Love letter to Economy
I’m indebted to The Walrus and its Love Letters contest (a promotion for the book Four Letter Word, a collection of fictional love letters by famous authors) for the following winning entry:
Dear Economy,
2008 was a bad year for us. A staggering understatement, I think you’ll agree. But honey, I’m through with the bull – I understand you are, too. If we want to make this thing work, it’s time for us to talk.
Our relationship has always been casual. A couple of years ago, I barely noticed you. You were rich and powerful, but too blandly reliable to really be sexy. Thinking about you affected me like a mild sedative, but still, I ran into you everywhere. You often appeared when I was feeling bored or self-indulgent, tempting me into yet another pricey import beer at the pub, or assuring me that yes, I would look amazing in the buttery leather of those knee-high boots in the shop window. Slowly, over time, I started giving in to your advances. What was there to lose?
I’m no fool. I know I was just one among many. But there were those nice dinners out, those impulsive trips to San Francisco and New York, and you paid the tab. My friends always took a fanatical pleasure in analyzing you, but until this year, I kept my feelings quiet. I was content knowing you were always there in the background. Comforting. Constant. I even considered buying a condo, with your discreet help.
Then I started hearing rumours – through the newspapers, no less! – about your risky behaviour down in the States. My heart sank faster than the Dow. You had made promises to everyone, not just me. But you covered your tracks. You concealed your duplicity with piles of dirty second-hand money. You appeared composed, always on the up-and-up, and nobody asked questions. How could you not know that eventually, people would come knocking? All those homes you destroyed, it was front page news. I knew I didn’t have much time until you waltzed back into my life to sink me with your sub-prime drama.
And here you are. But now, Economy, you’re far from boring. You’re dangerous, unpredictable, and reckless with everything. My money. My feelings. I watch in heartsick amazement as you unapologetically drain my bank account. And to make matters worse: now you’re fucking everyone. This time, you’re not even trying to hide it.
Economy, please: tell me what to do. I just don’t believe in your fraudulent schemes anymore. I always thought you couldn’t buy my love. But you did, and now I see it was a bad investment right from the start. I’m tired of trying to bail you out. I’m tired of listening to people gossip about you on the bus. Consider my interest reduced. I’m taking my cash and putting it somewhere you can’t find it. But we’re just too intertwined for me to abandon you completely. My throat tightens whenever you hint that you may be depressed. So I’ll stand by you and wait for things to turn around, but for the love of God, Economy, please get your shit together.
Regretfully forever in your debt,
Jennifer
