The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) (7 page)

Love Letters

Hi, beautiful,

I’m testing the waters here, dipping my toe in, I suppose. I’ve recently discovered that my grandfather wrote to my grandmother before they were able to be together—numerous letters proclaiming his affection for her. Somehow, he knew one day he would share those letters with Patty. When I first found out about the letters I was in awe of his faith. Before this weekend, I’m not sure I could have said with any certainty that you and I will still be together in May, having successfully endured the constraints of the TA/student relationship.

I’m certain now. Everything has changed. And why that change? Quite simply because I woke up with you in my arms this morning. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I want to share my heart with you. I wish I could pour out my feelings to you, but I dare not. Like my grandfather, I need to proceed with caution. And so, as an homage to him—or perhaps to the love he and my grandmother shared—I’m going to give this letter writing (or in my case, letter
typing
) a try.

Last night was incredible. I honestly think we’ve found a way to navigate the complexities of our relationship, both individually, and as a couple, but more than that, after resolving our conflict from last week, I think we respect and understand each other better. Do you know where the final vote of confidence came from, though? From Patty herself.

I’m not sure if you realize how important it was for me to have my grandmother’s approval when I introduced you to her. I lived in England for so long, and made so many decisions without the advice or influence of my family, I forgot how wonderful it feels to have their support. With things being so tense between me and my parents, Patty’s endorsement means so much. You made a great first impression last night, Aubrey, and trust me when I say Patty is an excellent judge of character.

When she launched into the story about how she met my grandfather, and you saw the way their story parallels ours, you must have thought she was psychic. Not once did I tell her how we’d met, and that you were a student in Martin’s class. How did she know we would benefit from hearing her tale, a story that ended so happily?

Well, there’s a very logical explanation.

I visited my grandmother a few weeks ago, and when was showing me my grandfather’s love letters, she made a reference to the “complicated” way her courtship with my grandfather had started. Last night when we were at the table, and I described our relationship using the same word, she obviously knew exactly what I meant. Of course, she didn’t judge. She understands our predicament perfectly.

She’s lived it.

Something else you don’t know, and which I dare not tell you now, is that after dinner last night, when you went to the washroom, Patty showed me an engagement ring, the one my grandfather gave her when he initially proposed. He bought her a new ring on their fifth anniversary, but Patty has always kept her first ring. Last night she told me she wants me to have it, and one day, when I’m ready, she wants me to use the diamond in the ring I give to “the woman I choose to share my life with.” She didn’t use your name, but why else would she have shown it to me last night, if not to suggest that I hold on to you?

She put her hand on my cheek, told me to breathe, and counseled me to live entirely in every moment you and I spend together. Last night I did my best to follow her advice.

By writing you these letters, I’m going to try to record those special moments so I can share them with you later, instead of simply ranting and venting to nothingness. I hope that’s okay with you, and I also hope that when you read these letters one day (because I’m determined you will), you’ll appreciate the feelings inspiring them and not simply think me a soppy sod.

(That’s a Penny-ism. You may need to consult her for a translation.)

I tried to put Patty’s advice into action as soon as we left her house last night. I was afraid to admit this to you because I’m sure you’d have thought me a complete head case, but when I took you to my grandfather’s bench, I was introducing you to him. Having felt his presence so acutely the day before, visiting his bench again was the best I could think of to do by way of introduction. I sensed his approval and wanted so fiercely to hold on to that moment. My peace of mind was palpable. I think that’s why I asked you to spend the night with me. I could see the interminable weeks stretching before us, but all I could think about was
now
.

Let Browning explain what I seem to be at a loss to articulate…

“Out of your whole life give but a moment!
All of your life that has gone before,
All to come after it—so you ignore,
So you make perfect the present,—condense,
In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,
Thought and feeling and soul and sense—
Merged in a moment which give me at last
You around me for once, you beneath me, above me—
Me—sure that despite of time future, time past,—
This tick of your life-time’s one moment you love me!
How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet—
The moment eternal—just that and no more—
When ecstasy’s utmost we clutch at the core
While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut and lips meet!”
~Robert Browning

That sums up how I felt last night, Aubrey—my simple but burning need to obliterate the rest of the world and cling to you, holding on to
that moment
in time—the way I feel when you kiss me.

I realize things got away from me once we were back here at the condo. I should have known how incredible it would be to hold you in my arms, safe within these four walls, without fear of prying eyes. Lying with you on the couch, feeling your body pressed against mine…quite frankly, I lost myself. What started as “a moment” became an all-encompassing desire. What I feel for you is so much more than just a physical impulse, but my God, the need to make love to you—to show you in some tangible way how I feel about you? Disregarding this need is becoming more difficult to manage with every passing day.

That’s why I’ve written everything down for weeks. Catharsis is essential to the analytical soul. I often wonder what you’d have thought if you’d opened these files on the flash drive last night. Would the enormity of my feelings and the volume of words I’ve spilled about you have scared the crap out of you? Perhaps I’m underestimating your feelings. We both skirted the issue last night, and the “definitely-maybes” are fun to bandy around, but for me, there’s no maybe about it, Aubrey. Perhaps I can’t tell you to your face yet, but I can tell you here without fear of scaring you away: I’m falling in love with you. Realizing this fact has me terrified and euphoric in equal parts.

