re: the muppets (part three)
Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Part One and here for Part Two.
I can't remember if I read the letter or looked at the pictures first. Her words held equal reign over my curiosity. It's hard to recall which desire -- to see her or read her thoughts -- eventually won out.
Her letter was energetic, exuberant and bursting with charm. Just like her. She included a joking disclaimer that she hoped I wouldn't run away in fear at the sight of her.
No danger of that.
She was positively beautiful: shoulder-length-chestnut-straight-yet-lustrous hair; enviable cheek bones; a gorgeous smile and an olive complexion that trumpeted her Lebanese and Native American heritage.
Her eyes were almond-shaped and heavy-lidded. Total bedroom eyes, although that was the furthest thing from my mind at the time. They weren't quite hazel in color but rather an amber/burnt-sienna mix. Eventually, I would get lost in those very same eyes for hours at a time. She could hypnotize me with a simple blink. To her, blinking was an involuntary reflex. To me, it was a dramatic event. It was almost like she blinked in slow motion. Time slowed down when I was trapped in her gaze.
But there was nothing sexual or predatory about my initial reaction to her appearance. I felt a sense of pride in her beauty similar to what I felt for my other friends. When they were all dolled up or even if the light just caught them in a particularly flattering way, I'd pay them a compliment, just as they did for me. Female friends can do that for each other without a second thought. I appreciated her beauty in a platonic, almost big-sisterly way.
But still, she touched me in a way that I couldn't quite understand or articulate.
I sent her an email later that night to let her know I'd received her letter and photos. I felt no pressure to compliment her. Extolling her physical virtues came easy and I felt no hesitancy or shame in telling her that she was as gorgeous on the outside and she was on the inside.
She was thrilled at my reaction. Her words of thanks were the equivalent of back flips. I smiled at her display of unbridled joy. Making her happy was so completely enjoyable. I would soon become addicted to making her smile.
As effusive as she was with her thanks, I could tell she was a bit taken aback by her own response. I had my first inkling that I touched her in way that she couldn't quite understand or articulate either.
Each day was the equivalent of a dog year with her in terms of our comfort and familiarity with each other. We covered more ground in an hour than some people did in ten years. I was still fretting over her reaction to my photo but in the two days that passed before she received it, she had already done wonders to make me more comfortable with her and confident in myself.
And finally, the day arrived when she received my letter and photo. I couldn't wait to get home from work to check my email. I was dying to know what she thought. My hopes deflated when I saw that there was no email from her waiting for me.
Self-doubt began its smothering creep in my mind.
Oh my God, she thinks I'm hideous! She took one look at me and is ruing the day she ever made contact with me. My beautiful, little girl thinks I'm a beast.
I worked myself into quite a tizzy at my computer. My confident and charismatic online persona started to crumble. It was beginning to resemble my "real" self more and more as the minutes passed.
And then the Instant Messenger doorbell chimed and I saw her name appear on my Buddy List. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. I sucked in so much air that I nearly choked.
Before I could even exhale, an IM window opened with the greeting, "Hello, beautiful girl!"
My heart was still racing but it was now due to excitement rather than fear. All the muscles in my back relaxed and released me from my stressed-out hunched-over posture. I was somehow able to convey an air of nonchalance.
I managed to overcome my shock and doubt to thank her profusely. She was surprised by my surprise. She just assumed I knew I was hot stuff. I didn't go into detail about my bruising battle with low self-esteem because I refused to let that follow me into this lovely place we had carved out. So I believably feigned modesty and indifference about my appearance.
We chatted for hours that night mutually admiring each other the whole time. She even gushed about my penmanship. I had never had a conversation like this. I mean, I had received compliments before but this was just... I don't know, different. She was so honest and raw. She wasn't scared to say exactly what was in her heart and in her head. She wasn't worried that I'd think she was weird or, perish the thought, a lesbian! And I found myself returning her compliments and kind words without a care or worry. Not out of polite reciprocation but out of a genuine desire. I trusted her.
I seized every opportunity to lift her spirits or put a spring in her step. If an opportunity didn't arise organically, I created one. As she did she.
We continued to exchange emails, IMs and snail-mail letters and care packages back and forth. The generosity and sentiment we displayed was really astounding. We were both neck and neck in this race to please each other. It didn't tip to one side at all. If I thought I had pulled ahead in the competition, I would come home to find an email telling me how special I was or a letter containing a poem or a box waiting for me with a gift inside. Sometimes all three in the same day.
