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finnish, even if you didn't like my fic, tell me what you thought, I want
to know that people are actually reading this. thank you!
Love Letters
to: (Jane Lane) [email protected]
from: (Daria Morgendorffer) [email protected]
Jane,
Rather than begin the predictable rattling on about my early experiences as a Raft Freshman, even though the predictions I made about the ignorant student body, self-righteous professors and blatant greed are rapidly coming true, I think I'll put you on the spot and ask for every mundane detail of your first few weeks in college. I hope you haven't killed anyone yet, as I am no longer your nagging voice of reason, or at least not as effective a nag since I don't see you everyday. Oddly enough, I'm beginning to miss being that, despite the dull, stick in the mud persona I was ultimately enmeshed in.
Tom called me yesterday from Bromwell. Already, I can hear the change in his voice, the subtle snobbery that was always there is now screaming from his newly acquired New England accent. I think all I can say without sounding mean is that the pain of our break-up is no longer present. But that's not to say that I'm not hurting right now. I'm hurting like Hell and I know you know why.
I'm sure you can always tell when I'm lying, because I suck at it, and because you know my honesty-related mannerisms far too well to be fooled by any kind of facade. Given this closeness, it would be prudent to assume that you are aware that I don't think what we did that first night in my dormroom was a mistake, and I don't believe you see it as one either. But I am a little confused, not about how I feel for you, but rather about how to self-identify. I don't know what to call myself anymore. Am I a lesbian? Bisexual? Certifiably insane? I thought I had these feelings worked out in ninth grade, deciding my temporary sapphism was only the result of knowing the two boys back in Highland who will most likely bring on the apocalypse. I don't know what to label myself, but right now, I'm uncertain about the whole idea of labels in the first place. I'm attracted to you, not because you are of a particular gender, but because you are the type of person I can picture having a mutually caring relationship with, and live to tell about it. It's killing me that we have barely communicated since that night. I didn't expect sex to ever be like that, no matter who it was with. I had resigned myself to an acceptance of sexual disssatisfaction, but only now do I realize that it could only be enjoyable if I had a true heart connection with the other person, and we've had that for a long time. I love you, Jane. Dammit. I never loved anyone before, I don't think I even love my family when I look at the issue honestly. There is a difference between relationships based on love, and relationships based on interactions governed by the norms of the American family. I've detached myself from everyone because of the baggage that emotional ties drag with them. I'm probably not as strong as I make myself out to be, because I'm so afraid of intimacy, or at least I was. The surreal quality of...making love to you didn't scare me at all. I felt for the first time that my emotions made sense, that the ultimate value society places on sex is a value I could agree with, even though I never placed much emphasis on societies wants and desires.
Call or write to me when you get this. I don't want to complicate either of our lives, even though at this point, the simple kind of life prospect has pretty much taken a permanant leave of absence. I miss you, and I don't want to lose my best friend, especially when I think there could be a chance of something more. I don't mean to be presumptuous when I say that, but I know you about as well as you know me, and the overwhelming ludacrisness of trying to write it off makes us both idiots, so let's try to make this right.
-Daria
Jane sat frozen in the glow of her laptop, reading and rereading the email in her inbox. She had been avoiding Daria these past several weeks, but she wasn't angry. She was terrified, but she wasn't angry. So many thoughts were coursing through her head, causing physical reactions, electric shocks jumping through her veins at the remembrance of Daria's dorm room, and a sinking lead feeling in her stomach at the memories of last summer, that confusing, cruel almost-experience with Alison at the art commune. Jane had felt uncomfortable being an object of lust, prey to Alison's huntress, something to be conquered, lead into temptation to reach the pool of guilt at the end of the sexual rapids. It didn't feel right for her to be with this other girl, but at the time she had thought it was because she was straight. Throughout Jane's senior year, she began to slowly realize that was not the case. Daria was her best friend, no doubt, but more and more she found herself drawn to her. Like Daria had said, it wasn't about gender anymore, it was about knowing each other's minds, establishing a trust and an openness to express themselves without the sheild of cynicism or bitterness.
That first night in the dorm, away from home for the first time, the most independant they had ever been in their lives, everything came together in their private world, their mental attraction to each other spilling over into the most divine physical love that Jane had ever felt. It was fucking perfect, but afterwards, Jane retreated like a scared animal from a flame. The evil What-If Demon had overtaken her brain. What if they were stigmatized because of their love? What if this was a "phase", as a lot of people try to tell anyone in a homosexual relationship, and she got ever it and Daria didn't, or vice versa? What if their relationship came to a natural conclusion, but they had lost their deep friendship along with it?
