They Don’t Build Them Like They Used To

My Dear Athletic Darling

You have told the story of meeting my mother elsewhere. At the time you met her, we were staying in what was once a beautiful boutique hotel called Casuarina Country Inn & Restaurant. It is nestled amongst over laden grape wines with a mountain range majestically dominating the skyline from our front door. The photo below just doesn’t do it justice. I know we googled it recently and read some of its reviews. It has clearly fallen on hard times and has seen better days. That was not its problem when we stayed there. When we took up residence they had nine exquisitely appointed theme suites. These were fitted out in various styles including British Empire, Australian Colonial, Japanese Imperial and even French Bordello. We however didn’t stay in one of the themed rooms though; we stayed in a self contained cottage.

One of the principal reasons I wanted to take you to Casuarina was to enjoy the restaurant. It was one of the few places still trading where you could experience full guéridon dining. I don’t think you were familiar with the style. I remember explaining that the chef comes to the table with the ingredients already prepared and a portable stove. They then cook your meal before your very eyes. You sometimes still see it with simple dishes such as Crepe Suzette and Steak Dianne, but it is increasingly rare if not unheard for an entire menu to be devoted to this style of service. I had dined there before and really wanted to treat to you to this spectacle. It saddens me to say I don’t remember one jot of it. I was so nervous that my mother was meeting you, that I don’t recall a thing from that meal.

Until now however I have avoided the crux of this story. What, may you ask, do they not build like they used to? I know you have the answer. If you’re not giggling right now there must be something very wrong. You know, because you laid beside me on that broken device. Having dealt with meeting my mother, we needed to blow off some steam. We adjourned to our bed, and for some reason we ended up naked. We partook in some vigorous horizontal folk dancing and the bed imploded. The bed we were “sleeping in” collapsed under the strain and there we were with our heads towards the floor and our feet in the air. Just to be clear this wasn’t a weight related structural failure. I blame you!

 

Back Achingly Yours

From Sir With Love

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My Dear Destructive Sir,

I am blushing at the content of this letter, but I shall muddle through it.

Oddly enough I remember the Casuarina very well. The clubhouse we stayed in was huge with 3 bedrooms and vintage furniture. It was a delightful, quaint place. We had visited your father in the hospital earlier that day, and we were getting ready to go out for the evening.

I know you were extremely nervous having dinner with your mom and her friend, plus the strain of having your father in the hospital didn’t help with your anxiety. I was just happy to be with you.

I was familiar with sitting around a grill while having a chef cook dinner, but this dining experience was quite a bit different; I thank you for it. Unfortunately, I don’t recall the details of this evening either. I do remember while I was getting ready to go out, I discovered that I had brought the wrong shoes. I had left the ones I wanted back at your house in Merrylands (a suburb of Sydney). You reassured me that my shoes were fine. I never worry over shoes; your tension was rubbing off on me.

After seeing your father, we came back to our lodgings to (as you so aptly stated) blow off some steam. I remember rubbing your shoulders and your hands wandered all over my body. As things got intense, we had a shocking jolt. Our bed broke! The head of our bed had disconnected from the headboard, and we tilted! Our heads were down nearly on the floor and our feet up towards the ceiling. I was aghast, but then you started laughing hysterically. I am sure I joined in the laughing spree after I got over my embarrassment. You pushed the bed back together, and we changed rooms. I am not sure how much tension was relieved for you, but it wasn’t for lack of trying!

I love the picture of the bed pre our destruction. I am not sure if I made eye contact with you during dinner after we broke that damn bed, but you kept your hand on my knee under the table. (See a pattern- damn noise, damn bed?) Of course you blame me, I am a seductress. *wink wink*

Your partner in crime,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir

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Vicariously Yours

My Dear Darling

I truly believed that we would never communicate again. After my most heinous of betrayals fourteen and a half years ago I left myself in no doubt that you and I had spoken our last words. Then at 1:25pm on Wednesday 18^th September 2013 your hand reached out and you found me. I can be so precise because it was such a momentous moment in my life that I recorded in it my diary. The emotions of that day are very real to me and my heart quickens just thinking of them. No doubt they will be the topic of a future post but now I would like to share how I perceived you and hoped to find you over my fourteen and half years in the wilderness. After what I did I wanted to know that you were happy. Even though I had broken both of us and destroyed what we had together I wanted to see you thrive and I tried to take my pleasure from afar knowing that you at least had found contentment and satisfaction.

