The Letter

A suggestion for this challenge was to preface the letter, card, or note, with a reference to the character(s) and story from which s/he originated. With the permission of the "challenger," we placed it at the end instead.

I considered including a letter in the card you just read, but my fear caused me to test the waters with that before jumping into the deep end with this.

In my technical writing course, we were taught to begin a letter with "Dear or To so-and-so," followed by a comma or colon depending on whether it's personal or professional. I've never understood the convention if it's only intended to be read by a single individual. This is only meant for you, but I shall comply thusly:

Dear You,

Yeah, no. That's too weird. Please forgive the mark-out, but more might happen since I'm writing in ink.

I need to begin by telling you how vulnerable I'm feeling. It's taking me more courage to write this than I can describe. I think I've spent at least two hours trying to organize my thoughts into words that won't make me sound stupid.

The card you've now read revealed my feelings, so yeah, it's out there now. I wrote that I think I'm falling for you, but I wasn't completely honest.

You've told me how you enjoy my personality, that I'm "gregarious, witty, and wonderfully opinionated." Those were your words, and I take them all as a compliment.

What you don't know is, in all reality, I'm an almost pathological introvert and how difficult it is for me to act the way you see me. It's also why I'm writing this letter, because it's impossible for me to speak these thoughts to you verbally.

Yes, I used the word "act" because it's the truth. Since I'm a senior and you're a freshman, you couldn't know how during high school I maintained my status quo. When I decided to study here, I knew I'd need to adjust my "social norms" so I could fit in with the "crowd" especially considering the career I will soon be undertaking.

It seems so crazy how your rubber ball could be the genesis for our first encounter, and the only thing that's ever happened to me that I'd consider serendipitous. When you invited me and Nikki to join you and your friends for dinner, I forced myself out of my shell because your reaction to my intrusion at your door, followed by your apologies, hinted you were unlike any guy I've ever met.

Thank you. I mean it. Thank you for bouncing the ball. I've never thought of myself as religious, but I'm beginning to reconsider my beliefs. Perhaps there is a higher power which gave me the nerve to go up to your room because the idea of confrontation is so ominous and dreadful to me.

You were so polite, understanding, and sweet! Sometimes I still hear you bouncing it, but only once or twice. It's as if you occasionally forget what it sounds like in my room, but quickly remember and stop. I also wonder if maybe you do remember, and it's a sort of a coded and sweet way of saying hello from a distance. Either way, it makes me smile.

As I wrote above, I'm feeling very vulnerable. Forgive me if this seems disorganized, but I'm really very nervous.

I enjoy eating dinner with you, but I sometimes resent how you seem so comfortable with your "usual crowd."

I get it. Familiarity is a good thing, but what's familiar to you isn't to me. I first stepped into your zone because of your courtesy, and continue doing it to be close to you, even though it means being surrounded by others. I look forward to eating with you alone, just you and me, sharing with each other our secrets, getting to know each other on a much more personal level.

There was that one time after dinner months ago when your roommate and his friend were trying to get under my skin. It was when I told you there was nothing you could ever say to me that would embarrass or offend me. They tested me by asking juvenile and personal questions. My roommate chose not to defend me, and your friends were almost successful in forcing me back into my shell. It hurt, Gary, it really did.

It may seem strange, but I didn't perceive your silence as a lack of defense. I considered it as a proper response because you didn't pile on. You didn't join them. You had the opportunity, but instead, I saw in your eyes the regret you felt at their immaturity. It showed me how different you are. The good different, you know? Something not said is often of far greater weight.

After everyone else left, I told you something secret. I did it on the spur of the moment because I'd recently fantasized about having your hands on me, gently touching my breasts. I hoped maybe telling you what I told you that night lead you to fantasize, too. To be honest, I don't think I'll ever feel whole until I feel you touch me intimately, even if it's only a pat on my butt.

I can't tell you how many times I've dreamt of your arms wrapped around me in a warm embrace, your gentle caresses and touches, your wooing encouragements as you praise my body or the taste of my lips as we kiss. Your exploration might happen in darkness because such things need no guidance of light. Your primal, feral instincts might drive you as you discover my physical response to your presence.

I doubt you do it intentionally, but when you sit with your legs crossed, I sometimes see the fullness hidden between them. It makes my heart race, so be careful unless you're purposefully trying to entice me. My studies have advised how painful even a minor bump can be, so my fantasy of you allowing my hands to touch you there would convey shows you trust me in such physical vulnerability.

The night before last, I awakened having dreamt of it! If I must confess, even writing this letter is causing the same effects as those I've awakened to several times now, which sometimes require me to change a certain article of clothing.

I hope you don't think I'm a perverted stereotypical college-girl slut for confessing these things. I'm doing it because our time is short. I'm graduating in a month, and I'm afraid and uncertain of the future. Because I don't like one particular scenario, I'm willing to look for a job with the hospital or the nursing homes here in Podunk so I can remain close to you, but only if you ask.

I have to admit to you the incredible sense of fulfillment I experienced when you let me take care of you during finals week last semester when you had the flu. I know from first-hand experience how horrible you felt because I was down with it when I was home before during Thanksgiving break. That you trusted me to tend to you, to comfort you, to care for you, and to help you sleep by stroking your hair and running my fingers over your ches﹏﹏ Sorry. That came from a sudden shiver.

I felt so connected to you that night, you know? When you fell asleep with your head resting in my lap, I hoped you felt as connected to me then as I did to you. It was so sweet how you accepted my care for what it was. I love you, and it made me happy to offer you the TLC you needed and deserved.

Even though I'm certain you know I'm uncomfortable in certain social situations, you've never given me grief about it. That night, because of your proximity to certain parts of me, you could have easily taken advantage of the situation, but you didn't. You've never treated me with anything other than the courtesy of the gentleman you are.

I have fallen in love with you, Gary! It's as simple as that. You are the reveal of a riddle. You are the confidence of a secret. You are the answer to a prayer.

I've revealed my feelings to seven sheets of stationery vellum, and a small hint of my perfume to the envelope. Now that you've read them, I'm sincerely hoping you'll knock on my door seeking our first kiss, and maybe something else.

Love (in the truest sense),
Selena Braun

The author of the letter originates in one of our earlier tales, The Perils Of Love Chapter 1, Page 2. That tale also reveals what happened next.