by Shining in the Dark- Celebrating 20 Years of Lilja's Library (retail) (epub)
Probably sounds like a really boring night…right? So what are YOUR favorite movies? Color? Books? Inquiring minds want to know. Hugs to your kitty….and you.
x
Cassie
5/9/2003 7:10 PM
DEAR CASSIE,
Your movie-night doesn’t sound boring at all. I think it’s great you’re into kids. Favorite movies, books? That’s hard. Color is easy. Black. But the reason the other two are hard is that although what I do for a living is write freelance ad copy, my goal’s to become a real writer. Fiction. Been trying for about five years now, ever since I quit my nine-to-five at the agency. So far, lots of rejection letters but not much else, though some of them have been very encouraging. Point is, because of that I read constantly, and I see movies all the time. Need to see what’s out there. So to pick favorites is almost impossible. The book I’m reading right now is great—Dennis Lehane’s SHUTTER ISLAND, about two detectives investigating an escape from a mental institution. I rented REMAINS OF THE DAY again the night before last. Love that movie. So lonely, so sad. But the list would have to go on and on….
You live with your parents, huh? God! you must have a hell of a good relationship! I remember I couldn’t WAIT to get out of there, on my own, as soon as possible. I know that rents being what they are these days a lot of younger folks are doing that but there’s no way I could have. How old are you, anyway? If you don’t mind my asking. I’m going to risk something now and tell you that I’ll be forty-six in November—I suspect that’s more than a few years older than you. And I hope it doesn’t change things between us. Say it ain’t so! :-)
And as long as I’m in a risky mood tonight I’ll admit to one other thing. We’re completely on the same page, you and I, about what the important things are between people. But long legs, green eyes, brown-red hair and “hot in a bathing suit….” I’m getting a mental picture of you. And I gotta admit that I like what I see. :-)
XOXOXOXOX Andrew
5/10/2003 1:05 AM
DEAR ANDREW…
Sorry it took me so long to get back to you but the evening was a DISASTER! My loving sister didn’t tell me that Jamie was sick—let’s just say “leaking” at both ends, poor baby. I had to make sure Mandy didn’t get too close and that was hard because she loves her big brother SO much. So she started crying and Jamie started crying and…needless to say they weren’t very interested in watching movies. :-( I’m exhausted, but couldn’t collapse until I answered you. See how important you are?
Black’s another thing we have in common! I love it and always try to wear something black every day (sometimes you can’t see it, but it’s there.) And OMYGOD! you’re a writer! I’ve never known a real writer. That is so…awesome (as the kids say.) I hope this isn’t pushy or anything but could you send me a story? I’d love to read one. Honest. I really do need something to read anyway. Just finished a book you’d probably love—A DANCE FOR EMILIA by Peter S. Beagle. It’s about a man who comes back from the dead in his cat. It’s beautiful and made me cry at the end. What can I say, I’m a big softie. I love stories that have a bittersweet ending. I did see REMAINS OF THE DAY. And cried.
Then I saw Anthony Hopkins in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. EEEEEEEEK!
But, Sir (spoken with a heavy Southern Belle accent beneath a fluttering fan,) y’all should know better’n to ask a lady her age. (Flutter, flutter.) Let’s just say—ah’m—old enough.
Can you really SEE me? It’s funny but I think you can. You can see the REAL me and that makes me feel very…special. See me right now as I write this, in bed, on my laptop…in my very short, very RED nightgown.
Can you see that?
Goodnight and XOXOXOXOXOX back.
Luv,
Cassie
5/10/2003 1:25 AM
DEAR CASSIE,
“Very short, very red nightgown…?” Phew! And you expect me to SLEEP now?
I’ll get a copy of the Beagle book. Sounds good. And I’ll be glad to send you a story, too. I know just the one. It’s called RETURNS, and it’s also about a cat…and believe it or not, a ghost! The coincidences just keep piling up here. It really is wonderful. Thank god we got out of that damn chat room and into this.
Sometimes late-night e-mails seem almost like distress calls to me, you know? Like some sad lonely S.O.S. tapped out into cyberspace. But yours aren’t like that at all. They make my day, Cassie. They really do.
