Reflection
My sincere apologies to Patricia Highsmith and Anthony Minghella for stealing their characters. I also apologise for the way I sapped this up. It's to do with the syrup in my veins.
*****
Before Italy, before Dickie, there was New York. New York and its menial jobs, basement apartments and a want of a better life.
I wanted because there wasn't any money for a proper education. I wasn't allowed the luxury of having a role model to cheer me to success. It is possible to overcome the obstacles of poverty if you're determined enough. You can arrive in America with only a dollar to your name and still struggle to the top. It has been done before.
But I never was that brave for that long. You find yourself stuck in the desperate jobs that you told yourself were only temporary. Before you know it, it's three years later and everything you dreamed of starts to dissolve into the smug grins of the businessmen who populate the bathroom you work in.
That's when the bitterness starts to eat away at your already fragile self esteem, and you avoid looking into mirrors because it hurts too much. If you're lucky, you stumble onto some small bits of happiness - reading a terrific book, playing Bach on the concert hall piano after hours. It's the big things, the life changing things, that have a way of avoiding you. One day, and it's always unexpected, opportunity presents itself. It's more complicated than you'd have liked, but it doesn't matter because it's a way out.
Finally, they've given you a turn. You've evolved into someone important and it feels great. The fear of returning to the failure you once were causes strange things to pop out of your mouth. Introducing yourself as someone you're not to complete strangers seems like a good idea. You think, 'It's only a game. This will never mean anything.' Playing make believe is only a way of letting the important people think that you are important too.
Except now, it does mean something. I couldn't have foreseen the trouble posing as Dickie would ultimately cause. It was fun at first, turning myself into the ideal Dickie, having all the things I once wanted so desperately. If it wasn't for Freddie Miles, I suppose I could have went on living as Dickie. I'd have to disappear to another country, but the life of well meaning still could've belonged to me.
Freddie's murder forced me back into the supporting role of Tom Ripley. I would have never been able to return to the person I used to be without Peter. He's the only reason I have to stop pretending. There was no need for false credentials, no jazz music to study, in order to gain his approval. Sure, I had to hide a few things, but Peter allows me to be the unsure, daydreamy person I used to be before the bitterness set in.
The only thing I want now is Peter. I want to have conversations with him that last for hours in crowded street cafes. I want to be able to listen to his music anytime of the day. I want to make him smile, because he's beautiful when he does. If it's at all possible, I want him to want me too.
It was turning out well. Peter and I were on our way to Greece together when Dickie returned. Rather, Meredith, who knows me only as Dickie, has returned. And now, I'm sitting in my cabin alone with a choice. I could resurrect Dickie and run away with Meredith to some out of the way place and return to the confidence and ease that comes with living as him. Or I could lie to Peter this one last time and try to be happy the hard way, by being myself.
*****
The first thing I notice as I step inside Peter's cabin is the tension. It isn't because of my trying to hide the encounter with Meredith. Looking at Peter on the bed, I notice he's only pretending to read his score, and when he speaks, his voice is full of hurt.
"Was that Meredith you were kissing?"
Honest, direct to the point - things I will never be. I feel the panic rising as I struggle to come up with a plausible excuse. Words fumble out. "I'd hardly call that kissing."
Peter sighs miserably. "It didn't look that way, you know, from a distance."
Of course it didn't look that way, but how can I explain that I was someone else at the time. Just when I think the pit in my stomach is about to swallow me, I see it. A safe way in.
I sit beside him on the bed. He looks up and I notice the awful combination of confusion and betrayal in his eyes. Please let this work, otherwise... "It was nothing. Really. I'll show you."
I bend down to his mouth with the intention of leaving a tamer version of the Meredith kiss. As our lips meet, the jolt of realisation that kissing Peter is much more pleasant shocks me into staying a bit longer than I intended. I break away reluctantly, but in order for this to work, I have to show him what he saw up on deck wasn't special.
"And this is what a real kiss would look like." I descend to his mouth again, and this time, the kiss means something. Peter's involved now, and I lose myself in his softness completely forgetting why I needed a demonstration.
Peter breaks away and mumbles something pleasantly. I don't hear it - I'm still knocked out from that kiss.
"I'm not sure why I kissed Meredith. She said she saw us together, and I panicked." I say, and it makes perfect sense.
"I think it's time you stopped worrying what other people think." Peter says. I watch as a dazzling grin expands on his face. "So, there's an 'us' you're trying to hide?"
"Yes. Well, I was hoping there was." I put my head next to his on the pillow. I'm in shock. Something's actually working out for me. Now if I can get us to stay in here without having to seeing Meredith, everything will be okay.
As Peter moves to kiss me again, I'm filled with the assurance that it will.
