A/N Thanks to all the sweet reviews. I know it's been a long time nice I updated, but life got all up in the way. But now I am back.
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net
Date: 3-23-16 3:15 pm
Subj: Letters
Arwen,
Okay, so I wake up early to the sound of the telephone. It's my mom, practically screaming for help. "Please, Isabelle," she cries. "You've got to help me. My secretary is sick, and Lizzie and I are going to be out of the office all day today. Could you come and fill in until 5?" And I did because she's my mom, and she needs my help (and, besides, all my Friday classes were cancelled. SCORE!).
So I am sitting at my mom's desk (since calls get sent straight to her, and bypass Lizzie) reading, and thinking occasionally about how I am going to learn my song by tomorrow for evening service when my eyes slide to Lizzie's office. 'She's not here,' I think to myself. 'And how much do we know about her, anyway? My mom hired her straight out of college, barely checking her references.'
It is because of this logic that I find myself rummaging through Lizzie's papers in her desk.
Okay, so it SOUNDS immoral. But what I found was so amazing, so genuinely shocking, that you are going to forgive me before you so much as move from your seat.
It's in an elaborate envelope, an envelope that it, apparently, came in, with "Lizzie" printed simply on the front. Come on, now, tell me that you wouldn't have opened it too.
Inside was a letter. I am typing it up, now, before I forget what it said:
"Dear Lizzie,
It's been so long. When I got your letter, all I could do was stare at it in disbelief. An invitation to the wedding of the only woman I've ever loved. I appreciate how you wrote me first, before I received the news from your family or someone else. It's nice to know that, after all these years, you have not forgotten.
But I cannot be there for you.
It's been 5 years now since we made the decision to go our separate ways, to finish school and see where life leads us. Five years since we made that heartfelt promise to call each other every day, write as often as possible, IM every time we saw each other on. Five years since life got in the way of a relationship that meant more to me than my own life.
I'm laying here, alone in my apartment, silently waiting for someone to come in and tell me what a joke this is, that there is no way that you could ever love another man.
But no one comes.
I wish I could say that I knew this was coming. That a relationship like ours was too good to be true. That is was only a matter of time before we both awoke from the dream we had been living in. But that's simply not true. In my heart of hearts I always thought that it would be me, reaching out to lift your veil, me, placing that golden band on your finger, me rubbing your shoulders as you brought our first baby into the world. Me. But now it's going to be Ethan, doing all those things. And I wish I could just be your best friend again, back before my feelings for you threatened to suffocate me.
I love you, Lizzie McGuire. In case there was ever an instance in your life when you were unsure, allow me to say it once more. I love you, Lizzie McGuire. And no matter where you are, how alone you feel, know that I am always with you. Always waiting for the phone to ring, always aching to hear you loving voice.
-Me"
Okay, so is that not the most romantic thing you've ever read? I mean, really! So, what do you think? Think she married the other guy? Or maybe she ran off with the "me" at the last minute. Well, probably not the latter, considering she's working here and is currently unmarried and, from what my mom says, not exactly burning up the dating scene.
Well, I gotta go. E-mail me back as soon as you get this, since this day could not GET any more boring.
Blue Collarfully Yours,
Isabelle
P.S. What's your deal? I've called you at home, like, 12 times. Even though I'm not supposed to tie up the phone line.
To: morriss@nyu.magazinedesign.net
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net
Date: 3-24-16 4:15 p.m.
Subj: Re: Letters
First of all, YES, it was wrong to look through that poor woman's papers. And, YES, of course I forgive you on account of the letter you found. How surprisingly romantic.
To be honest, though, considering the information I found out today, I cannot say I am surprised. It seems that the world around is collapsing, my friend, for all these older people have much more by way of romance than either of us.
I was walking towards my car, finally going home for a weekend of relief when Mr. Gordon approached me (not from behind a tree, in case you're wondering) his eyes bright with concern.
"Arwen, is there ANY way you could do me a favor this weekend?"
I guess I must have been staring at him in a not entirely kind way, because he rushed ahead. "I just got a call saying my dad was in an accident and I really need to fly out to my hometown to look in on him. And I was wondering if you could stay in my apartment until I get back on Sunday morning. You know, water the plants, get the paper, that kind of thing."