Luv back atcha, and
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX Andrew
P.S.: Whoops, forgot. I don’t know your address. I guess I got a little bit carried away back there…
Andrew
5/10/2003 8:15 AM
:-) I don’t think you got carried away at all. I think you’re pretty wonderful. I know we haven’t known each other for very long—on or off the chat-room—but I already feel a connection with you that I’ve never really had with anyone else. Does that sound really weird to you? Hope not, because I wanted to be honest with you about this.
My address. 119 North Street Road, Warminster, Pa. 18974. But you could send the story as an attachment…so I could read it sooner. Hint, hint, HINT. Now I HAVE to get going or I’ll be LATE!
XoXoXoXoXoXo
Cassie
5/10/2003 2:01 PM
DEAR CASSIE,
Okay…gulp…the story’s attached. I can only hope you’re kinder to it than some editors have been.
Early riser, huh? Me, I’m a night person. Don’t even want to TALK to anybody before ten in the morning…
It occurs to me now that it’s awfully good of you to trust me with your street address after only knowing me from Singlechat and these e-mails. A lot of women wouldn’t. I guess I must be doing something right :-) And you…well, you tell me I’m wonderful and I’m kinda floored by that, it’s been a long time since anybody’s called me that, and I just want to say…hell, I dunno what I want to say…only that (and don’t get scared now, okay?) I may be falling for you just a little. Just a little. Is it okay to say that? Jeez—I better sign off now before I put my entire LEG into my mouth, not just my foot.
Love,
Andrew
5/10/2003 4:00 PM
DEAREST ANDREW,
Haven’t even opened your story but I had to send this first—it’s more than OKAY because I think I’m…falling for you too. And I do trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone for a very long time.
Okay. Just HAD to say that. Now…on to your story. I’ll write as soon as I read it. Promise, promise, promise.
Cassie
5/10/2003 5:15 PM
DEAREST ANDREW—
Oh. My. God.
Your story is…beyond beautiful. Those editors must be crazy. I started crying after I read it the first time and I’m still crying. But don’t get me wrong…I’m crying because it’s so BEAUTIFUL. You’re brilliant! At first I thought the man came back as a ghost for his girlfriend, and then, when I realized it was for his cat…Andrew, that was so touching. And then when the girlfriend has the guy from the pound come over to have the cat destroyed…
Wait a minute. I’m crying again. Gotta get more Kleenex.
Okay, I’m back.
But that part…I wanted the ghost to hit her, beat her up, do SOMETHING to stop her. Then I realized it was okay, that he was there to see his cat through. Andrew, you touched my heart and let me finally get all the grief for Stripes out in a good way. Thank you so very much. I loved the story, Andrew. Really. And I love you for sharing it with me.
What else is there to say?
XOXOXOXOXOX Cassie
5/10/2003 7:33 PM
MY GOD, CASSIE…
You can’t begin to know how much this means to me. You really can’t. I was cooking dinner, something reheatable that would last me for a few days. Just something simple, y’know? Chicken tarragon in a garlic/wine sauce. Anyhow I was letting it simmer a while before I started on the rice and asparagus and I thought, check your e-mail, maybe she’s
read the attachment by now. And I’m amazed by your response. Not so much to the writing, though nobody’s ever exactly called me brilliant before, but your response to the heart of the story, that I touched you so deeply, that you felt the story had even helped you heal a bit. That’s so fulfilling, so important and beautiful to hear.
And Cassie? You know what? You just said you loved me…
I know you mean you loved me because of the story. I understand that. But do you think it’s possible for two people to fall in love—REALLY in love—just by writing back and forth like this? Never having met? Never having touched or kissed? Never having even used the phone for godsakes? It feels so strange to me but know what? it feels good. Better than I’ve felt in years.
Uh-oh. Cujo’s throwing up again. Only thing wrong with cats are furballs. Though she’s been doing it a lot lately, dammit. I better go attend to it. But furball or no furball, I’m smiling now. Can you see it? Big wide grin.
