The Dreamer ✓

Letter 22

NO.22; A LETTER ABOUT SOMETHING YOU'RE AFRAID TO ADMIT

MARCH 28th, 2014

Dear James,

For the last few weeks, I've been going into school early to get some work done in the common room when it's still empty. And plus, I like being by myself in the quiet before rest of the school arrive with all the chaos in tow. Exams are less than two months away and I've been revising for about four hours every night. Georgia thinks I'm neurotic for starting this early but she doesn't just how much work I'll need to get through if I want to get three A's. The prospect of going to Edinburgh and getting to study law is the only thing that's pulling through these last few months of sixth form. Like I told you once, these exams are tough but I'm tougher. I have to repeat it to myself every morning. I don't believe it but if I say it long enough, I just might.

Anyway, yesterday, I walked into the common room with my Politics textbooks clutched against my chest, ready to go over what we'd done last lesson and make some concise notes for the more intense periods of revision in mid-April. I stopped a few feet from the double doors when I spotted you sitting on the long sofas in the far corner. You had a pair of headphones over your head, bobbing your head in that adorable way like you always do, as you read a book. When I walked over to you, I saw it was Catcher in the Rye. I watched you for a second, indulging in the way your long dark lashes fanned across your cheeks and the way you nibbled ever so slightly on your lower lip as you read. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

I cleared my throat but you didn't look up, the music must have been playing too loudly. So, I sat down next to you and bumped your shoulder. You jumped, as if only remembering other humans existed, and looked at me. Your eyes – bright green in the morning sunlight that cascaded through the windows – widened.

"Morgana, shit," you said as you pulled off your headphones, "you scared me."

I laughed, "What are you doing here? School doesn't start for another hour."

"I could say the same to you."

I gestured to the Politic textbooks in my lap, "Catching up on some work, I do this every morning, what's your excuse?"

You shrugged, "I like the quiet, gives me time to think."

"Same," I said, I glanced at the book in your hand, "Catcher in the Rye? Is that the one you're doing for your English essay?"

"Yeah, I was struggling to find something and Natalie suggested I read Catcher in the Rye," you said, "I'm only on the fifth chapter but it's pretty good."

My nose scrunched up at the mention of Natalie Huxham. It was stupid. I knew she was a perfectly lovely girl, I'd talked to her plenty of times to notice (much to my dismay) she was a sweetheart and I was already half in love with her myself.

"You and Natalie," I began, trying to sound nonchalant but I got the distinct feeling I was failing. "You two...er...you're cute together."

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing, "What are you talking about?"

"Natalie, she's pretty..." I forced a laugh, "If you don't ask her out already someone else will, James."

You chuckled, "What? I'm not interested in Natalie like that. She's a good friend." You said, "And anyway, I'm not really looking for a relationship right now, not with exams approaching and not after Leon–"

You froze.

"Leon?" I said. "Who's Leon?"

You rubbed the back of your neck – and I could tell you were deciding whether or not to tell me the truth.

"My ex," you said finally, dropping your hand down into your lap, "We dated for about a year back in Year Eleven. He was...he was great but y'know he hadn't quite accepted he was gay yet so...he didn't want anyone to know about us. I didn't want to be anyone's dirty little secret and I didn't want to push him into coming out so I ended things a few weeks before starting sixth form here. Sorry, I..." you gave me a worried glance, "I...I don't really like to talk about it."

I was quiet for a few seconds as I tried to properly process what I'd just heard. "I...um, no, yeah...um God, James, it's fine." I said and paused again, "So, are you...uh... are you gay?"

"Uh, I don't know, I think I might be pansexual if anything," you replied with a casual uncertainty that brought a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection for you. "A person's gender or sexuality or whatever has never really bothered me. I mean –" you shrugged, "you should love someone for who they are, not what they are."

Another wave of affection, this one deeper and all-consuming washed over me. I almost couldn't breathe. You surprise me, James. Just when I think I have you figured out, when I think I can't possible like you anymore you go and surprise me.

I thought about Imogen Reed, about her brilliant mind and her unwavering belief in me, and that somewhere, in some other life I would have fallen for her too. If you hadn't come in my life James, I think I would pining over Imogen right now.

I glanced at you, and smiled, "You can't help who you love."

You smiled back, "No...No, you can't."

I swallowed. The butterflies in my stomach were spinning faster now.

James, this has to be my fourth letter to you. Out everyone, it's you I keep gravitating towards. I would say I was the moon and you were sun but if you look at the sun for too long it blinds you and if you get too close you'll get burnt. Actually, that last part might not apply to you. No. Wait, it might actually apply to me instead.

I don't want to be close enough to get hurt. There's only so many knives a girl can take to the heart, James. I think the last knife, the one cut that makes me bleed and bleed into death will be yours. I'm scared of that one step, the slip that will pull me into your orbit and I'll be falling into you, burning up with each second, blinded by the sheer brightness of your light.

I'm scared because it's too late. I've slipped and I'm falling and falling and there's no catching me. I think it's too late for all the fear. It's all useless now.

It must have been hard for you to talk about Leon, so I'm going to admit something that scares me.

James, I think I might love you. Not the friendly the kind of love. The kind they write about in novels, the kind that led Paris to steal Helen, the reason the stars keep watching humanity even though we make the same mistakes over and over.

Mr Ekwensi says we're too young to know what love is but he's wrong. That would mean we're too young to know hate and death. But I know death, I've felt its black tendrils snaking around my neck in the middle of the night as I struggle to breathe. I know love, I've felt it when you slip your warm hand in mine to tug me to class. I've felt it in the long stretch of our conversations, in the way light floods into my world the moment I see you, in the way you throw your head back and your laughter shoots straight into my chest.

I know love and I know I love you.

It was inevitable wasn't it? You're inevitable, James. All the roads may not lead to you, but all the roads have you waiting somewhere, smiling your sunshine smile.

Love, Morgana.