stairs, our eyes locked. In that split second I could've sworn that the light blue on the wall behind you swirled and darkened to black.
It was of course after the party that Verona told me she was your wife. The next day, back at my apartment, I paced back and forth and tried to think of something I could do or say to convince you not to fire me. This was the best job I had ever had, and I wasn't about to lose it without a fight. As I rehearsed my apology in the mirror for the thirtieth time there was a knock at my door.
I grabbed the door handle and expected the worst. It could be someone here to fire me, or worse, someone here to kill me, or worse, you. I flung the door open and nothing. There was no one there. I looked back and forth down my apartment's hallway and there was no one in view. It was a few seconds before I noticed it, but at my feet was a package. I didn't remember ordering anything but surely enough it was addressed to me. The package was about the size of a toaster but not very heavy.
Cautiously, I brought it inside and set it down. It was a first class package; it had been rushed to my house on a special order. Under return address it had your name! This package was from you. I took my house key and slid it along the tape to open it. I reached in and a few packing peanuts fell out. What I saw, nothing could have prepared me for. Inside the box was the newest Cortex Processor. This model hadn't even hit the market shelves yet. It was clear, made of glass, with small gaseous lights inside that seemed to move like smoke. On the end of it was a white card attached by a piece of thread. It slowly spun as it hung there and I saw letters drawn on it with black marker. It said: No Hard Feelings.
I ripped the card off. I didn't know what to think. Why would you have sent this? Maybe you had forgiven me. My mind raced with excitement and I did the only thing I could think to do. I removed my Processor and felt the dizziness of my own naked mind for a moment, and then I tried it on. As soon as it connected with my dock my vision exploded with sensory information. It was so fast, so vivid. I could bring up maps of the city, work material, or anything I desired merely by thinking. I sat down on my couch and gazed at my wall as I experienced everything it could do.
After a few hours of sitting on my couch, I felt something. Deep inside of me a feeling was building. It was, for lack of a better word, joy. My life, which was only a few hours earlier falling apart, now felt perfect. This feeling grew and grew as I sat there. Soon the feeling began to change into an urge. I wanted to see her again. I needed to see her again.
I got up and hurried to my Nissan Cruiser. I drove towards the return address on the package and hoped that she would be there. On the way I saw a gas station and felt like I had to stop. I pulled in and instinctively bought three gas cans and filled them all to the brim: one with regular, one with premium and one with diesel.
I arrived at your house late that night and ran to the door holding the three gas cans. I placed two of the cans down and rang the doorbell. It took a few seconds for someone to open the door and my mind raced. Would she be home? Would she be surprised? Finally the door opened, and it was her! Verona looked at me for a moment and opened her mouth to say something. Before she was able to say a word I splashed some gas into her eyes. I felt a feeling in me like butterflies spinning . She fell to the floor and screamed from the sting of the gas. I emptied the first can on her back. The gasoline dripped from her hair and it made me so very happy. I began to unscrew the second gas can as she yelled at me. Why was she yelling? Soon her yelling was replaced by coughs as I splashed the second can in her face. After all three cans were emptied I lit a match.
As I tossed it onto her I could hear a faint laughter in the distance. That's why I'm writing to you from Northgate prison, the processor is stuck in my head and the laughter has not stopped. I tried to send you an email but it seems that the processor has ceased to work correctly. The doctors here think I've lost my mind because I'm always smiling, but they just don't understand how great she was, do they? These days have been the best of my life, and I wanted to thank you. Now if only the laughter would stop…
Sincerely,
James Braxton