The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) (10 page)

Hey there, gorgeous,

Do you want to know the worst thing about being your TA? Aside from the obvious frustrations, of course, I hate that there are things I simply can’t talk to you about because sharing them with you would constitute a conflict of interest. I know you’re worried as hell about Cara and what she’s discovered, and you’re right to suspect that she knows exactly what’s going on with us. After my meeting with her yesterday, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s known all semester. The good news is I can virtually guarantee that she won’t utter a word.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you why. It remains to be seen if I’ll ever share what’s transpired between me and Cara. All I can hope is that my assurances are appeasing you, and that you’re not wasting time worrying about a situation that I have total control over.

I won’t pretend that my handling of this little crisis has been “pretty.” In fact, I feel kind of sick about it. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I’m sure it has a great deal to do with the implications of her blabbing. I’m doing my best to stay positive, however, and focusing my energies on the many things I have to accomplish this week, not the least of which is these
Much Ado
papers.

I marked a handful of them after dinner, and then out of nowhere, I was struck by blinding inspiration and dropped everything to work on my thesis. I’m not absolutely certain that anything I wrote made sense, especially given the inconsistent way I’ve been approaching my paper lately, but God, it felt good to lose myself in my writing for a couple of hours.

As I sat here working this evening, I came to a realization. You know what I’m really looking forward to? Seeing you sitting across from me on the sofa while I work at my desk. I know having you here will be distracting, but I can’t help feeling as if your presence will also be so soothing and restorative, that I’ll happily welcome the occasional distraction. How wonderful to set myself a goal and work away for a couple of hours, knowing that once I’ve finished, we’ll be able to kick back and have a drink together, listen to some music, watch a movie, cuddle, neck for hours—

(I don’t know what I’m talking about…I can’t imagine be able to simply neck with you for hours. Five minutes of your kisses and I’m desperate to rip your clothes off…)

Anyway, that’s beside the point. What I mean to say is that I can’t wait to have you here with me (preferably permanently). You will be my muse, and I’ll become prolific in my accomplishments. (Not that I don’t already consider you my muse—because I do—but I long to have you close by all the time.) Have you ever thought about what inspires you, Aubrey? I think about it a lot, and my thoughts always turn to you. You’ve made me view the world in a different light. No, more than that—you’ve helped me actually
see
light again where previously there had been darkness for month after endless month. I don’t think you’re aware of the profound effect you’ve had on my life.

Two months ago, I was prone to coming unhinged and flying apart without a moment’s notice. You’ve grounded me in a way you’ll never understand—renewed my confidence and restored the lightness in my heart. I wish I could explain, but I hardly understand it myself…wait, my email alert is chirping with an email from you! It’s so late, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again before bed. I can’t wait to read your words, so I’ll close here.

Yours and yours alone,

~Daniel

xoxoxo…

Hello, my sweetheart. Saturday night, and I’m moping around the condo looking forward to Monday. What is my life? I’ve had a rather unfortunate epiphany which somehow I managed to avoid thinking about yesterday. We’ve had our final tutorial together. It pains me that I’ll never get to see you in action like that again. Your eyes light up when you discuss literature. Yesterday was no exception. It was wonderful watching you come alive as you discussed
All’s Well That Ends Well
with your peers.

(And did you get a load of Cara? Wasn’t that shocking? I’ve seen that side of her from time to time in our meetings. I don’t know why she feels the need to put on the bimbo routine…)

The gift you all chipped in on was very thoughtful, too. Now I know what secret you were keeping, and I forgive you for holding out on me. You were right not to tell me. The fact remains, though, that one of the things I enjoyed most this semester is over. Will we still have fascinating conversations about books and authors we love when classes come to an end? God, I hope so…

Saying that—when classes come to an end—is surreal now. I can’t believe we’re almost there. Monday, two days from now—it’s the LAST CLASS! What will we do when we walk out of that room and you’re launched into exam hell as we wait for April 30 and the final for Martin’s class? We won’t see each other at all, nor should we—you’ll be busy studying, and I want you to focus on your exams—but the thought of all that time apart is awful. Ten days? Jesus. And I thought Easter weekend was never-ending!

On the other hand, one more class and we’re free of the very thing that’s kept us apart all these long weeks. Well, not entirely free, but it’s the beginning of the end, which allows us to finally contemplate “the beginning” for us, and surely that’s good enough.

I suppose I need to change my mindset. This is our final “test.” The last obstacle we have to cross before what can only be called sweet victory. And I fully intend to do a victory dance. With you. Naked. Bed optional. (What did you say the night of our first kiss? You were afraid we’d end up in the back seat doing a naked mambo? That’s exactly what my victory dance will be—a naked mambo. I will start selecting the music tonight.)

