The love letter

Stanley and Clara had never actually met.  Their relationship had been planned from the time they were infants.  Their parents had known each other back in the old country (Serbia) and had planned to have their children marry from day one.  That's how the letters started.  

Clara's parents had spoken so highly of Stanley for so long, that she was sure he was absolutely wonderful.  When Clara turned 18 the letters started arriving from Philadelphia. At first the letters were quite formal.  Mainly informational about Stanley's school and work and interests.  But eventually the letters became less aloof and more warm.  Clara faithfully answered each letter in turn and slowly felt herself being drawn to Stanley.  Instead of the ivory tower picture get parents had painted for so long, she started to come to really know him.  His strengths and weaknesses, his passions, loves and interests.  She learned the kind of food he loved, the kind of clothes he wore, even the brand of shampoo he used.

Two years into this long distance relationship, Clara found herself constantly thinking of the mailbox, she even scraped it down, sanded it and repainted it bright red.  Daily she would meet the mailman, going for another letter.  Finally, the big letter came.  It contained the big question.  Stanley was coming to Des Moines and he wanted Clara to marry him.  Clara couldn't write back fast enough.

Clara told her parents, and all her friends.  She told the grocer, the mailman, the lady at the post office and her pastor.  Clara was on cloud nine.
Four days, 23 hours and nine minutes later another letter arrived.  This one had Stanley's exact arrival day and time.  Clara could hardly wait.

Finally the day arrived, as did Stanley.  But Clara stood by the mailbox waiting for the mail truck.  Clara's mother came out and reminded her that Stanley was at the train station.  Clara said to not bother her, she was waiting for a letter from Stanley.  When no letter arrived, Clara went to her room, pulled out the very large box of previous letters from Stanley and spent several hours rereading many of her favorites.  Stanley came to her door, but Clara was too busy reading letters to bother seeing him.

The next day Stanley took the train home, alone.  Clara sat in her room reading letters and dreaming of Stanley. Every day, Clara performed what had become a ritual.  She would meet the mailman at the box, and receiving no letter would retire to her room and read over many of Stanley's letters.  Forty years later, the newspaper boy found her face down in a box of yellowing handwritten letters, dead.