Finally moving, Jane shut down her computer and began to pace around her dorm, glancing frantically around the room at various things, the phone, the bed, rumpled sheets and all, and her desk, with the framed pictures of her and Daria with comically blank expressions, taken over spring break last year when the fair came to Lawndale, photo booths and all the other cheesy trappings of novelty pastimes included. Her head and body were in knots, slowly working themselves out the more she pondered the situation. Truly, those what-ifs could happen in any relationship, but did that mean she would give up, never pursue any chance at love, never face the possibility that such an extravagantly decorated concept could be true? Somewhere inside her, a lick of flame burned idealistically. It seemed to be speaking to her, a low voice remarkably like her own reverberating between her ears, down her spine and swirling around to the pit of her stomach, melting the metallic lump of confusion and shame that Alison left her with, replacing it with something that took her a moment to identify, but when she named it, she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of tears, joyfull and fucking triumphant over her own fears.
"I love you, too, Daria," she whispered through her tears, tasting the words, trying the feel of them on her tounge. "I love you. I LOVE YOU!" Laughing and crying, Jane kicked her legs up in the air and stretched her arms over her head, letting herself go completely, no one to see her flip out alone in her dorm.
It took a few minutes for all the excitement to work it's way though her, but soon Jane was composed again, and reaching for the phone on her bedstand. She couldn't tell Daria this in an email, she needed to hear her voice. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost nine-thirty pm. Daria was probably just coming back from her one night class. Her hand was surprisingly calm as she dialed the numbers slowly, but her heart jumped into her throat when she heard the ringing on the other end.
Daria's voice on the other end made her jump for a moment, but then she realized it was an answering machine with Daria's recorded message. Crap! Not home yet. She hung up before the beep, suddenly unable to think clearly when put on the spot by a damn machine. Now what? Sighing heavily, Jane decided she had to do this now, or she might put it off again. She returned to her computer, going online and preparing to compose the most important email of her life.
to: (Daria Morgendorffer) [email protected]
from: (Jane Lane) [email protected]
Daria,
All right, you bitch, you've broken me! I do love you. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I can't think of any other way to say it. You know I've never been as articulate as you, though you and I are pretty much on the same wavelength. I'll probably call you later on, maybe before you even see this email, but I don't know if I'd be able to speak it later on, I may lose my nerve. I'm in one of my moments of insanity right now, but instead of the usual artistic bursts, I'm really going off the deep end and pouring my heart out. Scary, isn't it?
I guess that's all I can say now. I'll talk to you later, and we'll face the awkwardness of deciding where to go from here together. Wouldn't be the first time we've been in awkward positions, (ignore that double entendre) would it? I guess I'll end this with, uh, some sort of sentiment. I love you, maybe? Yes, that sounds right, definitely. I love you, Daria.
-Jane
Love Letters
to: (Jane Lane) [email protected]
from: (Daria Morgendorffer) [email protected]
Jane,
Rather than begin the predictable rattling on about my early experiences as a Raft Freshman, even though the predictions I made about the ignorant student body, self-righteous professors and blatant greed are rapidly coming true, I think I'll put you on the spot and ask for every mundane detail of your first few weeks in college. I hope you haven't killed anyone yet, as I am no longer your nagging voice of reason, or at least not as effective a nag since I don't see you everyday. Oddly enough, I'm beginning to miss being that, despite the dull, stick in the mud persona I was ultimately enmeshed in.
Tom called me yesterday from Bromwell. Already, I can hear the change in his voice, the subtle snobbery that was always there is now screaming from his newly acquired New England accent. I think all I can say without sounding mean is that the pain of our break-up is no longer present. But that's not to say that I'm not hurting right now. I'm hurting like Hell and I know you know why.
I'm sure you can always tell when I'm lying, because I suck at it, and because you know my honesty-related mannerisms far too well to be fooled by any kind of facade. Given this closeness, it would be prudent to assume that you are aware that I don't think what we did that first night in my dormroom was a mistake, and I don't believe you see it as one either. But I am a little confused, not about how I feel for you, but rather about how to self-identify. I don't know what to call myself anymore. Am I a lesbian? Bisexual? Certifiably insane? I thought I had these feelings worked out in ninth grade, deciding my temporary sapphism was only the result of knowing the two boys back in Highland who will most likely bring on the apocalypse. I don't know what to label myself, but right now, I'm uncertain about the whole idea of labels in the first place. I'm attracted to you, not because you are of a particular gender, but because you are the type of person I can picture having a mutually caring relationship with, and live to tell about it. It's killing me that we have barely communicated since that night. I didn't expect sex to ever be like that, no matter who it was with. I had resigned myself to an acceptance of sexual disssatisfaction, but only now do I realize that it could only be enjoyable if I had a true heart connection with the other person, and we've had that for a long time. I love you, Jane. Dammit. I never loved anyone before, I don't think I even love my family when I look at the issue honestly. There is a difference between relationships based on love, and relationships based on interactions governed by the norms of the American family. I've detached myself from everyone because of the baggage that emotional ties drag with them. I'm probably not as strong as I make myself out to be, because I'm so afraid of intimacy, or at least I was. The surreal quality of...making love to you didn't scare me at all. I felt for the first time that my emotions made sense, that the ultimate value society places on sex is a value I could agree with, even though I never placed much emphasis on societies wants and desires.