And speaking of music, I’ve just listened to your CD and read the notes you wrote. So incredibly beautiful. Can I tell you my favorite part? I’m sure you could easily guess, but I’ll tell you anyway. The Ingrid Michaelson song and the words you wrote to accompany it—

“You can catch me, Daniel. I will let you—that’s how much I love you. I hope you understand the significance of those words—how hard they are for me to say. For me, they are the weightiest of all…”

Do you have any idea how I felt when I read those lines, Aubrey? Knowing you’ll allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to let me help you is the greatest gift you could give me. So now all I can think about is how to be there for you over the many days we’ll be apart. How can I let you know I’m there rooting for you and cheering you on as you work through the final days of your university career? Surely there’s a more meaningful way, other than emails and phone calls, to remind you each and every day how much I love and cherish you.

Without spending any money.

Damn you.

(I’m shaking my fist at you right now.)

But you know I’m creative and stubborn as fuck (sorry to say, you’ve met your match, poppet) and I’ve got the acorn of an idea rolling around in my head, which I fully intend to put into action tomorrow. I’ve cleared my busy schedule (HAHA!) and will spend the day preparing a wonderful surprise for you. If I’m to get it finished tomorrow, though, I’ll have to make an early start of it, so I’m going to turn in now and set my alarm for the butt crack of dawn.

I hope you’re having a good weekend. I miss you horribly.

Yours,

~Daniel

xoxoxo…

How’s my beautiful girl this evening? I’m exhausted. I was right to assume this little idea of mine would take some time to execute, but I’ve done it. All my ducks are in a row.

Here’s my plan: I’m going to make you a card for every day we’ll be apart until the end of exams—one for you to open every day. I’ve been all over hell’s half acre with my camera today, taking pictures of all the places we’ve been during our “courtship.” Then, late this afternoon, I settled in to do some reading, looking for appropriate literary references to accompany the pictures. I’m hoping to give the cards to you tomorrow, before our ten-day separation begins.

Cool idea, right? My grandfather would be proud. (Actually, the more I think about it, the more I realize he’d probably tell me to stop faffing around and get some work done. But it’s too late to back out now.) I hope you’ll enjoy opening each card and find the memories inspired by the pictures and words just as wonderful as I do.

For now, I must close. Before I turn in, I still have to write the individual messages inside the cards, and I have another early start tomorrow—a morning meeting with my dad. I called him earlier to let him know I’m really busy and might not be able to make it, but he insisted that he had something important to discuss. Ever the man of mystery, he wouldn’t tell me what it was about.

I suppose meeting with him now is a good idea, anyway. I’d like to get his okay to use the cottage for the May 1st weekend. Fingers crossed he’s in a good mood and feeling conciliatory because I’ve got my heart set on taking you up there. I feel comfortable and at home at the cottage, and it’s far enough away from Toronto and the chaos that’s surrounded us for the last couple of months that I can’t help thinking it’s the perfect locale for our first weekend together.

It’s also really beautiful. I can already imagine you lying naked in front of the fire as you hold your hand out, beckoning me to join you. This is not a fantasy I’m prepared to abandon. I can’t wait to give you the greatest of all pleasures—to worship your body the way I worship your heart, your soul, and your intellect.

I’ll see you in sixteen hours. Yes, I’m counting. No, I don’t care if you think I’m a lunatic. Yes, I love you with every fiber of my being.

~Daniel

xoxoxo…

My beautiful Aubrey,

I have to tell you—I’m so glad I’m not sharing these letters with you right now because then you would see how truly pathetic I am and you’d likely run screaming for the hills. My misery is unparalleled this evening. The next ten days are stretching out before me like a dark abyss. (Is that redundant? I think it is. Is there such a thing as a bright abyss? Probably not.) Clearly, as I imagine spending ten days without seeing you, I’ve become a gibbering idiot. Not attractive.

And so, how do I cope? I turn to the book of love letters to try to find someone with greater gibbering idiocy than my own, of course. All I can say is, thank God for John Keats and his epic love letters to Fanny Brawne. His affection for her turned him into a lovesick wretch. Case in point—

“I cannot exist without you–I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again–my life seems to stop there–I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving…I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion–I have shudder’d at it–I shudder no more–I could be martyr’d for my religion–love is my religion–I could die for that–I could die for you. My creed is love and you are its only tenet–you have ravish’d me away by a power I cannot resist.”

See what I mean? Now I can play the “holier than thou” card.
Good God, man. Pull yourself together! She’s just a woman. They’re a dime a dozen!
And if you think that’s truly how I feel as I contemplate not seeing you for a full week and a half, then I’ve done an abysmal job of communicating my feelings for you.