(Most terrifying are the logistical implications. These are the questions I ask myself: How do I impartially evaluate the essay of the woman I’m falling in love with? How do I call you
Miss Price
during tutorial, and not
sweetheart
? How do I walk away from the classroom without leaning over to kiss your forehead and say, “I love you, poppet—I’ll call you later…”)

You see my dilemma. As complicated as I’m making my existence, though, I can’t imagine any alternative now. Talking to you on the phone this evening was one of the best hours of my day, although it couldn’t eclipse waking up with you lying beside me (or should I say lying on top of me?!). And how can I forget the events that followed this morning?—seeing your beautiful bare legs and those sexy black panties for the first time (sweet torture), sharing morning coffee with you (pure contentment), standing between your creamy, white thighs while you watched me shave (agonizing delight)…

I’ve already relived the events of the past twenty-four hours a hundred times—several times during class today. Do you realize how happy it made me to see you walk into the room wearing the LV gloves I bought you? I’m glad you lost that silly striped glove! Of course, then I had to spend an hour watching you biting your lip, remembering the taste of your kisses and the way it feels when you draw my lower lip between your teeth…

Fuck, the distance between us torments me, but knowing you’ll be staying over again on Friday, having something tangible to look forward to in four days, the forty-five day wait between now and May doesn’t seem so insurmountable.

As for now, it’s approaching midnight. My eyes are burning and I really should sleep. If sleep won’t come easily, I’ll stare into the darkness and conjure up images of your warm responsive body beneath mine, your eyes softly closed as your lips, sweet and eager, meet mine again and again…

If thinking about me affords you even one-tenth of the pleasure I experience when I think about you, then you’re a happy girl, indeed.

Yours,

(With not a single “maybe” in sight),

~Daniel

xoxoxo…

I miss you, Aubrey. God, how I miss you. Missing you makes me do crazy things. You’re probably going to kill me, but I’ve booked us a night at Taboo, a resort up north. It’s in the Muskokas, far away from U of T and the potential scrutiny we have to endure here. I’m excited as hell, and I hope you’ll be excited too. We can leave as soon as tutorial is over on Friday. (
Please
be as happy about this as I am…)

I fear when I tell you, you’ll pull out the voice of reason, and I suppose you have every right to play Devil’s advocate, laying out the dangers of going away together. I promise, it’s not my intention to spirit you away from the city to seduce you (although when I read over what I’ve said and thought for the last few days that seems impossible to believe…). I simply want to relax and have some fun with you—to go skiing, to go for a walk outside, in broad daylight, holding your hand without having to worry about who might be watching. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?

How strange this is—talking to you as if you’ll be providing an immediate answer and knowing you won’t. Actually, this is the most bizarre situation I’ve ever found myself in. I’m sure I’ve never experienced so many emotional highs and lows in such a short span of time, nor thought so deliberately about my experiences. I often berate myself for this overindulgence in analysis, but then today, reading a book of love letters Patty gave me, I saw over and over again, this same tendency to self-examination. Gustave Flaubert flagellated himself daily for his manic self-analysis, but it’s the words of John Keats that I always return to. I can almost hear myself in his words…

“My Mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it. I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment - upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses.” (1820)

See what I mean? What great company my discontented and restless mind is in! I can’t thank my grandmother enough for giving me this book. It’s becoming my bible. Any thought or feeling I doubt or call into question is validated tenfold in the pages of this book, by history’s greatest thinkers, no less!

I open my eyes every day, tortured by thoughts of you and counting the minutes until I’ll see you again, scoffing at my obsessive thoughts, but what do you know?—even Napoleon, the great military and political leader fell prey to the joys of amorous connection and the misery of the separation that follows. His anguished letters to Josephine litter the pages of this book:

“I have been very dull ever since we parted. I am happy only when with you. I never cease thinking of your kisses, your tears, and your amusing little jealousies: the charms of the matchless Josephine ever keep my heart and feelings warm…I believe I have always loved you, but I think I love you a thousand times better now than ever…” (1796)

Oh, Napoleon, you poor sod! I understand his preoccupations, Aubrey. It’s only been a little over forty-eight hours since our lips met, and I’m so, so ready to feel you in my arms again. However, I must somehow banish these ardent thoughts and put on my game face. See you on campus in an hour, my gorgeous girl. I can’t wait.

Faithfully yours,

~D

xoxoxo…

Good morning, poppet,

I’ve again woken up at an ungodly hour. It’s five past six, and I can’t get back to sleep. I’m positively vibrating with excitement. (Wanna rub up against me? ;)

I’m so glad you’ve agreed to our getaway to Taboo. I confess, it was tense there for a few moments yesterday when I told you about the weekend I’ve planned. I thought you were going to refuse me. But hallelujah, you agreed, and you even accepted the gift card and went shopping at Holt’s. This is progress!

I know I should feel trepidation about taking you away, or at least a trace of guilt, imagining what people would think of me if they knew what I was doing, but somehow I don’t. The only person’s judgment I fear is yours. You are the only critic whose words can affect me now. You told me last week you aren’t terribly familiar with Shakespeare’s sonnets. Here’s one for you which sums things up perfectly:

Sonnet 112

“Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
Which vulgar scandal stamp’d upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel’d sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others’ voices, that my adder’s sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks are dead.”

I need you to understand this, Aubrey. You have to know how important you are to me—that you’re “my all-the-world.” You know what? Screw it. I’m going to email you. I realize it’s yet another leap of faith, but what better way to prove my feelings for you than to entrust you with my words?

I’ll leave this letter here. When next you hear from me, I’ll be introducing you to my alter-ego, Jung Willman. He leans toward histrionics from time to time, but you’ll get used to him. I happen to think he’s a rather endearing chap.

See you soon, and in case you’re at all unsure, I can’t frigging wait to kiss you again. I’m also very excited about seeing you in skis. I’m in dire need of a good belly laugh. ;)

Love,

~D

xoxoxo…