The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5)

by Georgina Guthrie

  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…

  Monday, April 20

  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…

  Wednesday, April 22

  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 ba
ck 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…

  Sunday, April 26

  My darling girl,

  I open tonight with a few words from Gustave Flaubert (who, I’ve decided, may be my emotional doppelgänger):

  “I am entirely UNDONE since your departure; it seems to me as if I had not seen you for ten years…We separated at the moment when many things were on the point of coming to our lips. All the doors between us two are not yet open.”

  When I stumbled across this letter, it struck a chord with me. The line about all the doors not being open yet makes me think of our dual isolation and the circumstances which have kept us apart, and yet not driven us apart. For almost a week now, we’ve shared only phone calls, texts and emails, and the coming days promise more of the same. We’re not giving up, though, and I, for one, feel more determined than ever to dedicate myself entirely to loving you deeply and faithfully and sharing everything, a notion which leads quite nicely into my next point…

  I spoke to Penny this evening. She’s back, and full of excitement about the plans and arrangements she was able to take care of for the wedding, but obviously extremely happy to be back with Brad. She mentioned something during our chat—well, dug for information, I suppose is a better way of putting it—about whether I might consider bringing you to England for the wedding. I told her you’ll already be over there visiting family, and that I hadn’t broached the topic of you joining me, for a couple of reasons. First of all, I didn’t want to be presumptuous—Penny hadn’t invited you—but furthermore, you’ll be with your family, and I’d hate to interfere with your holiday plans and impose my family’s events on you. I’m leery of putting you on the spot.

  Having said that, I’d love nothing more than to have you on my arm at Penny and Brad’s wedding. It’s sure to be an amazing day, and one I’d dearly love to share with you. Anyway, Penny’s decided she’s quite happy to put you on the spot (no surprise there), so she’s going to contact you at some point to invite you, and I’ll wait on tenterhooks for her to get her shit together, hoping that in the meantime your relatives in the UK don’t create an airtight itinerary with no escape clauses.

  Well, my beauty, five more sleeps and we will be together. We can do this. In the week ahead, you’ll be preoccupied with finishing your exams, and I’ve been roped into helping Penny and Brad finish painting their main floor and spare room. Counting days will give way to counting hours, and before you know it, our reunion will be upon us. We will look back on this separation and laugh. One day we will say, “Remember when…”

  One day, my love. One day soon.

  Until then, I remain faithfully, yours. My heart and I are keeping your precious love, which consoles me daily, safely tucked away.

  ~Daniel

  xoxoxo…

  Tuesday, April 28

  My gorgeous, sexy girl,

  How ridiculous, forcing my fingers to tap out this mundane message after the journey they took today. What a divine expedition—from your lovely face to your neck, then lower, across the gloriously creamy expanse of skin lying in wait behind those five tiny buttons, and beyond…

  It was so amazingly unexpected, spending those few stolen hours together. I can’t seem to stop sifting through the details, reliving the tiniest moments, all precursors to our weekend away and what, I now know (as if I didn’t before), will culminate in perfect bliss.

  Do you want to know what I love, Aubrey? I’ll tell you. In no particular order—neither chronological nor “most to least” (nor vice versa, for that matter. Don’t look for logic, for there is none.)—these are the things I love:

  Your lips.

  Your hands.

  Polka dots—yellow polka dots, in particular I adore.

  Your breasts. God, don’t get me started…

  Your touch.

  Your kisses. There are never enough. Ten is not enough. A hundred wouldn’t be enough…a thousand…never enough. Etc.

  Your incredible ass.

  Did I mention your breasts? Ah yes, I see I did. Moving on.

  The tiny silk bow at the top of your panties.

  Your tongue.

  YOUR YOGA PANTS.

  The way your eyelashes fluttered this afternoon in the heat of the moment…in the heat of those few wonderful moments.

  Your hair, tumbling across my chest as you slept. (I’m looking at a picture of this on my phone as I type. You don’t know I took this picture, but you’ll find out on Friday.)