Love you, Cassie,
Andrew
5/10/2003 9:58 PM
DEAREST ANDREW,
It wasn’t just the story. And I do believe that people can fall in love without ever having touched or seen each other. I think we’re proof. I love you, Andrew. Not your words. Not your talent. Not your brilliance. You. The real you. Your heart.
Plus hey, you can cook! My mother says I’d better find a man who can cook because I can barely boil water. One thing we DON’T have in common is garlic, though. I’m allergic. Does that make you think less of me? :-)
Poor Cujo. Hope her tummy feels better soon. Send her my love…as I send it to you.
All my love,
Cassie
5/12/2003 3:34 AM
Oh Cassie, I wish I could tell you how much I care, how much your last e-mail makes me feel. But right now I think something awful’s happened—or something awful’s about to happen. I don’t want to go into it right away and alarm you because maybe that would turn out to be unnecessary and everything will be fine. But I gotta sign off right now. I’ll write when I can.
I love you too, Cassie! I love you too! A
5/12/2003 8:05 AM
DEAR ANDREW,
What’s wrong? Tell me. Please. I love you, and that’s all that matters.
Love,
Cassie
5/12/2003 11:25 PM
Andrew? What’s going on? Please write. PLEASE….
Love, Cassie
5/13/2003 8:10 AM
Andrew—what’s happened? Can’t you tell me? Is it something I said? Please let me know. Whatever it is, we can work it out. I know we can.
I REALLY love you—Cassie
5/15/2003 12:45 AM
Andrew? What did I DO?
5/15/2003 9:55 PM
Oh jesus, Cassie, honey, I’m so sorry to have put you through this. I can’t believe I was so thoughtless. I haven’t even looked at the computer. Couldn’t bring myself to. I should have written so much sooner. I’d better explain.
Friday afternoon I was working on some ad copy and I heard Cujo coughing in the kitchen. She didn’t sound like she does when she’s throwing a fur ball. It was this hacking cough. I went in and there she was on the floor, this cough hacking away at her from deep within. I almost thought she was choking. I got her some olive oil, which she’ll take when it IS a fur ball but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
Finally it subsided and she retreated to the hall closet—there’s a box of books there where she likes to sleep sometimes. I went back to work, worried but thinking maybe it was just some passing cat-thing. Then at dinnertime she wouldn’t eat. I figured it was probably a bug or something but I kept an eye on her anyway. She seemed peaceful enough. Purred when I petted her. She wouldn’t come out of the closet though. And then that night, about two in the morning, she woke me up coughing again, worse this time, hunched on her box and her eyes were tearing and it was like she couldn’t get her breath, you know? so I wet a dish towel under warm water and wiped her eyes and mouth and nose and saw she was frothing at the mouth. And that scared the hell out of me. So I got her in her cat box and got a cab to the vet’s. They have an emergency service all night long.
The vet was somebody I’d never seen before and she was awfully young but she was very kind. She could see I was a mess. She diagnosed acute respiratory distress and gave her a shot of Cortizone to ease her breathing and it did help, I could see pretty much right away. I waited while they took her upstairs for an x-ray and a while later Dr. Morris—that was her name—came down and showed it to me on the light-board. Her lungs were completely flecked with what looked like motes of dust, but were really droplets of moisture. They looked like photos you see of the milky way there were so many. They were THAT DENSE, Cassie. And now I was really afraid for her.
Dr. Morris said she wanted to drain the lungs immediately and start her on a heavy dose of antibiotics, that they wanted to keep her overnight for observation. If worse came to worst, they could knock her out and intubate her until hopefully the antibiotics took hold. I said whatever it takes. She said it was going to be expensive and I said I don’t care about the money, never mind the money, whatever it takes. By then I was practically crying. She told me to go home and get some sleep, that they’d call me if there was any change. I went home and wrote to you. That last e-mail. I drank a glass full of straight scotch and it did was it was supposed to do, knocked me out, and I went to sleep.
They called at quarter to five in the morning. Almost dawn. Said Cujo was failing fast and what did I want to do? I said just hold her for me if you can, I’ll be right there. I got there just in time to feel her breathing stop, her heart stop, her eyes wide open looking straight into mine as though she could see me.