"Oh, geeze, Mr. Gordon, sure, of course. Is your dad going to be okay?"
He nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, he'll be fine, but my mom really wants me to be there with her until he gets out of the hospital."
With a few short instructions on how to care for his roses, and directions to the mentioned apartment he handed me the keys.
"Thanks," he called over his shoulder, as he ran towards the teacher parking lot and, assumingly, his car.
Isabelle, you wouldn't BELIEVE this place. It's like the inside of the Plaza. Who'd have guessed a man would have so many rooms for JUST HIM.
Anyway, so I fed his roses and watered his plants, and was about to amuse myself with his huge selection of DVD's when I decided that I should send you an e-mail to let you know about my sudden change of plans. I found his office after about 10 minutes of searching, and had just gone to the university web site to check my e-mail when my eye caught sight of something tucked under several stacks of papers, as if it had been hidden there on purpose. As if the sight of it caused Mr. G pain. And, after withdrawing it, I could see why.
It was a picture, Isabelle, something that, if casually glanced at, would simply look like a class photo. But upon closer examination I blinked at what I saw. There was Mr. G! Well, he was younger, certainly, he must have been in about the 8th grade. And to his direct right was a girl in a pink shirt, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. I stared at it for probably a full minute, and right when I was about to return it to it's hiding place, my eyes zeroed in on another photo, one of him and the same girl, their arms wrapped around each other. This picture was much more recent and I dated it to, probably, his junior year of high school. I flipped it over and noticed the explanation:
"Me and Lizzie."
That was all. "Me and Lizzie." But the picture seemed to shout something along the lines of, "This is me and the girl I love. We belong together." There was something between them that I found moving.
So I started searching through his home for albums and it wasn't long before I found them. My friend, never in my life have I seen so many pictures of one girl! Hundreds of them. From when they were babies to their graduation from high school, there are pictures that suit every event. Dances (with one picture of them dancing on a patio. What is THAT about????), graduations, class trips, family trips… They always seem to be together. Letters and cards, too, but they weren't too exciting.
Anyway, I'm probably going to go through more of his stuff tonight, and I'll e-mail you again tomorrow.
Until Then,
Arwen
To: farrisa@nyu.film.net
From: morrisi@nyu.magazinedesign.net
Date: 3-23-16 3:15 pm
Subj: Letters
Arwen,
Okay, so I wake up early to the sound of the telephone. It's my mom, practically screaming for help. "Please, Isabelle," she cries. "You've got to help me. My secretary is sick, and Lizzie and I are going to be out of the office all day today. Could you come and fill in until 5?" And I did because she's my mom, and she needs my help (and, besides, all my Friday classes were cancelled. SCORE!).
So I am sitting at my mom's desk (since calls get sent straight to her, and bypass Lizzie) reading, and thinking occasionally about how I am going to learn my song by tomorrow for evening service when my eyes slide to Lizzie's office. 'She's not here,' I think to myself. 'And how much do we know about her, anyway? My mom hired her straight out of college, barely checking her references.'
It is because of this logic that I find myself rummaging through Lizzie's papers in her desk.
Okay, so it SOUNDS immoral. But what I found was so amazing, so genuinely shocking, that you are going to forgive me before you so much as move from your seat.
It's in an elaborate envelope, an envelope that it, apparently, came in, with "Lizzie" printed simply on the front. Come on, now, tell me that you wouldn't have opened it too.
Inside was a letter. I am typing it up, now, before I forget what it said:
"Dear Lizzie,
It's been so long. When I got your letter, all I could do was stare at it in disbelief. An invitation to the wedding of the only woman I've ever loved. I appreciate how you wrote me first, before I received the news from your family or someone else. It's nice to know that, after all these years, you have not forgotten.
But I cannot be there for you.
It's been 5 years now since we made the decision to go our separate ways, to finish school and see where life leads us. Five years since we made that heartfelt promise to call each other every day, write as often as possible, IM every time we saw each other on. Five years since life got in the way of a relationship that meant more to me than my own life.
I'm laying here, alone in my apartment, silently waiting for someone to come in and tell me what a joke this is, that there is no way that you could ever love another man.
But no one comes.
