Ink Blots

quatre

dear north,

   I will never forget the way you looked at me that night.

You brought me to your favorite diner and introduced me to the waiters, told me the story behind that place. You laughed when I got ketchup at the corner of my mouth and reached to wipe it off, but I did it first. You kept staring at my lips after that; to the point that I thought I still had something on them.

You looked at me as if I was a light in the end of a pitch-black tunnel. You looked at me as if you were blind, and you were seeing for the first time.

     We were driving to the middle of nowhere, and you turned off the radio. You stopped at the bottom of the highest hill in town; held my hand as you led me to the exact spot where we could clearly see the stars. You talked and talked, endlessly. I had trouble keeping up at first and told you to slow down several times. You noticed my wide eyes and took a deep breath, calmed down a little. But your foot wouldn't stop moving; it probably was the ADHD.

     You had the stars written in your eyes, and oh, my love, they could never burn out.

     "Lilac, are you keeping up?" you signed.

    "Uh—yeah," I cleared my throat. I hadn't been keeping up, but was too busy staring at the freckle you hate so much, the one between your eyebrows. You were probably talking about your favorite movie.

     You shook your head, smiling. "Liar, liar. Lying is bad, Lilac."

     "I like to believe so too," I said; unaware of the next stream of words. "Sorry, North. You fascinate me."

     Instead of teasing me about calling you fascinating on the first date, you inclined your head slightly. "How do you say 'fascinate' in sign language?"

     I put my hands in two C cups in front of each other, shook my fingers as if I played an instrument and formed fists with my hands. I expected for you to mess up, but you signed the word perfectly.

     "Like that?"

     "Yeah."

    "Then, you," one finger in my direction, then the same motions I showed you, "fascinate me. And I didn't mean to recycle your compliment, it's just the truth."

     It might have been then that I had realized that I truly liked you, as more than a friend. I'm surprised you didn't comment on my furious blushing then, North.

9You know how liking you felt? (Not loving you.) It felt as if my insides were a set of twelve year olds, jumping up and down. You lit me up on fire, and frick, North, I'm officially crying. You lit me up on fire on a December night, and left the fire burning there.

    You put your hands behind you, leaned on them. "Can I ask you something?"

    "You can, of course. May you, though?"

     "I may, miss English teacher. I'm not Val," you chuckled. "But I need an answer, an honest one."

    "I thought we just established that lying is bad? Just ask, North."

    "Why haven't I seen you around before? If I had, I would've probably remembered you. You can't be forgotten. So, why is the tutoring the only time I see you?"

    I took a moment to wonder, and answered: "Because you weren't looking for me, probably. Or because you didn't know me. I go to a school for the deaf."

    "Oh."

    I thought you were about to start talking about my deafness, as most people did. But you didn't. You said: "Back to the lying thing. Maybe you've known enough about me to know when I lie."

    You were close, now. Still in front of me, but our legs were the only thing that separated us.

    "Am I lying if I say that I find your eyelashes abnormally long?"

    "No," I smiled. "I get that a lot."

    "Okay. Good guess. Am I lying if I say that you're probably the best thing that I've been around in a few months?"

    "Yeah, because your sister is an angel. That's a lie."

    "True, good. Now, this is a big one. Are you ready for this?"

    "Only if you are."

    I forgot how to breathe, when you said: "Am I lying if I say that I'd very much like to kiss you?"

    "No," I said.

    You kissed me, then. My insides were deflated now, filled with sighs to last days. I felt alone with you, North. Can you imagine what I would've done upon finding out that this would be the first of hundreds and hundreds of kisses? Can you imagine if I told first-date Lilac that you liked to kiss me twice when we saw each other and when we left, because you stated that "once is never enough."

I miss that night, I really do. Most of all, I miss you.

with all the love in this miserable world, lilac

-

can anyone guess why she's writing him these letters? he's not dead.