Unread (3)
from: Bracebridge Tire
subject: Snow is here! Install your winter tires today!
from: The office of Doctor Frey
subject: re: Prosthetic Fitting Appointment
from: Saoirse
subject: DON’T IGNORE
***
It starts with a chain email. A stupid “forward this to ten people or you’ll have bad luck” thing.
An icy road, a broken guardrail. Marcela’s cursor hovers over the outline of a trash can. She can’t bear the thought of any more bad luck. She forwards the email to the first ten addresses in her spam folder, then takes a closer look at the address of the well-meaning idiot who sent it.
from: saoirsethegreat@mail.ie
Marcela doesn’t know anyone from Ireland. She doesn’t even know how to pronounce Saoirse.
A quick Google search later: Seer-sha.
***
A handful of powder. Snow that isn’t sticky enough to hold shape.
***
Twelve tiny faces arranged in a grid. This meeting could have been an email. But there’s no reason to complain now that Marcela spends all forty hours of the workweek staring at a screen anyway. At one point, she had promised herself that she’d get back out there and rejoin her coworkers in person. Eventually. Just not today.
Marcela scratches the negative space where her left shin used to be and opens up her mail app.
from: Saoirse
subject: Vegan molasses cookie recipe
Not a chain email this time. Maybe with a lack of response, Saoirse will realize that she has the wrong address.
***
But the emails keep coming. Every week or so, a forwarded 30% off promotional code for H&M or a link to a YouTube video assessing the Top Ten Most Loyal Dog Breeds. Marcela watches the whole thing. She always wanted a pinscher.
She knows the right thing to do would be to send a reply and tell Saoirse she has the wrong email, but seeing that name in her inbox makes it seem like someone out there cares, even if the attention isn’t intended for her.
It’s been almost ten months since the accident and the phantom pain below her knee is as bad as ever. The world has moved on without her; even her closest friends haven’t checked on her in a while. No, I haven’t started therapy yet. Yes, I’ve finally come around to the idea of a prosthetic. That’s what she would say if anyone asked. But no one asks.
Was the need for novelty and instant gratification so all-consuming that the worst time in Marcela’s life had already become old news? Should she be over it by now, too?
***
subject: Goals for 2024
subject: Thoughts on this week’s Bachelor ep!
subject: Dad’s diagnosis
Saoirse is a constant in Marcela’s inbox now. She begins checking her email multiple times a day. She falls behind on her work. She tries to imagine what Saoirse looks like.
She starts writing back.
>> I don’t know much about agoraphobia but maybe you could start small by just taking a walk around the block? If there’s a café nearby, you could stop in and get a coffee or pastry as a reward. Either way, I think trying to get out of the house more is a great goal.
I’m not there yet. I don’t know if I ever will be.
>> I’ve never watched The Bachelor but I looked up a photo of Julianne. She’s gorgeous, even with that spark of crazy in her eyes. If I ever start dating again, I wouldn’t mind dating someone who looks like her.
Do you look like her, Saoirse?
>> I don’t know your dad but I hope he gets well soon. If he’s as funny and kind as you, I’m sure he’ll pull through. Good things come to good people.
I still haven’t figured out if I’m good or not.
Each response is relegated to the drafts folder. The grey outline of a paper airplane mocks her. What if she were to send a reply and Saoirse stops writing? What if Saoirse disappears and takes with her Marcela’s last dragging shreds of hope?
***
A small snowball, formed and packed in a gloved hand.
***
Doctor Frey takes a mold of Marcela’s residual limb. He tells her to expect around seven more visits for the fitting process. Then there will be physical therapy for the foreseeable future.
“Have you been doing your stability exercises?”
Marcela thinks of the balance board beneath her bed. Unopened. Forgotten.
“Yes.”
***
There hasn’t been a single email from Saoirse in over a week. Marcela collects all her previous emails in a separate folder named Saoirse and scrolls through them first thing in the morning, while she eats lunch, and just before bed. She’s read each one ten times over. More, maybe. She could recite them word for word and sometimes she does when she’s in the shower, slumped on that eyesore of a shower bench.
***
Marcela’s not vegan, but she makes the molasses cookies anyway. She doesn’t have baking powder, so she substitutes the baking soda from the back of her fridge.
The cookies turn out flat and bitter.
In the empty echo chamber of her kitchen, she apologizes to Saoirse.
***
subject: Remote job search
***
An avalanche.
***
>> Hi Saoirse,
I don’t think I’m the person you intended to contact but I think it might be serendipitous that your email came to me. I work for a company that offers remote work for those who require it. I don’t know much about agoraphobia but my boss is pretty understanding. Do you live in Ireland? If so, you’d be remote anyway so I think you should reach out. I’ll put my boss’s contact info below. I’d be more than happy to answer any questions if you have them.
Hopefully talk soon,
Marcela
The outline of the paper airplane turns blue.
***
Eleven tiny faces arranged in a grid. Marcela’s boss unmutes herself.
“Thanks for your patience. We’re just waiting on one more to get started.”
But eleven should be correct—Nish had quit last week.
Eleven boxes shift up and to the left as a new box pops up onscreen. It flickers from black to life and there, like a January thaw, is a girl with alabaster skin and corkscrew curls.
“Everyone go ahead and say hello to our new email marketing specialist, Saoirse.”
Her boss pronounces it Say-orse, but Saoirse just laughs and waves and Marcela can’t find the words to correct her because soon it will be spring.
Mallory McCrory (she/they) is based in Toronto, Canada, and is currently earning her MFA in Creative Writing through the Stonecoast program at the University of Southern Maine. Mallory is the founder and editor-in-chief of (s)crawl, a literary magazine that amplifies and uplifts marginalized voices within the horror genre. You can find them on Instagram @mallorymccrorywrites.