  Your lovely nipples, which I realize brings the topic around to your breasts again, but I hate to speak in vague generalities. Allow me to elucidate: you have the most perfectly delicious, pink nipples…

  The arch of your back as I kissed your breasts for the first time, and the way you slipped your fingers through my hair, tugging hard.

  Your lips forming my name as I touched you.

  Your eyes.

  The way your breath tickled my neck as you gasped with pleasure.

  Your nails! I’ll never tire of the feel of your nails on my back. Exquisite.

  Your arms. Your legs. Your feet. Your toes. Your cheeks. Your ears. Your perky nose… (That rhyme was entirely unintended, by the way, albeit terribly “adorable,” as you’re fond of calling me…)

  All of this. All of this and more, I love.

  You.

  I love you, my beautiful Aubrey.

  (I’m also a huge fan of Penny. I’m sure you’re with me on that. She gave us a precious gift today, wouldn’t you say?)

  As for her finally giving you the wedding invitation, I hope you’re as thrilled as I am at the prospect of being together when she and Brad marry. Frankly, I feel as if I could explode with anticipation. There’s so much ahead of us…so many things to do and see and experience together.

  You know, after today, I feel more greedy than ever—wanting to be with you, wanting to keep you all to myself, knowing I can’t possibly do that and desperately wanting to at the same time. There are so many more things that I have to learn about you, so many more undiscovered aspects of you to love. We’ve been in our “ready position” for so long, just waiting for that starter’s pistol. Knowing our journey toward mutual discovery is really in its infancy excites me beyond words.

  I’ve decided Julie was right in March, when she said we were lucky to have the time to get to know each other before embarking on an intimate relationship. I see now how much more meaningful our time together will be this weekend, knowing how deeply I care for you. God, that sounds so trite. I am literally beyond w
ords, at this point, to communicate to you how much I love you. I need another medium. What do you think? Dance? No, a dance would render me ridiculous, even to myself. I’ll leave the dancing business to Julie, shall I? How about a song? Now that’s actually an interesting idea…one I think I’ll ponder. In fact, I think I’ll give that some serious thought right away. After I phone you, of course. :)

  ~Daniel (AKA, the man who loves you from your head to your toes and adores all the delicious stops in between.)

  xoxoxo…

  Wednesday, April 29

  Hello, sweetheart,

  You know, I’ve come to the conclusion that this weekend will be amazing, but there is one tiny caveat. It can only be amazing if the effort of pulling everything together doesn’t kill me first. It’s a good thing I have so many people in my corner helping me out. Today, I’ve talked on the phone with Patty, my dad, Brad, Penny (twice), Jeremy, Julie, and even Matt, every single phone call revolving around the next four days. It’s absurd.

  I called Patty just to let her know we’d be using the cottage this weekend—not that I needed her permission, but I felt compelled to let her know. She’s excited for us and wishes us well, of course. I’ll never be able to explain to her how much I appreciate and value her support. She’s so looking forward to getting to know you better. (I hope the feeling is mutual.)

  My talk with my dad didn’t actually have to do with the weekend (with the exception of him reminding me about a few details when it comes to opening and closing the cottage—ever the pragmatist, my father). The reason I called him was to find out if he’d issued you an invitation to his party on Friday night. It turns out he still hasn’t done that. At least he got his shit together and had your invitation printed, but with the way he’s dragging his heels, I’m afraid you’ll have made other plans by the time he invites you. I want to knock his block off sometimes.

  Aside from my call to him, every other phone conversation had to do with the logistics of the next few days. Brad’s lending me his truck so I can pick up the boat tomorrow and bring it to the cottage. Penny’s coming with me to keep me company during the journey. She’s also bringing lasagna to store in the fridge at the cottage, so you and I will have a meal ready to eat on the weekend. I’ve also secured her promise to help me “spruce up the place” in preparation for our arrival on Saturday.