Page 42 of Dear Mr. Knightley
Dear Mr. Knightley,
School is moving along well. My favorite class is actually statistics.
It’s a nice mental break for me—crunching numbers is far easier than figuring out how to reveal yourself in print while still “maintaining objectivity and perspective.” It’s a fine line I haven’t learned to walk, but I’m getting better help now.
Johnson is more constructive in his criticism, like he believes I’m worth his time.
It’s a good feeling and makes me work harder.
Debbie noticed it and congratulated me on getting out of the doghouse.
I haven’t told anyone about the article yet.
Even if the Trib doesn’t publish it, I need to be honest with my friends.
And I need to talk to Josh. He came to my apartment last night.
I cooked him dinner before we watched a movie.
Afterward I thought I’d tell him, but he seemed interested in other things .
. . so I never said a word. Part of me thinks it should affect nothing.
Another part knows it changes everything.
I called Hannah this morning in a panic.
“You’ll be fine, Sam. I’ve never seen you so free. Don’t step back now.”
“It’s too hard, Hannah. I already feel raw. What if I retreat into my books?”
“You won’t. Besides, how could you ever want to be Fanny Price?”
I laughed. “You’re reading Mansfield Park ? Fanny’s dull at times, but she has her uses. She’s very capable of fading into the background, and she’s a perfect moral compass.”
“Are you channeling her lately?”
I was confused. “I’m trying not to project anyone, remember?”
“I don’t mean that. I mean the moral compass thing. Josh?”
“What about him?” I said, although I knew what she meant.
“Intimacy isn’t always about love. You’ve got to talk to him.”
“We’re not sleeping together! I—” I clamped my mouth shut. I never blurt that out, because no one would understand why we aren’t.
“That’s good.”
Now Hannah shocked me. No one else has said that.
“You think so?” I tried to act casual, but I desperately wanted to know her thoughts.
“Absolutely. It complicates everything, changes everything. I believe if you’re not married to the guy, that shouldn’t be happening.”
“That’s not very forward thinking of you, Hannah.” I wanted to push her. I wanted answers.
“Put it in your terms. Take all those Austen and Bronte characters who went astray. They weren’t villains, but they paid a price.
Natural consequences for making poor choices.
Those consequences still exist today. You’re always saying that’s what makes Austen so good, right?
That she portrayed human nature accurately, and that human nature hasn’t changed. ”
“Yes?”
“Then look at Lydia Bennet, Maria Bertram, Marianne Dashwood—”
“Marianne?” I never told her about my musings that Josh and I are a modern Colonel Brandon and Marianne.
“Yes, Marianne. She lost her sense of right and wrong. She thought that because loving Willoughby felt good, it had to be right. Later she knew her mistake and she regretted it.”
We didn’t talk much after that. I was too confused. Hannah knew she had dropped a bomb on me.
“Sam, I’m thrilled about the article. Call if you need me. I’m always here.” She paused again. “Sam, I love you. You know that, right?”
My eyes teared. “Thanks, Hannah.” I hung up the phone. Hannah’s known the real me and stood by me for five years. I think she does love me. And although I have only recently come to see her clearly, I trust her. I haven’t given her enough credit.
Now I don’t know what to think, Mr. Knightley.
I thought I was backward about this whole intimacy thing, and now I wonder.
Every time Josh pushes, I back away. I want to talk to him about it, but I know it’s not a discussion he’ll like, and I don’t know what to say.
He still gets silent when I leave dinners to head north.
Maybe I’m making this too complicated. Maybe I should address it head on.
The new me is supposed to be filled with courage, right?
And I’d better get some because between this and my article . . . there’s a lot of talking to do.
Love,
Sam