Call or write to me when you get this. I don't want to complicate either of our lives, even though at this point, the simple kind of life prospect has pretty much taken a permanant leave of absence. I miss you, and I don't want to lose my best friend, especially when I think there could be a chance of something more. I don't mean to be presumptuous when I say that, but I know you about as well as you know me, and the overwhelming ludacrisness of trying to write it off makes us both idiots, so let's try to make this right.
-Daria
Jane sat frozen in the glow of her laptop, reading and rereading the email in her inbox. She had been avoiding Daria these past several weeks, but she wasn't angry. She was terrified, but she wasn't angry. So many thoughts were coursing through her head, causing physical reactions, electric shocks jumping through her veins at the remembrance of Daria's dorm room, and a sinking lead feeling in her stomach at the memories of last summer, that confusing, cruel almost-experience with Alison at the art commune. Jane had felt uncomfortable being an object of lust, prey to Alison's huntress, something to be conquered, lead into temptation to reach the pool of guilt at the end of the sexual rapids. It didn't feel right for her to be with this other girl, but at the time she had thought it was because she was straight. Throughout Jane's senior year, she began to slowly realize that was not the case. Daria was her best friend, no doubt, but more and more she found herself drawn to her. Like Daria had said, it wasn't about gender anymore, it was about knowing each other's minds, establishing a trust and an openness to express themselves without the sheild of cynicism or bitterness.
That first night in the dorm, away from home for the first time, the most independant they had ever been in their lives, everything came together in their private world, their mental attraction to each other spilling over into the most divine physical love that Jane had ever felt. It was fucking perfect, but afterwards, Jane retreated like a scared animal from a flame. The evil What-If Demon had overtaken her brain. What if they were stigmatized because of their love? What if this was a "phase", as a lot of people try to tell anyone in a homosexual relationship, and she got ever it and Daria didn't, or vice versa? What if their relationship came to a natural conclusion, but they had lost their deep friendship along with it?
Finally moving, Jane shut down her computer and began to pace around her dorm, glancing frantically around the room at various things, the phone, the bed, rumpled sheets and all, and her desk, with the framed pictures of her and Daria with comically blank expressions, taken over spring break last year when the fair came to Lawndale, photo booths and all the other cheesy trappings of novelty pastimes included. Her head and body were in knots, slowly working themselves out the more she pondered the situation. Truly, those what-ifs could happen in any relationship, but did that mean she would give up, never pursue any chance at love, never face the possibility that such an extravagantly decorated concept could be true? Somewhere inside her, a lick of flame burned idealistically. It seemed to be speaking to her, a low voice remarkably like her own reverberating between her ears, down her spine and swirling around to the pit of her stomach, melting the metallic lump of confusion and shame that Alison left her with, replacing it with something that took her a moment to identify, but when she named it, she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of tears, joyfull and fucking triumphant over her own fears.
"I love you, too, Daria," she whispered through her tears, tasting the words, trying the feel of them on her tounge. "I love you. I LOVE YOU!" Laughing and crying, Jane kicked her legs up in the air and stretched her arms over her head, letting herself go completely, no one to see her flip out alone in her dorm.
It took a few minutes for all the excitement to work it's way though her, but soon Jane was composed again, and reaching for the phone on her bedstand. She couldn't tell Daria this in an email, she needed to hear her voice. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost nine-thirty pm. Daria was probably just coming back from her one night class. Her hand was surprisingly calm as she dialed the numbers slowly, but her heart jumped into her throat when she heard the ringing on the other end.
Daria's voice on the other end made her jump for a moment, but then she realized it was an answering machine with Daria's recorded message. Crap! Not home yet. She hung up before the beep, suddenly unable to think clearly when put on the spot by a damn machine. Now what? Sighing heavily, Jane decided she had to do this now, or she might put it off again. She returned to her computer, going online and preparing to compose the most important email of her life.
to: (Daria Morgendorffer) [email protected]
from: (Jane Lane) [email protected]
Daria,
All right, you bitch, you've broken me! I do love you. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I can't think of any other way to say it. You know I've never been as articulate as you, though you and I are pretty much on the same wavelength. I'll probably call you later on, maybe before you even see this email, but I don't know if I'd be able to speak it later on, I may lose my nerve. I'm in one of my moments of insanity right now, but instead of the usual artistic bursts, I'm really going off the deep end and pouring my heart out. Scary, isn't it?
I guess that's all I can say now. I'll talk to you later, and we'll face the awkwardness of deciding where to go from here together. Wouldn't be the first time we've been in awkward positions, (ignore that double entendre) would it? I guess I'll end this with, uh, some sort of sentiment. I love you, maybe? Yes, that sounds right, definitely. I love you, Daria.
-Jane