The Last Day

 To My Dearest Darling  Click The Greeting To Hear Sir Read His Letter

It was March 1999. It was your last night in Australia. It was the last night I looked lovingly into your eyes. It was both awful and intense. I was despondent.

We had returned to Sydney after our dalliances in the Blue Mountains, at Jenolan Caves and in the Hunter Valley. We had one last day together, one last night. We thought we would see one another again and yet still it hurt. The pain, it was like no other. It was a pain that has no name. You were soon to leave these shores. I was desolate.

You reminded me recently how we stood in my laundry as we washed and dried your clothes. I had forgotten, but the memories came flooding back. I would have tried to keep busy, tried to deny that awful reality. I would have also wanted your life to be easy; so we washed, we dried, we folded, and we packed. We readied ourselves to send you on your way. I was disconsolate.

I had booked us tickets to the theatre. We went and saw quite a famous Australian performer at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Barry Humphries and his characters Dame Edna Everage, Sir Les Patterson and Sandy Stone featured in a quite wonderful show called “Remember You’re Out.” You sat beside me struggling with the accent. I wanted the distraction. The show? It was hysterical. My laughter? It was shrill. I was dejected.

I don’t remember where we ate that night. I remember the ride home in the taxi. I remember driving past the incomplete Sydney Olympic Stadium. I just held your hand with a quiet intensity. I was wretched.

We went to bed. We made love. It was fervid and frantic. We could sense the inevitable. Tomorrow’s dawn, it was the Sword of Damocles above our heads. I just lay there and held you. We barely spoke a word. I was bereft.

The sun’s early light would broker no argument. The day was here. It was ours to face. I hated it. We had to return our hire car. I loaded your luggage. We would off load it again as we caught a cab to Kingsford Smith upon returning the vehicle. I remember the taxi driver. He was everything you would want, happy, cheerful, chatty and ready to please. He saw the look on my face in his rear view mirror. He went silent. I was mournful.

We arrived at the airport. I don’t remember checking in, I don’t remember what we did. I just remember one thing, holding you in my arms for one last time. My left hand was tightly round your waist. My right, it cradled your neck and head. I drank in your aroma one last time, our lips locked one last time, and we held each other’s hands one last time. Then it was time to go. We separated. You went forward. Then with tears in your eyes and one last long look back, you were gone. I was inconsolable.

At that point I just lost it. Until then I had held it together (well almost). There was nothing for it now though, the tears where streaming down my overwrought cheeks. What was I to do? You were gone. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat at some dodgy outside table and awaited your plane’s departure. I saw the wheels leave the tarmac, watched them slide under the fuselage and with the four angry engines of the Qantas 747 screaming, awash with ugly power, the plane ascended, banked and you were gone. I was numb.

The centre of my world had left me. In pain, I set off home. I didn’t jump a bus or hail a cab. I walked, well at least I started to. It was about 30 kilometres from the airport to my home. I think I walked about a third of the way before my shoe leather began to bite, and I abandoned my ridiculous undertaking. When I returned to my home, well it had never felt so empty. I began to tidy things up and found your pyjamas, a story I have already relayed.

My Darling I have never experienced such love, such loss and such anguish all wrapped together like a pain ridden bundle of hurt. I knew then at least that we would be together again. That was how I consoled myself. I most assuredly messed that up as you well know.

Darling I must say it again. Thank you for searching for me, finding me and reaching out to me. You are my everything.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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 Oh My Sir,  Click The Greeting To Hear Darling Read Her Letter

That day is hard to talk about. It hurts reading your words and seeing it through your eyes. I can still feel the pain even now from that day; it’s sharp and real. How crazy is that?

Our last night together was so beautiful as well as excruciating. The theater was stunning, and you were so handsome. While I enjoyed Barry Humphries, I was more aware of the good-looking man next to me. Many of Barry’s jokes went over my head and I did struggle with understanding him, but to be fair I was very distracted as well. The time bomb was ticking, and I was really conscious of it.

I remember making love with you after we returned to your house; I cried nearly the whole time. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears silently rolled down my face. You tenderly kissed them off my cheeks and held me. We weren’t rushed that night. Our love making was unhurried, deliberate, and poignant. You gave me your body and your heart and soul, and I gave you mine in return. I cherished every bit of you.