I buried my face in her neck and cried and cried.
I’m crying now.
You see why I couldn’t write, Cassie? I wish I could call you. Can I call you? I need to talk to somebody now or I’ll go crazy and the only creature on earth other than you I could talk to is gone now.
Love,
Andrew
5/15/2003 9:25 PM
Oh God, Andrew…just got your message. I’m crying too. Can’t talk right now. Can’t write anymore. Give me a minute—I’ll write back. I promise. I promi
5/15/2003 11:20 PM
MY LOVE.
I said I’d write back in a moment—and here it is, almost two hours later. I’m so sorry for not being able to get back to you sooner but…your loss, your horrible loss brought all the memories of Stripes back and I lost it, too. God that sounds so selfish…I hate myself for that, for failing you like that. But please, don’t hate me—I couldn’t stand it. I’m back and I’m here for you now. If you still want me to be…
Andrew, my darling Andrew I’m so sorry about Cujo. All I can say is how sorry I am and that I wish I could hold you and comfort you right now…I want to hold you, Andrew, so you’ll feel safe to cry out all the sadness you feel. No one held me when Stripes died. I hid in my room…like now…and cried silently…like now.
But I AM holding you, Andrew—can you feel my arms around you? I hope you can, I really do. Because I love you and want to help you through. And I wish I could call…but my stupid father is still on the phone…making stupid last-minute “vacation arrangements” that HAVE to be done RIGHT THIS MINUTE! God! I wish I had my own place because if I did I’d be on the phone, talking to you…and telling you to come here, to come to me, to be with me so I can share what you feel.
And maybe you can. My parents leave tomorrow, Andrew…and maybe by morning you’ll feel a little better—not a lot, I know, but a little maybe. If you do, why don’t you think about coming down? You said you needed me. But I need you, too, Andrew. I need to help you through this because I LOVE YOU. I love you, Andrew. And I wish I could hold you right now.
What else can I do?
Love always,
Cassie
P.S.: You called me honey.
5/15/2003 11:25 PM
CASSIE—
When do they leave? I’m THERE. God, yes!
XOXOXOXOXOX A.
5/15/2003 11:28 PM
MY LOVE,
They leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be here, alone. Whole house to myself. Please come…please.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO-XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
All my love,
Cassie
FROM THE JOURNAL OF ANDREW SKY:
I wish she’d sent me her phone number. Wonder why she didn’t? It could be she’s afraid of just this—that I might be tempted to chicken out at the last minute. Which I am. Maybe she anticipated that.
There’s a real temptation not to show.
If I want to be there by nightfall I’ve got to leave in about an hour. No later. I’ve been procrastinating on leaving all day, ever since this morning staring into the mirror doing what I do every morning, shaving, brushing my teeth, looking at the same face I see every day. For the first time it struck me as a hard face, too few smile-lines and too many traces of frowns.
What can she possibly see in me?
I woke up all excited and an hour later I was depressed and worried and I’ve stayed that way all afternoon. I went out shopping at the Food Emporium. I corrected the Iona College ad copy that’s due in the mail on Tuesday. I answered some e-mail—hoping, I think, that there’d be one from Cassie saying please don’t come, this is a mistake, I’m not ready. There wasn’t any.
It’s me who’s not ready.
I haven’t even met her yet and I feel like I’ve lost her already.
What a fucking mess I am, huh?
I think of Laura and all I’d hoped for with her and I still get a knot in my gut, I still want to smash something. Hell, back then I did smash a few things—half the dishes in the sink, the lamp beside the bed—and all it got me were credit card bills for replacing them. What I needed to replace was Laura. But there was no replacing Laura. No way.
I couldn’t replace the feeling of her beside me asleep in my bed or how cool I felt walking down the street with my arm around her waist, my woman, this woman more beautiful and successful than I’d ever thought could possibly be attracted to a guy like me but who said that she was mine and I was hers now, made me promise to always be hers no matter what. I remember laughing and saying who else’s could I be?