I Won't Let Go
Summary: Dan reflects on his love for Diana as she leaves him. Drabble, one- shot.
Disclaimer: Next to Normal is a Broadway musical with book and lyrics by Brian Yorkey and music by Tom Kit. Major producers for the show are David Stone, James L. Nederlander, Barbara Whitman, Patrick Catullo, and Second Stage Theater. As of this writing, it can be seen at the Booth Theater on 222 W 45th St. NY, NY. [Insert witty remark that disavows author's ownership of the musical.]
AN: I picked Dan's POV as a challenge. Feedback is appreciated.
One time, when he and Di were still dating a friend told him that all the little funny things about his girlfriend would drive him crazy one day. At the time Dan had simply cuffed the guy in the shoulder and said, "I'll love Di forever- no matter what." Funny thing was both of them had been right. He'd thought it was mutually exclusive- either the person drove you batty or you loved each other and got your fairytale ending. He'd been wrong about that.
When they had first met, Di was unlike any other girl he'd met. Ironically, out of all his co-workers he was pretty positive his wife was still unique. She had been so bright, quirky and funny. She flitted from place to place, always standing out. Too bad he hadn't noticed that the synonym for that was not fitting in. But he loved her.
He remembered when they had snuck down to Ashland for their third anniversary of their first date. They'd gone to some Shakespearean show; Di had refused to wear shoes, saying the dress demanded bare feet. At the time it seemed mischievous and bold. Then the temperature had dropped during the first act and they snuggled up under a blanket. Neither of them had seen the second act but everyone knew Macbeth ended badly. They had forgotten to eat before the show so Di had stopped in a 7-11 to pick up some ramen on the walk back to their hotel. She had forgotten utensils and the only thing in their hotel room were those little coffee stirrer straws. Di suggested tusing the stirrers as chopsticks. They were more a hindrance than anything else, too flexible and slippery to be of any use. They had laughed and made a mess sitting on the floor of the little hotel room. And he loved her. Twenty years later, she made sandwiches on the floor and used salad dressing as a major ingredient. And he loved her.
When he was young, Di's ability to see beyond reality seemed precious. He had always been raised so practical only seeing what was really there and understanding the principles of scarcity. He had hoped Di would help him become more carefree, less grounded in reality. That had happened but only because insanity had soaked him through too many times as he saved her from drowning in insanity. Yet he loved her.
Di had burned the roast, the cake, the potatoes, the hamburgers, the yogurt, and the house. Di had starched his underwear instead of his shirts. Di had cut up the curtains, his ties, and the half-finished tax forms (on two separate but memorable occasions). Di had jumped into a pool during a swim meet. Di had jumped into traffic on the freeway. DI had tried to jump off a building. Di had lost him a job when she had, to put it nicely, misbehaved at the office Christmas party. Di had lost Natalie more times than he could count. Di had lost herself years ago. He had stayed. Steadfast and stolid and stoic and solid for day after day. He had stayed. And he had loved her.
And now she had the audacity to leave him. To say she didn't know him. She'd left alone in the dark. Alone. He had always been there for her but she'd been the one to walk away. And he loved her for it.