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Wyatt
September 30, 1994
Dear Tilly,
It’s been over a year, and you haven’t responded to any of my letters. I know you’re off at college now and may or may not even be getting them anymore. And it might be really dumb of me to keep doing this—Hell, maybe you’ve started dating someone else and forgotten all about me. Maybe you roll your eyes when you see them. I don’t know. But every once in a while, I just have to grab a couple pieces of paper and sit at my desk. I sit here and think of you, Tilly. And whenever I do, I feel like everything I’m thinking just spills out on the paper.
You’re very cathartic—did you know that?
School is fine here. Being a senior in Norway is just…different than I always imagined it would be in Illinois. It’s not a status symbol like it is back home. The kids here are mostly nice to each other—maybe it’s because most of us aren’t Norwegian? I’m not sure, but I do enjoy the winter break here—we get so much more time. Which is great because winter here is seriously cold!! But I’m sure I’ve probably told you that dozens of times by now—sorry!
Applying to universities has been hard since my school is pushing all the students to go to college here. And my dad wants me to consider it. Apparently, he’ll get some major bonus if he stays on for a few more years, but we got into this huge fight because I told him that would never happen. He kept throwing Brad in my face—Brad decided to go to Scotland for college (I think I told you that). And my dad thinks I should be ‘more like Brad,’ which I’m so tired of hearing. I don’t care—I don’t care if Brad goes to Scotland or Germany or the freaking Arctic for college.
I am going home—even if I go alone.
I’ve been reaching out to campuses back home, asking them to send me early admission applications through the mail. Luckily, my application packet from Lurie’s arrived yesterday. I already filled it out, and I’m going to mail it back when I mail this letter. Today.
Do you remember all our plans to go to Lurie’s together? I’m assuming you’re there already, although there’s no way for me to know for sure. I hope you are—I’m sure you kicked ass in your audition, and they offered you a spot immediately. They’d be crazy not to.
I really hope I get in. I’ve been working on my illustrations a lot, and I’m sending in the best sample of my work with my application. If you read this, keep your fingers crossed for me! I have a new idea for a kids Saturday morning cartoon—it’s still in the early stages of creation, but I have a feeling you’ll love it when it finally comes to fruition.
Even from across the ocean, you’re my muse. Always, Tilly.
Anyway, my art teacher told me I have a real talent for drawing and that I should look into graphic design—have you heard of that? It’s using computers for design and animation. I still prefer doing things by hand, but I’m going to take a class next semester since it seems like, eventually, animation could be more computer generated. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but progress is usually a good thing, right?
God, I wish I could hear your voice.
The other night, I couldn’t sleep and was lying in bed, listening to Prince. Okay, you can pick your mouth up off the floor. Ha-ha! I actually bought every single album the man has ever made. Some of his stuff isn’t half-bad, honestly. I wish I hadn’t given you so much crap about his later stuff when we were together. I find myself listening to it more and more. When I hear his lyrics, I can picture you singing your heart out, the words speaking to your heart.
I was listening to the Diamonds and Pearls album, and it reminded me of that day at the lake. Remember when we went to Lake Forest Beach—Ronnie’s aunt got us in or something? I don’t remember all the details, but what I do remember was swimming with you all day. Your skin got so red, even though you covered yourself in sunscreen. I remember the teal swimsuit you wore—it had little silver sparkles along the straps. And I remember how your skin tasted when I kissed you in Lake Michigan—earthy and fresh.
You made me listen to that Prince tape the whole way to the beach and the entire way back. On the way there, you belted out the lyrics, and I mocked you. Do you remember that? You rolled your eyes and just sang louder to drown me out. Eventually, I just shut up and drove.
But on the way home, you were almost passed out, and I started to sing along to “Cream”—I didn’t even know I was doing it until you perked up. You looked at me with such…surprise? Shock? Happiness? Whatever it was, I’ve kept that look in the recesses of my brain. And when I listen to this tape, all I see is that look—the way your eyes brightened, and your lips eased into a satisfied smile. The way you pressed your cheek into the headrest, and you placed your hand on my thigh as you joined in, singing all the words by heart.
It was one of those moments I’ll never forget. And I wish that I could go back to that night and tell myself to hold on to you, to not let you slip away. I would have told you everything, Tilly. I wouldn’t have hidden my parents plans from you, not even for a minute.
But I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you—and if you could see inside my soul, you would know that the last year without you—without your voice, without your humor and wit—has been hell. I know I’ve been writing about all the great things that have happened here in Norway, but the truth is, Norway could never compete with you, Tilly.
You’re everything to me, and I can’t wait to get back to you.
I know it’s probably stupid for me to still be writing you when I haven’t gotten a response, but I can’t help it. These letters are my only connection to you—to everything that we were. So, I’m going to keep writing, and I hope that there’s a part of you, even if it’s a tiny one, that lights up when you see my handwriting on the envelope.
I have no idea, but I’ll keep hoping because I’m still here, and more than anything, I’d love to open my mailbox and see your handwriting on an envelope.
Maybe one day. Until then, just know how much I miss you.
Because I do, Till.
Love always,
Wyatt
