Fit the second
Some LIAC comrades asked me to post the whole sorry history of L and me. I posted a first part, which took the reader up to the moment when I realised that in L I had met the one love of my life . She stayed happily oblivious of this. Now read on…
The next week we continued to e-mail one another as if nothing much had happened. She asked me for a drink, to thank her for having helped her with some work. On the way there I made an utter idiot of myself, pompously holding forth about Ezra Pound for some reason. I improved on this by falling over in the street. We had some drinks in a pub for a couple of hours until the time came for me to catch my train. I don’t know why I did this, it was not my plan and I think doomed to fail, but as we walked towards the station I felt impelled to tell her. In a panicky voice, I managed to say, “ L, I must tell you something”. She looked amused and puzzled, and I continued, ” I’m afraid I'm rather smitten with you". Try as I might, with hindsight I cannot think of a more ridiculous or crass form of words for a declaration of love. I felt and must have looked utterly miserable, the least attractive suitor any woman ever saw. She wasn’t cross, but seemed surprised. She said that she was flattered, that she didn’t reciprocate, and that she thought of me as a friend. She held me outside the station, we kissed goodbye rather clumsily and she said that if I e-emailed her she would always reply.
That night and the next day I was wretched; I remembered and worried at every word that we had spoken to one another, trying to work out if she had taken refuge in the stock answers that someone might make to an unwelcome would-be lover or if she might mean what she said about friendship; I didn't dare think that anything else might be possible. I wrote a letter the next morning in which I apologised, said I realised I was not a very attractive proposition (married with children, older than her and so on), that I understood that the devastating feelings I had for her were not returned and that I would completely understand if she no longer wanted to have anything to do with me, other than the necessary work contacts. I rashly promised her that my conduct would be utterly professional if she felt nothing personal should pass between us (this was never tested, thank heavens, for I’m not sure I could have kept this promise at all).
A government minister visited that day, with ballyhoo, speeches, champagne and so on. I left as soon as I could, and ran into her outside, where she was having a cigarette. There was a short exchange:
Me: I’ve written you a letter. Please read it
L: Oh. Was I ever flirtatious?
Me: No, no, of course you weren’t. It’s my fault, entirely.
L: OK. Goodbye
Me: Goodbye.
The next week we continued to e-mail one another as if nothing much had happened. She asked me for a drink, to thank her for having helped her with some work. On the way there I made an utter idiot of myself, pompously holding forth about Ezra Pound for some reason. I improved on this by falling over in the street. We had some drinks in a pub for a couple of hours until the time came for me to catch my train. I don’t know why I did this, it was not my plan and I think doomed to fail, but as we walked towards the station I felt impelled to tell her. In a panicky voice, I managed to say, “ L, I must tell you something”. She looked amused and puzzled, and I continued, ” I’m afraid I'm rather smitten with you". Try as I might, with hindsight I cannot think of a more ridiculous or crass form of words for a declaration of love. I felt and must have looked utterly miserable, the least attractive suitor any woman ever saw. She wasn’t cross, but seemed surprised. She said that she was flattered, that she didn’t reciprocate, and that she thought of me as a friend. She held me outside the station, we kissed goodbye rather clumsily and she said that if I e-emailed her she would always reply.
That night and the next day I was wretched; I remembered and worried at every word that we had spoken to one another, trying to work out if she had taken refuge in the stock answers that someone might make to an unwelcome would-be lover or if she might mean what she said about friendship; I didn't dare think that anything else might be possible. I wrote a letter the next morning in which I apologised, said I realised I was not a very attractive proposition (married with children, older than her and so on), that I understood that the devastating feelings I had for her were not returned and that I would completely understand if she no longer wanted to have anything to do with me, other than the necessary work contacts. I rashly promised her that my conduct would be utterly professional if she felt nothing personal should pass between us (this was never tested, thank heavens, for I’m not sure I could have kept this promise at all).
A government minister visited that day, with ballyhoo, speeches, champagne and so on. I left as soon as I could, and ran into her outside, where she was having a cigarette. There was a short exchange:
Me: I’ve written you a letter. Please read it
L: Oh. Was I ever flirtatious?
Me: No, no, of course you weren’t. It’s my fault, entirely.
L: OK. Goodbye
Me: Goodbye.
posted by Lovelorn Swain | 4:28 pm