End.
My sincere apologies to Patricia Highsmith and Anthony Minghella for stealing their characters. I also apologise for the way I sapped this up. It's to do with the syrup in my veins.
*****
Before Italy, before Dickie, there was New York. New York and its menial jobs, basement apartments and a want of a better life.
I wanted because there wasn't any money for a proper education. I wasn't allowed the luxury of having a role model to cheer me to success. It is possible to overcome the obstacles of poverty if you're determined enough. You can arrive in America with only a dollar to your name and still struggle to the top. It has been done before.
But I never was that brave for that long. You find yourself stuck in the desperate jobs that you told yourself were only temporary. Before you know it, it's three years later and everything you dreamed of starts to dissolve into the smug grins of the businessmen who populate the bathroom you work in.
That's when the bitterness starts to eat away at your already fragile self esteem, and you avoid looking into mirrors because it hurts too much. If you're lucky, you stumble onto some small bits of happiness - reading a terrific book, playing Bach on the concert hall piano after hours. It's the big things, the life changing things, that have a way of avoiding you. One day, and it's always unexpected, opportunity presents itself. It's more complicated than you'd have liked, but it doesn't matter because it's a way out.
Finally, they've given you a turn. You've evolved into someone important and it feels great. The fear of returning to the failure you once were causes strange things to pop out of your mouth. Introducing yourself as someone you're not to complete strangers seems like a good idea. You think, 'It's only a game. This will never mean anything.' Playing make believe is only a way of letting the important people think that you are important too.
Except now, it does mean something. I couldn't have foreseen the trouble posing as Dickie would ultimately cause. It was fun at first, turning myself into the ideal Dickie, having all the things I once wanted so desperately. If it wasn't for Freddie Miles, I suppose I could have went on living as Dickie. I'd have to disappear to another country, but the life of well meaning still could've belonged to me.
Freddie's murder forced me back into the supporting role of Tom Ripley. I would have never been able to return to the person I used to be without Peter. He's the only reason I have to stop pretending. There was no need for false credentials, no jazz music to study, in order to gain his approval. Sure, I had to hide a few things, but Peter allows me to be the unsure, daydreamy person I used to be before the bitterness set in.
The only thing I want now is Peter. I want to have conversations with him that last for hours in crowded street cafes. I want to be able to listen to his music anytime of the day. I want to make him smile, because he's beautiful when he does. If it's at all possible, I want him to want me too.
It was turning out well. Peter and I were on our way to Greece together when Dickie returned. Rather, Meredith, who knows me only as Dickie, has returned. And now, I'm sitting in my cabin alone with a choice. I could resurrect Dickie and run away with Meredith to some out of the way place and return to the confidence and ease that comes with living as him. Or I could lie to Peter this one last time and try to be happy the hard way, by being myself.
*****
The first thing I notice as I step inside Peter's cabin is the tension. It isn't because of my trying to hide the encounter with Meredith. Looking at Peter on the bed, I notice he's only pretending to read his score, and when he speaks, his voice is full of hurt.
"Was that Meredith you were kissing?"
Honest, direct to the point - things I will never be. I feel the panic rising as I struggle to come up with a plausible excuse. Words fumble out. "I'd hardly call that kissing."
Peter sighs miserably. "It didn't look that way, you know, from a distance."
Of course it didn't look that way, but how can I explain that I was someone else at the time. Just when I think the pit in my stomach is about to swallow me, I see it. A safe way in.
I sit beside him on the bed. He looks up and I notice the awful combination of confusion and betrayal in his eyes. Please let this work, otherwise... "It was nothing. Really. I'll show you."
I bend down to his mouth with the intention of leaving a tamer version of the Meredith kiss. As our lips meet, the jolt of realisation that kissing Peter is much more pleasant shocks me into staying a bit longer than I intended. I break away reluctantly, but in order for this to work, I have to show him what he saw up on deck wasn't special.
"And this is what a real kiss would look like." I descend to his mouth again, and this time, the kiss means something. Peter's involved now, and I lose myself in his softness completely forgetting why I needed a demonstration.
Peter breaks away and mumbles something pleasantly. I don't hear it - I'm still knocked out from that kiss.
"I'm not sure why I kissed Meredith. She said she saw us together, and I panicked." I say, and it makes perfect sense.
"I think it's time you stopped worrying what other people think." Peter says. I watch as a dazzling grin expands on his face. "So, there's an 'us' you're trying to hide?"
"Yes. Well, I was hoping there was." I put my head next to his on the pillow. I'm in shock. Something's actually working out for me. Now if I can get us to stay in here without having to seeing Meredith, everything will be okay.
As Peter moves to kiss me again, I'm filled with the assurance that it will.
End.