Page 71 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

I need you—one last time . . .

The Muirs called this morning. Alex had called them moments earlier to tell them he’d been hit by a cab a few days ago.

He’s actually still in the hospital, Mr. Knightley.

Of course, the Muirs hopped on the first flight they could get to New York.

I gather Alex’s parents aren’t going out, and the professor believes he shouldn’t be alone right now.

Mrs. Muir called again from the airport. My reaction when she’d first called had unnerved her. “Are you better, dear?”

I wasn’t.

“Sam? He’s going to be fine . . . Sam, are you there? . . . Sam, speak to me.”

“He can’t be hurt, Mom. He can’t . . . ,” I mumbled. Tears got my phone all wet again. I felt wrecked and still very much alone.

“He’s going to be fine. Will you?”

“He’s hurt. I hurt him.” I started to hyperventilate.

“Sam, I told you, a car hit him and he’s been sick. You had nothing to do with this.” An announcer cut across her voice. “We need to board the plane. I’ll text you when we land.” She didn’t hang up. “Sam?”

“I’m here.”

“You need to pray. Whether you believe or not, I want you to pray. Pray for Alex, and pray for yourself, dear.”

“Why?” I was too numb to think.

“Sometimes the action begets belief, and you need that now. In the end, it’s all that matters. Alex has it and he’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“No buts, darling. God is in this. I’m not diminishing Alex’s injuries, but I am asking you to trust that God is in this and that he’s got you too, Sam.” She let the words sink into me. “I need to go, darling.” She hung up.

I know she’s right. God is with Alex. I know he’s with the Muirs.

I believe that. I even believe, through the mist in my brain, that he’s with me.

But I also know I’ve lied. That’s what I couldn’t tell her during either conversation this morning.

I lied to myself and to Alex—so many times—and I layered those lies with vicious, hurtful words.

I don’t want Alex out of my life—he’s already smack in the center.

He’s mine and, despite the mess I’ve created, I’m his.

Now I sound like Emma. Maybe that’s my first clue this is all wrong . . .

But I love Alex completely—the broken, the quirky, the strong, and the serious sides of him. It’s a powerful emotion—one that electrifies and terrifies me—and it’s the most real thing I’ve felt in a long time. I called Ashley, who came over immediately.

“Lizzy Bennet? You actually used her words to refuse him?” She couldn’t laugh. It sounded as horrid as it felt.

“Yes. I’m so ashamed,” I sobbed. “And now he’s hurt . . .”

“You do know she marries Darcy in the end?”

“Not funny, Ash. This isn’t a book.”

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, Sam. You didn’t reject Alex because he ticked you off. You rejected him so he couldn’t hurt you. You had to be the last one standing. All alone.”

“That’s not fair. I’m not alone. I’ve got you, I’ve got the Muirs, I’ve got friends. I laid down those characters. I’ve laid myself bare for months. Do you understand how hard that is?”

“More than most.” Her small frown confirmed her words. It’s unbelievable that I ever dismissed Ashley; she’s more like me than anyone I’ve known. We came at loneliness from opposite ends of the world, but we both found it.

Ashley continued, “You accept those relationships on your own terms. We can’t hurt you. Not really. I don’t have access to those places deep within you. And if I did reach one and I harmed you . . . you’d walk away justified and never look back.”

My jaw dropped. It didn’t faze her.

“Don’t give me that face. I’d do the same to you, and we both know it. And the Muirs? You let them in, but it isn’t the same. Parental love is safer than romantic love.”

Again I looked shocked, and she backtracked.

“I don’t mean your real parents; they caused wounds I’ll never understand. But the Muirs aren’t going to hurt you deep in your heart. They won’t betray you, and you know that. Letting them in is not dangerous. You can remain whole.”

She scooted toward me on the couch and took my hands. I sensed something bad was coming. You see it in the movies. The adult takes the kid’s hands before telling her that the puppy died. I closed my eyes.

“Alex? He could wreck you. You’ve loved him since the first moment you saw him. Josh’s betrayal could never touch what Alex could do to you.”

“You’re not helping.” I started crying again, that slow kind when tears course down your cheeks because you’ve been hit by something so painful and so long lasting that sobbing lacks the stamina to endure it.

“You’re not a coward, Sam. You never were. Tell Alex your fears. Tell him your past. All of it.” She paused. “Did he ever read your first Tribune article?”

“I don’t think so. He never mentioned it.”

