My Single Page Letter- Fiction

It was only until I released the pencil that I realized how hard I was gripping. It lay flat on my wooden kitchen table, defeated. I picked up the sheet of paper and hold it up to the light, as if it were counterfeit. My handwriting started out so neat, full of confidence, as it always does. As I continued writing my words got sloppy. My shaky penmanship will surely be noted, I will once again have to start over.
It’s seems when I need time, I sure have less of it. When I have time to waste, I am always waiting for it to be over. I neatly fold the single sheet of paper and place it in the trash, on top of the other attempts. The clock reads nearly noon and I gather my belongings. It will only take 5 minuets to reach the conference room but in this weather, it could take up to a half hour. And I am already late. My beat-up Voltswagon sputters in the cold air. Surely it won’t die on me today, of all days!
I nearly give up when a familiar Cadillac pulls up beside my metal piece-of-junk. All he has to do is give a small wave, allowing me to enter his car. I swear to myself, if I wasn’t in desperate need, I would not allow myself to be within 50 feet of him. But of course, whenever I am damsel in distress, he always shows up.
Derek pulls out of the dinky parking lot and heads toward the conference building, without asking what happened or where I’m going. Of course he knows on Tuesday I need to be headed to my meeting. He knows me too well and I kick myself for letting him get so close. How could I have been so stupid!? He is the person who would come help an ex-girlfriend, no matter the circumstances.
The only time I would allow myself to speak to him again was to give him my single page letter, explaining. Not anything in particular. Just explaining. But that letter was far from being done, an I find myself inside his warm Cadillac, driving me to my Tuesday meeting.

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