I remember I had a huge lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. I was scared to sleep because the morning was coming; it was inevitable. I had a hard time getting up the next morning because of the sorrow that hung in the air. I had to go home. I was leaving you.

I recall crying in the cab as you firmly held onto my hand. I don’t remember the cab driver though. I was too dejected to notice I suppose. You notice everything. I love that about you.

I remember our last hug. I can feel your strong arms around me even now. You held me so tightly. I bawled. My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to walk away and pass through the security gates. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t look back, but I had to. I needed to see you. My last vision of you was blurry, because my tears got in the way.

When I felt the plane lift off from the runway, the hole in my heart got bigger. I left a giant piece of it with you. You still have that piece; it was yours to keep. The flight attendant kept asking me if there was anything she could do for me as my swollen, tear-streaked face was obvious. I could only shake my head no. I remember I was still crying when we flew over Hawaii. I would cry myself to sleep, wake up, and then I would start to cry again. I was one dehydrated, hot mess.

I called you from Los Angeles. You were relieved I had made it back to the United States safely. We talked about me going ahead with the plans we had made while we were together. You told me about finding my purple pajamas in your spare bed. I told you to keep them safe for me until I returned.

If I had only known…..

Sadly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

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Golden Tickets

Dearest Sir,

I was sitting in a travel agency, at your request, checking on flights that would take me to you. This was supposed to be an initial query and nothing more. You were on speaker phone with me and the agent at the time. We were discussing all options e.g. airlines, dates, times, prices, etc. I vividly remember you saying, “Enough is enough. Let’s make this happen.” You told the agent that you were paying for a ticket right then and there, and all I had to do was pick the dates.

It happened so quickly that I barely had time to think. You insisted that I fly on Qantas (the top airline as it was Australian). We considered the best dates, made a decision, and that was it. She printed out the tickets and handed them to me. I stared at them, and I believe my hands were shaking. And as you so lovingly like to say “shit just got real.” I had the golden tickets, and Charlie and that damn Chocolate Wonka Factory had nothing on me.

I remember you asking me how I was feeling. I know I was shocked. I was excited. My head was reeling and my heart pounding. You told me that in no uncertain terms did I have to go through with it; I could back out any time. You removed all the pressure, and with that you also removed any doubt. There was no way I was going to let you down. I was coming to you.

We had so carefully and methodically built our relationship over many, many months getting to know one another. I knew you nearly as well as I knew myself – perhaps better. We finished each other’s sentences. We had laughed, cried, and whispered words of love late into the night. It was time.

I’m certain I felt fleeting moments of trepidation, but it was never the leading emotion. That emotion was love. Pure, sweet, and simple love – and it was beautiful. Those golden tickets were priceless, and your arms were waiting.

Loyally,

Darling

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My Darling

I remember that phone call all too well. I believe I was still in bed when I spoke to the travel agent. I don’t think I told her that though. I remember I had to go and grab my wallet to proffer my credit card details.

“Let’s make this happen” makes me cringe a little, not because it isn’t right but because it is all too accurate. No doubt I had reached a point where I felt the need to take charge and promptly did so. I assuredly would have believed it to be the right thing to do, but looking at those words now I wonder if it would not have been more proper to take it more slowly.

I insisted on Qantas not because it was Australian but because it had, and I believe still has, an unparalleled safety record. In the jet age they have had no fatalities. I wanted you to arrive safely and Qantas was the safest option. I would have brokered no argument on that point.

It was a huge step for me as well my darling. I was quite the commitmentphobe before you entered my life. I meant every word when I said you were under no obligation. If you didn’t think it was right there was no point you coming. I just wanted to remove any physical, nay practical obstacle that was impeding our loving relationship. In this case one return plane ticket. So with a cavalier swipe of my credit card I did just that.