“Why didn’t you show it to him? I never understood that.”

“Josh—”

“Josh was a jerk. Don’t put him in the same conversation with Alex.”

“Josh made me feel like less —first my past was shameful, then he held it up for display with that horrid necklace. And I didn’t see it, Ash.

You did. You tried to tell me. Even Isabella knew—and she’s twelve!

How could I not doubt myself? I don’t know the first thing about love or relationships.

I didn’t want Alex to make me feel like that. ”

“You made yourself feel that way. Josh didn’t do that. And Alex wouldn’t.”

The professor’s words flooded my brain: “Never let something so unworthy define you.” That’s what I did. I believed the lie that Josh could define me. Nice revelation, but not helpful at that moment. I had still screwed up with Alex.

“What do I do now?”

“You’re going to tell him the truth. If he rejects you, then it’s honest and you’re done. You walk away whole. If he doesn’t, then it’s real, and that honesty will begin an amazing relationship. I know it.” She paused and leaned back next to me.

“You can’t spend your life hiding, Sam—not in books, not in work, and not from love. This isn’t you. You’re the most courageous woman I know. You must fix this.”

“Do I call him? Write him?”

“Are you kidding me? Sam, you can’t be this clueless!”

“I am.” I sniffled more.

“Do I have to do everything? Get me your computer.”

“Why?”

“You’re taking the first flight to New York. Grab your credit card.”

So I’m booked on the 7:35 a.m. flight to LaGuardia tomorrow. I am packed and ready for action.

That’s a complete lie. I’m scared witless. But I’m so tired of fear—all forms, all kinds. I want to be free. I want to be Scrooge. I want to lay it all down in one moment and feel joy—weightless, bubbling joy. I don’t want to be first—

That’s it, Mr. Knightley! I’m so stupid, so blind.

That’s how Scrooge did it. He realized that others were more important than he was.

Scrooge laid it all down because he didn’t need to be first. He finally saw more outside of himself.

All those years he hoarded vapor—meaningless security—to protect himself.

And he destroyed others in deep and crushing ways.

He finally recognized the cost, and that others paid it.

Then he saw it clearly . . . And they came first.

I’ve been so busy protecting myself that I didn’t see it.

I don’t need protecting. I’m safe, aren’t I?

And even if I weren’t—I am not defined by that fear.

Just because I like the color yellow doesn’t make these walls any more or less yellow.

They simply are yellow. And I’m still standing.

I don’t need Alex to tell me that. I don’t need running to show me that.

Others don’t need to pay the price as I push and pull to simply confirm what is. I’m okay.

Maybe that’s the first step to surrender.

Maybe that’s my first step toward the joy the Muirs talk about all the time.

Self-protection keeps you from love, Mr. Knightley—all love.

I am so sad at how I’ve kept them at a distance—the Muirs, Alex, Father John, Kyle, Hannah .

. . anyone and everyone who has ever stood by me.

I played God in our relationships. I determined their value and their worth by how much I let them in, by how much I let them determine my worth.

I’m not God. And I don’t need to work so hard anymore . . .

I love Alex—plain and simple. I love Alex, and I want him to come before me.

I don’t care what it costs. Giving him the truth and fixing the hurts I’ve caused is more important than anything I think, feel, own, expect .

. . No matter what happens between us, I can free us from these lies. I can be honest.

So, Mr. Knightley, here is the part where I need you. I figured this one out before I realized all this other stuff—and it still feels right, so I’m going to press on.

We need to meet. We need to meet so I can say thank you and good-bye.

Ashley talked about my “hiding places” this morning.

You’re one of them. I found sanctuary in these letters, but no more.

If I’m going to truly love my new parents, my new friends, and especially Alex, I need to be real. I need to be present.

I want to do this properly, though. I want to be brave and show you the respect you deserve.

I want to thank you in person. Father John gave me your foundation’s e-mail for this letter.

It was like squeezing a state secret out of him, but you need this tomorrow.

And it doesn’t violate our agreement, Mr. Knightley.

That ended with graduation. I am asking you to do this as a friend, as someone I have come to trust and rely upon.

So please, Mr. Knightley, e-mail me when and where we can meet. Please let me say good-bye properly.

And, Mr. Knightley, forget my theory about Icarus. If you don’t sail high, with the risk of crashing and burning, do you really live? Can you love? I doubt it. I’m ready to fly.

Love,

Sam