Letters from nowhere

It's been such a boring day that I actually went out of my way to start drafting a letter to Beth - the last time I did was before Christmas and she replied within three days.



I've known Beth since Secondary school, we sat next to each other in English class every day for three years. There she would chew my ear lobes with news of boyfriends past and present, poking me with the sharp end of a pencil if ever she needed advice.

We took pretty much the same A-Levels, except she, desiring the occupation of barrister, took law too. She was probably the most ambitious girl I knew and I always believed in heart of hearts that she'd go far.

Apparently not, for in one of her very first law lessons, she was introduced to a student by the name of Andrew, with a brain cell count equalling that of a sasquatch. Before long, she was bringing him into conversations as her central clause, sending the old alarm bells ringing.

It's been three years and she's still doing the same course, having failed it three times. Her life used to revolve around socialising and shopping - now all she does is care for Andrew's fast deteriorating mother, and three dogs.

I guess that's part of the reason why I don't want to write to her; I'll have to accept whatever lie she's telling herself.