Keep in mind that I was still living at home at the time. My mother noticed that I was getting weekly letters and packages with a Tulsa postmark and asked me about it. She wasn't being nosy nor did she pry about the contents (she said she was just making sure I wasn't ordering "a load of junk" when I was supposed to be saving my money to move out.)
But I became prickly about the question. And not just with my mother. I was noticeably distracted by my Oklahoma "hobby" and it generated some inquiries from my sisters and friends. I was immediately defensive because I was a little embarrassed at the age of 24 to be engaged in a pen pal exchange with an 18-year-old girl.
But mostly, I knew that this was WAY different from any other friendship I had.
We weren't transporting lingerie and saucy materials back and forth across the country but our correspondence and gifts were intimate, meaningful and highly personal. If someone caught wind of them and didn't know any better, they'd swear we were madly in love.
In fact, she had recently begun signing off all her emails, IMs and letters with an "I love you." I was a bit taken aback because it's not something I uttered or wrote. Ever. I can say without equivocation that I had never said it before unless I was goofing around. To anyone. Sure, I felt love and I showed it but I just couldn't say it.
I totally loved this girl but I wasn't ready or willing to tell her that. She was just my friend, right? I didn't say that to my friends. It's just understood. She was no different. So the best I could muster was a smiley emoticon and a "Love, Curly" at the end of my messages.
And she understood. She didn't push. She didn't question why. She didn't feel hurt or embarrassed when I didn't type the phrase back. She knew I was a tough nut to crack. She didn't know all of the specific circumstances that made me so guarded but she understood and gave me the space to express myself in my own way and on my own timeline.
One night we had been chatting into the wee hours of the morning and, as usual, she offered up an "I love you" as we were saying our good nights. After about a second or two of hesitation, I replied, "I love you too."
No smiley face. No "Yeah, me too." No goofing around. It was real.
After I sent it, I gasped, blushed and then cupped my hands over my face. I felt embarrassed and completely afraid. I was shocked and began second-guessing this bold (for me) move. My heart pounded a fast, crazy rhythm and my body started to shake while I waited for her response.
>> Go to Part Four
-- Part One
-- Part Two
~ Part Three~
I can't remember if I read the letter or looked at the pictures first. Her words held equal reign over my curiosity. It's hard to recall which desire -- to see her or read her thoughts -- eventually won out.
Her letter was energetic, exuberant and bursting with charm. Just like her. She included a joking disclaimer that she hoped I wouldn't run away in fear at the sight of her.
No danger of that.
She was positively beautiful: shoulder-length-chestnut-straight-yet-lustrous hair; enviable cheek bones; a gorgeous smile and an olive complexion that trumpeted her Lebanese and Native American heritage.
Her eyes were almond-shaped and heavy-lidded. Total bedroom eyes, although that was the furthest thing from my mind at the time. They weren't quite hazel in color but rather an amber/burnt-sienna mix. Eventually, I would get lost in those very same eyes for hours at a time. She could hypnotize me with a simple blink. To her, blinking was an involuntary reflex. To me, it was a dramatic event. It was almost like she blinked in slow motion. Time slowed down when I was trapped in her gaze.
But there was nothing sexual or predatory about my initial reaction to her appearance. I felt a sense of pride in her beauty similar to what I felt for my other friends. When they were all dolled up or even if the light just caught them in a particularly flattering way, I'd pay them a compliment, just as they did for me. Female friends can do that for each other without a second thought. I appreciated her beauty in a platonic, almost big-sisterly way.
But still, she touched me in a way that I couldn't quite understand or articulate.
I sent her an email later that night to let her know I'd received her letter and photos. I felt no pressure to compliment her. Extolling her physical virtues came easy and I felt no hesitancy or shame in telling her that she was as gorgeous on the outside and she was on the inside.
She was thrilled at my reaction. Her words of thanks were the equivalent of back flips. I smiled at her display of unbridled joy. Making her happy was so completely enjoyable. I would soon become addicted to making her smile.
As effusive as she was with her thanks, I could tell she was a bit taken aback by her own response. I had my first inkling that I touched her in way that she couldn't quite understand or articulate either.
Each day was the equivalent of a dog year with her in terms of our comfort and familiarity with each other. We covered more ground in an hour than some people did in ten years. I was still fretting over her reaction to my photo but in the two days that passed before she received it, she had already done wonders to make me more comfortable with her and confident in myself.
And finally, the day arrived when she received my letter and photo. I couldn't wait to get home from work to check my email. I was dying to know what she thought. My hopes deflated when I saw that there was no email from her waiting for me.
