Thursday, June 15, 2006
Put the pen
To the paper
Press the envelope
With my scent
Can't you see
In my handwriting
The curve Of my g?
It turns me on [Sorry about the extended absence, and yeah, the rest of my trip was great. We can talk about it later].
Your blue eyes
On my words
Your beautiful pen
Take the cap off
Give me a sign and I'd come
-PJ Harvey - The Letter
For now I just want to express my childish glee because tonight Hayley said she loves me.
She. Loves. Me.
And it doesn't matter that it didn't happen in even remotely the way I thought it would. I didn't blurt it out in an embarrassing moment, or say it when it sounded like I really meant "that was great," or "nice shoes." Nope.
She said it. To me.
But since she's Hayley she said it under the weirdest circumstances humanly possible. She asked me if I wanted to go get change with her. I raised my eyebrows -- "get....change?" I stammered, because for a moment thought she had said "get changed," and was thinking up a witty response like "only if I get to see you naked," or "yeah, those clothes would look great on your floor." Hafuckingha. But no, she meant get change, as in run to the 7-Eleven for some loonies so she could do her laundry. "Here," I offered, and pulled a handful of coins out of my jeans pocket. "Do you really have two loonies?" she asked me, blue eyes all wide in that way that never fails to floor me. "Yep," I answered."
"I love you!" she exclaimed, and I....was....silent.
How does one respond to such a strange declaration of love? Well, if you're a convoluted slightly-grown-up-child such as myself, you lie on her lap for another hour watching PJ Harvey videos until your heart stops beating too fast for you to ask her if she meant those words, or if she just really needed a couple of bucks for the dryer.
Her response was equally convoluted, which I think is why I love her back.
She said...."um...I say that to a lot of people." I was perplexed, and told her so. She laughed that heartstring-tugging giggle of hers, and my stomach dropped a bit. "So...does that mean yes, you mean it?" I enquired further, because dammit I was not going to the country to think all weekend without getting a straight answer out of that girl.
"I say that to a lot of people, people I like, and people I care about."
Polly Jean finished singing, and musing about songwriting. The last scene on the dvd was a rendition of The Desperate Kingdom of Love, sung on a long highway at night. How apropos.
She started getting ready for work, in that hamsterish way where she moves a lot faster than she needs to and tugs her shirt off with one hand while kicking away a suitcase with another. I've been cutting her a lot of slack lately. Her dad died a few weeks ago, and I called her from Wales and listened to her cry on the phone, helpless to do anything useful, like hold her and say the right things and kiss that spot behind her collarbone. She's sad and I'm not about to push it.
But...I had to know. Finally, she said it. "Yes, I meant it. I mean it. Okay?"
Yess....okay. 150% okay.
And so I told her those things I never tell her. About my heart beating too fast for me to say words like "I love you," even when they're true and I mean them. I told her she intimidates me, because she's important and I don't want to scare her off. She kissed me, and I asked her if we're on the same page. She said "I don't know..." and then "yes."
Haha. What a strange and entirely delightful character she is.
I walked home in the rain, with that cliched spring in my step and bright blue eyes in my head, listening to PJ Harvey, and feeling like each letter home had been worth the ink and stamps.