The Most Impossible Thing
Joan Redfern. My sweetheart.
I have a sweetheart. Even now, after the words have been set down, even as I watch the ink absorb into the paper, this does not seem real. That Joan—that I, in fact— No, but it must be real. Peculiar and frightening as my imagination may sometimes be, I never could have imagined a moment like that. Our fingers touched, and that simple contact was more heady, more intoxicating than the most ardent of ardent spirits.
It was the first time—I have escorted her home so many times over these past months. We talked, played whist, chess. But I never thought, never even considered she could think of me as—
As her sweetheart.
Before tonight, I had never so much as held her hand. But this evening, when our fingers touched, I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. And what I saw there was…was wonderful and terrifying. I touched her cheek, her soft hair, praying she would not feel the trembling of my hands. She asked to sit beside me and I held her close in my arms. And then, she kissed my cheek. She rested her head on my shoulder and I had never felt so much.
I cannot find it in me to continue my tale of the Doctor's adventures tonight. Out of all the strange fantasies I have written in these pages, out of all the terrible monsters I have drawn, this is the most impossible thing. This incredible feeling. When we kissed…
This is beyond my experience. There are no words to describe the emotions in my heart. It is as though all my half-realized hopes, my vague dreams for the future, they have suddenly come into focus. And what my mind can now see… It is a true marvel, far more amazing than imaginary time machines and valiant alien Doctors. Those are mere fiction. Empty dreams. But as History teaches us, reality holds more marvels than any work of fiction.
I feel…so much. I feel I was not alive before this day. Rather, I was living some form of half-life, simply going through the motions day by day. But now…now… Now, I am awake. Colors are brighter, scents more intense. I feel, for the first time since accepting this post, I know who I am. And I am happy. Really happy.
My heart is too full, my mind races faster than my hand can write. I cannot sleep. I feel invigorated. I want to walk, to laugh out loud, to dance with the moon!
I have a sweetheart. And her name is Joan. My Joan.
Smith and Joan. A perfect double act.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Filling the next page was a charcoal pencil portrait of a woman in profile, her fair hair coiled behind her head in a loose bun. On the opposite side was written:
My nightmares did not trouble me tonight. Tonight, I dreamed of Joan. I dreamed I took her dancing. We were alone in the park, by the pond. The water was dark and reflected the stars. She held my world in her smile. And, with a kiss, I embraced hers…