Having said all that it was the right thing for us to do. We had to meet, we had to pass that one last test. Was I nervous? Hell yes. Did I think you may not come? In my weak moments I confess I did. But I knew if we met, if we saw one another, held each other, kissed each other, loved one another that we would prevail. Love would prevail. I also remember quite vividly you alighting that plane, but that my darling is for another post.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

Memories and Mementos

To My Distant Darling

As you remember, if somewhat sporadically, when you departed these fair shores you left behind some physical, tangible and dare I say personal mementos of our time together. Also prior to our meeting, you and I had also exchanged a number of gifts, none of which sadly remain in my possession. Along with the photos recording our time together and of course my own most vivid memories, that is how I remembered you.

You had sent me a jacket, which never fitted properly. I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It was eventually donated to a goodwill store and hopefully someone derived much pleasure and good use from it. You had sent me a shot glass emblazoned with the face of Eric Cartman of South Park, a favourite TV show of mine at the time. I remember you feeling quite risqué then for even purchasing such an item, especially in view of the strict religious nature of your upbringing and the conservative sensibilities of the town in which you lived. We both know how, years later, I ended up losing that token of our love with my then wife (whom I married after meeting you) breaking it in an “accidentally on purpose” manner because she knew of its provenance.

But after you departed I had so few ways in which to remember you. I was tidying things up after that most hideous day. It was the last time I saw you.  The last time I held you. The last time I smelled you, and the last time I kissed you. It was the day that damn Qantas jet took you from my life. Well as I tidied I found your vibrant purple pyjamas. I can remember how raw my emotion was on that day. You had just left and I was desolate. I just sat down on the bed and held them; I buried my face into them and drank in your fragrance. Then I lay down on the bed clinging to them, wishing they were you but knowing they were not. I wept.

At the time they were my most potent reminder of you. I have told you how I would place them gently on my spare bed and lay down next to them and think of you. For many years they were permeated with your scent. Sadly your fragrance depleted over time and I nearly lost them all together when my now ex wife found where they were hidden. We both know she was far from blameless in this story. You were the one variable over which she had no control. She knew that if one woman could steal me away it would be you. I never told her that I thought I would never hear from you again after what I had done and that she needn’t have worried. I took some perverse pleasure in knowing that she was threatened by you. That tale will no doubt will come forth in all its sordid glory as our story unfolds.

You also left a candle which I know you had completely forgotten about until I reminded you. It will appear twice more in this narrative, once when we stayed at Katoomba and again on the day you made contact again after all those years. But let’s save that for another time.

 

You Will Always be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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Dear Sir,

I must admit that I hid all the memories of you which included anything tangible. They were just too painful to see, and it was more than I wanted to bear. Talking about them has been very liberating and poignant. I am so happy that we can share these memories.

I must also confess that I had forgotten that I sent you a jacket. The knowledge that you hid from me for years that you didn’t keep it due to a poor fit has filled me with much mirth. How gallant of you to try to spare my feelings over it. I am just sorry that I bought and sent you such an unworthy article of clothing. My intentions were good. I can’t even remember what it looks like!  I have considered expressing mock indignation, but the situation is just too comical, not to mention I could never get away with that emotion with you much to my chagrin.

While I may not remember the infamous jacket, I do remember that darn Cartman shot glass (I didn’t even know what South Park was, and I had never watched an episode). I searched far and wide for such a trinket to send you. I felt rather devious and daring when I found it. I knew you’d love it. It saddens me that your ex-wife felt so threatened by a material object especially since I was before her time. What did Cartman ever do to her?

I also remember sending you monogrammed handkerchiefs. I was thrilled to know a man who carried handkerchiefs in a modern day and age. It made you even more dashing to me than you already were. You sent me home with a washed and ironed handkerchief the day I left you. You instinctively knew I would shed copious tears as I flew home. As you know, that handkerchief was one of the things I recently discovered and you heard the disbelief and joy when I found it.

I am still incredulous regarding my purple pajamas. When you disclosed to me that you still have them, my heart cracked. That was, of course, during our first text exchange. The disbelief still haunts me.  You got married after me. You made a life for yourself. I was forsaken. You chose to let me go, yet you clung to something that was a mere insignificant reminder of me. The irony is not lost, and I struggle with that knowledge to this day.

The candle is something you have had to tell me about, as I lost all memory of it. Your initial pun was clever though (your story to tell, not mine).

Ardently yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir