I was about to start my final year of high school. An envelope arrived by post. The return address indicated that its contents had been written by a fellow scholar. This soulful young man used to telephone every girl I knew on a regular basis. In those days, young romantics had to deal with busy signals and the anxieties associated with actually speaking to the object of their affection. Often, this boy used different accents when placing these calls, so if your dad told you some guy from Germany was on the phone, you knew who it was. Impassioned declarations of love were his jam. And I guess when the phone calls weren’t successful, he switched his modus operandi to letter writing.
The words send me a picture were scribbled across the back flap of the envelope.
Sept. 1, 1989
What can I say, I love you, I wish I’d told you sooner. It may not have made a difference but I don’t really know. It’s the one regret I’ll never forget. I miss your voice so much. I know you probably don’t really care, but it was helpful that you were around when I needed a person to talk to. Most of this is babbling except the first sentence.
This is a very direct approach. Get right to it, you know? Bam! I love you. That said, if this relationship is going to last, you should probably learn how to spell my name.
I was going to say this to you when I talked to you but I don’t know what happened:
If I show you my dark side will you still hold me tonight? And if I opened my heart to show you my weak side, what would you do? Would you send me packing? Or would you take me in?
No. There will be no taking in. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you didn’t say that on the telephone. Even your signature British accent wouldn’t have made it more palatable.
Enough of that. The graduation went well. I have a travel claim for $200 coming, but I don’t know what for. At the end of this month I have another cheque from the militia. Again, I don’t know what for.
Wait. What? I feel like we’re getting off topic here.
I’m in my new home, quite beautiful actually, and quite secluded, so my want of a car has now become a NEED!!! Oh. Well.
Secluded. Duly noted.
Here are some lyrics you may or may not like:
“The rusty wire, that holds the cork, that keeps the anger in, gives way and suddenly, it’s day again.”
Kind of imagining arriving at your secluded home in the trunk of your car…
In your letter tell me what your doing this year etc. etc. ok?
This is a nice touch. Directives are very effective. Assume I’ll be writing you back.
A Man Who Will One Day Show Up At Your Workplace Wearing A Cape
(Not his real name.)
P.S. I love you.
Of course you do.