Self-doubt began its smothering creep in my mind.
Oh my God, she thinks I'm hideous! She took one look at me and is ruing the day she ever made contact with me. My beautiful, little girl thinks I'm a beast.
I worked myself into quite a tizzy at my computer. My confident and charismatic online persona started to crumble. It was beginning to resemble my "real" self more and more as the minutes passed.
And then the Instant Messenger doorbell chimed and I saw her name appear on my Buddy List. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. I sucked in so much air that I nearly choked.
Before I could even exhale, an IM window opened with the greeting, "Hello, beautiful girl!"
My heart was still racing but it was now due to excitement rather than fear. All the muscles in my back relaxed and released me from my stressed-out hunched-over posture. I was somehow able to convey an air of nonchalance.
Me: Hi yourself, pretty! Whatcha doing?Whoa! Me? Stunning? But... I was invisible. I was nothing special. No one really noticed me before. Why was she so taken with me?
Her: Oh nothing... just staring at a picture of a really gorgeous woman...
Me: Aw, go on...
Her: I can't stop looking at your picture. You're simply stunning.
I managed to overcome my shock and doubt to thank her profusely. She was surprised by my surprise. She just assumed I knew I was hot stuff. I didn't go into detail about my bruising battle with low self-esteem because I refused to let that follow me into this lovely place we had carved out. So I believably feigned modesty and indifference about my appearance.
We chatted for hours that night mutually admiring each other the whole time. She even gushed about my penmanship. I had never had a conversation like this. I mean, I had received compliments before but this was just... I don't know, different. She was so honest and raw. She wasn't scared to say exactly what was in her heart and in her head. She wasn't worried that I'd think she was weird or, perish the thought, a lesbian! And I found myself returning her compliments and kind words without a care or worry. Not out of polite reciprocation but out of a genuine desire. I trusted her.
I seized every opportunity to lift her spirits or put a spring in her step. If an opportunity didn't arise organically, I created one. As she did she.
We continued to exchange emails, IMs and snail-mail letters and care packages back and forth. The generosity and sentiment we displayed was really astounding. We were both neck and neck in this race to please each other. It didn't tip to one side at all. If I thought I had pulled ahead in the competition, I would come home to find an email telling me how special I was or a letter containing a poem or a box waiting for me with a gift inside. Sometimes all three in the same day.
Keep in mind that I was still living at home at the time. My mother noticed that I was getting weekly letters and packages with a Tulsa postmark and asked me about it. She wasn't being nosy nor did she pry about the contents (she said she was just making sure I wasn't ordering "a load of junk" when I was supposed to be saving my money to move out.)
But I became prickly about the question. And not just with my mother. I was noticeably distracted by my Oklahoma "hobby" and it generated some inquiries from my sisters and friends. I was immediately defensive because I was a little embarrassed at the age of 24 to be engaged in a pen pal exchange with an 18-year-old girl.
But mostly, I knew that this was WAY different from any other friendship I had.
We weren't transporting lingerie and saucy materials back and forth across the country but our correspondence and gifts were intimate, meaningful and highly personal. If someone caught wind of them and didn't know any better, they'd swear we were madly in love.
In fact, she had recently begun signing off all her emails, IMs and letters with an "I love you." I was a bit taken aback because it's not something I uttered or wrote. Ever. I can say without equivocation that I had never said it before unless I was goofing around. To anyone. Sure, I felt love and I showed it but I just couldn't say it.
I totally loved this girl but I wasn't ready or willing to tell her that. She was just my friend, right? I didn't say that to my friends. It's just understood. She was no different. So the best I could muster was a smiley emoticon and a "Love, Curly" at the end of my messages.
And she understood. She didn't push. She didn't question why. She didn't feel hurt or embarrassed when I didn't type the phrase back. She knew I was a tough nut to crack. She didn't know all of the specific circumstances that made me so guarded but she understood and gave me the space to express myself in my own way and on my own timeline.
One night we had been chatting into the wee hours of the morning and, as usual, she offered up an "I love you" as we were saying our good nights. After about a second or two of hesitation, I replied, "I love you too."
No smiley face. No "Yeah, me too." No goofing around. It was real.
After I sent it, I gasped, blushed and then cupped my hands over my face. I felt embarrassed and completely afraid. I was shocked and began second-guessing this bold (for me) move. My heart pounded a fast, crazy rhythm and my body started to shake while I waited for her response.
>> Go to Part Four
-- Part One
-- Part Two
posted by curly mcdimple @ 3:16 PM :: permalink :: ::