I wish I could say that I knew this was coming. That a relationship like ours was too good to be true. That is was only a matter of time before we both awoke from the dream we had been living in. But that's simply not true. In my heart of hearts I always thought that it would be me, reaching out to lift your veil, me, placing that golden band on your finger, me rubbing your shoulders as you brought our first baby into the world. Me. But now it's going to be Ethan, doing all those things. And I wish I could just be your best friend again, back before my feelings for you threatened to suffocate me.
I love you, Lizzie McGuire. In case there was ever an instance in your life when you were unsure, allow me to say it once more. I love you, Lizzie McGuire. And no matter where you are, how alone you feel, know that I am always with you. Always waiting for the phone to ring, always aching to hear you loving voice.
-Me"
Okay, so is that not the most romantic thing you've ever read? I mean, really! So, what do you think? Think she married the other guy? Or maybe she ran off with the "me" at the last minute. Well, probably not the latter, considering she's working here and is currently unmarried and, from what my mom says, not exactly burning up the dating scene.
Well, I gotta go. E-mail me back as soon as you get this, since this day could not GET any more boring.
Blue Collarfully Yours,
Isabelle
P.S. What's your deal? I've called you at home, like, 12 times. Even though I'm not supposed to tie up the phone line.
To: morriss@nyu.magazinedesign.net
From: farrisa@nyu.film.net
Date: 3-24-16 4:15 p.m.
Subj: Re: Letters
First of all, YES, it was wrong to look through that poor woman's papers. And, YES, of course I forgive you on account of the letter you found. How surprisingly romantic.
To be honest, though, considering the information I found out today, I cannot say I am surprised. It seems that the world around is collapsing, my friend, for all these older people have much more by way of romance than either of us.
I was walking towards my car, finally going home for a weekend of relief when Mr. Gordon approached me (not from behind a tree, in case you're wondering) his eyes bright with concern.
"Arwen, is there ANY way you could do me a favor this weekend?"
I guess I must have been staring at him in a not entirely kind way, because he rushed ahead. "I just got a call saying my dad was in an accident and I really need to fly out to my hometown to look in on him. And I was wondering if you could stay in my apartment until I get back on Sunday morning. You know, water the plants, get the paper, that kind of thing."
"Oh, geeze, Mr. Gordon, sure, of course. Is your dad going to be okay?"
He nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, he'll be fine, but my mom really wants me to be there with her until he gets out of the hospital."
With a few short instructions on how to care for his roses, and directions to the mentioned apartment he handed me the keys.
"Thanks," he called over his shoulder, as he ran towards the teacher parking lot and, assumingly, his car.
Isabelle, you wouldn't BELIEVE this place. It's like the inside of the Plaza. Who'd have guessed a man would have so many rooms for JUST HIM.
Anyway, so I fed his roses and watered his plants, and was about to amuse myself with his huge selection of DVD's when I decided that I should send you an e-mail to let you know about my sudden change of plans. I found his office after about 10 minutes of searching, and had just gone to the university web site to check my e-mail when my eye caught sight of something tucked under several stacks of papers, as if it had been hidden there on purpose. As if the sight of it caused Mr. G pain. And, after withdrawing it, I could see why.
It was a picture, Isabelle, something that, if casually glanced at, would simply look like a class photo. But upon closer examination I blinked at what I saw. There was Mr. G! Well, he was younger, certainly, he must have been in about the 8th grade. And to his direct right was a girl in a pink shirt, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. I stared at it for probably a full minute, and right when I was about to return it to it's hiding place, my eyes zeroed in on another photo, one of him and the same girl, their arms wrapped around each other. This picture was much more recent and I dated it to, probably, his junior year of high school. I flipped it over and noticed the explanation:
"Me and Lizzie."
That was all. "Me and Lizzie." But the picture seemed to shout something along the lines of, "This is me and the girl I love. We belong together." There was something between them that I found moving.
So I started searching through his home for albums and it wasn't long before I found them. My friend, never in my life have I seen so many pictures of one girl! Hundreds of them. From when they were babies to their graduation from high school, there are pictures that suit every event. Dances (with one picture of them dancing on a patio. What is THAT about????), graduations, class trips, family trips… They always seem to be together. Letters and cards, too, but they weren't too exciting.
Anyway, I'm probably going to go through more of his stuff tonight, and I'll e-mail you again tomorrow.
Until Then,
Arwen