Truth be told, I think I’ve over-communicated, at least on paper, and certainly in these letters—but the caveat, of course, is the fact that you’re not seeing these letters. Even so, I’m certain I must have exhausted every possible word on the subject of my feelings while writing those cards last night. They started poetically enough, but by the last couple, I’m sure simply saying “See yesterday’s card” or “Ditto” would have sufficed. Broken record? Absolutely. Do I care? Fuck no.

I hope you like them, Aubrey. The look on your face today when I gave them to you and explained what they were was a wonderful reward in itself (once you’d realized I hadn’t spent a single cent making them, of course). You can’t blame me for being annoyed by this damn no-gifts rule. Call me Huffy McHufferson as much as you like—once this stupid countdown is over, I’m going to blow the bank on you. But for now, I’m determined not to go back on my word.

Hopefully, having a daily card to open will sustain you during these days apart. I worry about you. It’s such an important time. It would be so easy to lose focus now, so close to the end, and I know how important maintaining your Honors standing is. Now, to cap everything off, there’s this business with the Graduate Student office calling you in for an interview. I don’t pretend to know what’s going on. Fingers crossed this isn’t anything serious. I’m doing my best not to worry. I hope you’re managing to stay calm, too. We’re so close to the finish line.

Speaking of which, I got the okay from my dad to go to the cottage next weekend. I’ve decided to keep our destination a surprise. I have a couple of other ideas up my sleeve to surprise you with as well. (One of which definitely has a little to do with blowing the bank—so I’m DEFINITELY not telling you about that one.)

So now that my dad’s given me (us) the stamp of approval to use the cottage, I can begin fantasizing about our time together up there in earnest, knowing that whatever scenario I cook up could very well become a reality, and not just a figment of my inflamed imagination. I’m over the moon at the prospect.

Well, I think I’ll close there and get a head start on the aforementioned fantasies. Looking forward to hearing from you tomorrow after you open your first card, which, if I remember correctly, has a picture of Martin’s classroom on the front. That classroom is simultaneously beloved and hateful to me: it was there that I saw you for the first time, but it’s also one of the places I’ve been forced to conceal my love for you, a love which I’m eager to shout from the rooftops.

I hope you sleep well, my angel.

Talk to you tomorrow,

~Daniel Huffy McHufferson

xoxoxo…

Hi there, my lovely,

It’s coming up to midnight. I just spoke to you on the phone. Hearing the plaintive tone in your voice was heartbreaking, and it’s a wonder I’m not in my car right now driving up there to get you. You don’t realize how difficult it is for me to be the strong one, sticking to my guns and placating you, when all I want to do is crumble, telling myself one night together won’t hurt anyone.

I won’t crumble. Not now. We’ve come so far and victory is so close. I’m allowing myself this moment, at 11:52 on a Wednesday night, to feel relief. I think it’s the first time in a couple of months that my shoulders aren’t stuck somewhere around my ears. I can feel the tension draining from my body. Things went well during your interview with Aaron O’Connor; Cara doesn’t pose a threat; I had a successful meeting with my adviser, who seems to think I’m getting back on track with my paper; and soon we’ll be home free.

In two-hundred hours, give or take a few (yes, I really am counting the hours until we can be together next Friday), we will drive far away from here and finally be a couple, in every sense, including the most mundane ones. Watching TV, going for walks, preparing meals—even the most routine activities won’t be dull with you by my side.

Of course, I have some special treats planned, as well. As you know, I’ve been to Orillia today. What you don’t know is why I was there. You see, I bought a boat. It’ll be our own floating sanctuary, one we can bring back to Toronto with us and dock at the island for those times when we need an escape from the madness of the city. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? I plan to take you for a spin around the lake next weekend. I’m sure after one sunset outing, you’ll be won over.

Do I think I’ll need to win you over? Yes. I know you. You’ll freak out when you see the boat, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is the cost, but you’ll be pleased to know, I exercised a measure of restraint. It’s not brand new, and therefore wasn’t exorbitantly priced. Because it’s not new, it needs some work, so I’ve left the boat up in Orillia to be refurbished and detailed. I’m naming her after you, of course.
Poppet.

Taking this sunset cruise is, of course, predicated on the fact that we’ll actually be able to drag ourselves out of bed. What do you think, Aubrey? Once we’re together, naked and warm, our bodies pressed together under the sheets, making love, holding each other as we sleep, and awakening to make love again—will there be time and inclination for something as mundane as a sunset cruise of the lake? Oddly enough, I sincerely hope so. Hell, there’s nothing stopping us from christening the boat while we’re out there…

Right, it’s gone midnight and my eyes are burning. That was an awfully long drive today. I’ll close here, with visions of you on the boat at sunset, the evening breeze tickling your hair as you gaze at me lovingly. Wait…you’re unbuttoning your shirt…here, let me help you with that…

Your loving sailor,

~Daniel

xoxoxo…