There were several ways I did this. Every adult on the planet has no doubt Googled some ex lover or childhood crush at some time in their lives. I did this to you and found some scant details of your life. I saw your academic record which we both know is quite impressive. More recently I found out that an important member of your family had been in an accident. My heart leapt out to you. It was one of the only times, if not the only time, that I actively considered making contact. The first article I read on the matter left me with a distinct sense of foreboding and I was not sure they would survive. I was sick to my stomach that I couldn’t offer any support. It made me feel even worse to know that my making contact would only make matters worse. Therefore it was with no small level of relief that I read a second article and realised your family member would recover, although they would not enjoy the same level of health they had prior to their accident. It was cold comfort however knowing that I daren’t make contact to help ease your distress. When I could find no new news on you or your family I would take solace in the online real estate section from your city. There I would peruse the nicer homes and look at the pictures and imagine us standing there side by side. A silly little affectation I know but it brought me no small level of happiness.

In reality the best that I could hope for, in my eyes, was to live vicariously through you. I knew I would never know true happiness again after my destruction of what we had. However I desperately wanted you to find it. If I couldn’t speak to you again then that would have to be enough. Now that we converse daily, often multiple times a day, in a variety of manners and on a variety of devices I have grown more greedy and selfish in my desires. Vicarious now does not seem nearly enough. I of course still want you to be happy, only now I wish to be an active part of your life in every sense of the word.

My darling, know that I love you with all my heart. Even though I was unspeakably cruel and hurtful I never stopped loving you and I never will. I could end this entry with “vicariously yours” but I shan’t. I just don’t want to believe that will be as good as it gets. Therefore I will end it as I have every other post thus far.

 

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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Dear Sir,

You briefly mentioned before that you had searched for me online over the years. This still astonishes me. Never in my wildest of imaginations did I think you would ever look for me or try to contact me ever again. I thought you despised me, hated me, and purposely cut me out of your memories and your heart. Harsh as it sounds, I believed I got what I deserved. I thought I was the world’s biggest fool. A friend’s opinion was that I had been used. That was like a dagger to my heart. Even though we’ve discussed this at length, it still hurts to write about. I think of the words and I am dissatisfied. I struggle to express my thoughts and feelings on this subject, but I shall try.

For a long time I never looked for you, but I’m certain I wondered. I was scared to look for you; I was frightened of being rejected again. I had been broken, and I could never have offered an olive branch until I was healed enough to hold it. That obviously took a long, long time.

There were, of course, other extenuating circumstances besides our own that added to my break down. They added to the lengthy healing period I needed for myself. Those are not your fault. You have graciously accepted accountability for your actions, but that brings me no joy. Quite the contrary, it adds to my personal pain. I hesitate (again) in writing how I feel because I know what it does to you. Others may have felt validation or vindication in your feelings. I, however, do not. People have agency and make choices every day. You are no exception. You had the right to make decisions for your life. Unfortunately for me, I suffered from an acute sense of loss, rejection, betrayal – you name it. You are not responsible how I was affected. That is how life goes. We learn and grow from our own choices as well as the actions and choices of others. It is life. You are too hard on yourself.

I only recently started writing again, as you know. I’ve shared with you a recent piece that explains that I had only just begun to wonder, in depth, how you were. (See poem – “Wondering“). That same friend suggested that maybe I needed closure from you. It was a novel thought for me that was planted and started to flourish in my mind.

I found you quite unexpectedly. I sat and stared at the web page not daring to believe it was really you; it was my Sir (although I would never have dared to address you as my Sir). I found videos of you playing the piano. My heart constricted and held tight. I couldn’t breathe. I clicked play and was instantly transported to years gone by. I replayed it over and over again. I searched your face. I drank in your hands and your fingers. I stared at your hair remembering how it lay against your neck. I didn’t know how to feel or think. I didn’t know what to say or do. I kept any real emotions under strict lock and key.  I felt a myriad of sensations -a vortex that spun my world around and kicked my feet out from under me.

Then I found those numbers. They mocked me from the page. There was a way to contact you! Was it really that simple? In today’s world I could text you. Did I want to? I was so confused. I purposely did not react for days. After the reality set it, I concluded that I wasn’t scared to contact you anymore. I had disassociated from that emotion. Once I realized and accepted that schism, I was ready.

And so it began – “Hello Mr. _____”

Astonishingly yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir