The Poetry of Pronouns, Too - Prose

Book summary

Two lovers journey across oceans and landscapes to finally meet, testing the strength of their connection in the real world. Against a backdrop of gothic coastlines, an old windmill, and endless cups of hot chocolate, they must discover if their bond shines as brightly in person as it did in dreams.

Excerpt from The Poetry of Pronouns, Too - Prose

She - First Class

I didn’t have much to do but sit while the pilot flew the plane. I was exhausted and anxious having expelled so much energy in the anticipation of meeting my destiny in the flesh. Six months leading up to this moment that was sure to change many lives forever. I shifted uncomfortably in my leather seat.

Honestly, I felt like a fish out of water as I wiggled. Could the wealthy people smell the fraud on me? Imagine a redneck prairie girl pretending to be refined among the well-to-do. I was nothing but a paper-plate imposter among fine china. Like everything with this journey though, my upgraded first-class ticket was simply the proof. The first of many signs that things were falling into place, so I could fall into his arms effortlessly.

‘Would you like some champagne, Madame?’

I turned down the fancy beverage and asked for a cranberry juice. The steward looked at me oddly. Oh no, I was already found out, a ruse hiding alongside the rich! My cranberry juice cocktail in a champagne glass arrived. I had a mind to ask for a straw but kept my mouth shut.

I sipped and pondered; how did it all happen? I hated traveling, especially flying. Having grown up in an airpark, I was used to seeing Cessnas dive toward the earth, crashing and burning like meteorites breaching the atmosphere. Yet there I was voluntarily, cutting through the sky in a steel bullet. All to see those cobalt eyes in person.

‘Your main course, Madame.’

I sliced into my salmon whilst cutting to the chase of my thoughts about ‘us.’ I was never an expert at attachment. I’d discussed my fear of commitment many times with my therapist. I heard her voice echoing in my head over the loud drone of the jet engines.

‘You’ve spent your life picking men you know you can leave without being phased. You’re a specialist at slipping away from commitment so you can outrun love. So, what are your thoughts? Why are you flying five thousand miles straight to it? What does it mean for you?’

What did it mean? Why was I willing to test my bodily limits to travel? Why was I being so accountable with the heart of a man? This was never my way. Not until I decided to build a friendship, then to love him, to go out on a wing and a prayer. Not until I decided to say those three simple words that have been uttered in every language spoken by humankind since the beginning of existence.

‘I love you.’

The truth was, he was different. He was everything. My anchor in the squall of a turbulent mind. My voice of calm and of reason. My laughter. My growth as a human being. The person who knew me inside and out and stayed. Despite the obstacles of this adoration, I knew I owed it to the both of us to follow through. It was my duty since setting the wheels in motion.

He was worth it. I’d overcome every one of my fears to be in his life, until it was ‘our’ life together.

Bing!

‘The captain has turned on the fasten your seatbelt sign. We are now descending into Heathrow Airport. We hope you enjoy your time in Britain.’

Above all things, even the clouds. I trusted my love for him enough to believe I’d enjoy my time in Britain, as we soared towards the future.

He - Anticipation

Oh, the anticipation!

Two-hundred miles of driving with only one thing on my mind: Don’t be late!

To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late is inexcusable. The old saying flicked through my mind over and over. I’d worked it out to the second. Even fitted in a superfluous motorway break. No turn was overlooked. Other than unavoidable disasters I wouldn’t be late. I couldn’t be late.

The truth? I was pushing it.

A new route. A journey into the deep south territories a Yorkshireman dreads. So many cars. So many delays.

The minutes became hours. The miles became legend. Heathrow approached like a tortoise on a treadmill; the same old questions and worries resurfaced.

We were desperate to meet. To be together. Yet she was so unwell. What had I done?

When you care for someone so intensely, you should put their wellbeing before all else. But had I? My four-and-a-half-hour drive was nothing to what she’d gone through. What she went through every day. Should I have just said: No.

I turned into the multistorey car park with only thirty minutes to spare. Thirty minutes almost totally absorbed by struggling to park. Damn you! Damn you all to Hell!

Accordingly, I ran.

My eyes flicked straight to the inbound flights: Close. I positioned myself in good view of every doorway and looked again: Landed.

There were no nerves, which for a man who lived on them was really saying something. I’d never been nervous around her. Everything had always slotted into place, easy as a heart behind a ribcage. Every word went understood. Every look was reciprocated. It had always been so easy. If I could just get to her, this would be the same.

Time passed.

People came and went.

Where was she?

Oh, God! What had I done?

My phone sprang into action and there she was, gaunt, spectral, defeated.

I won’t go into the farce at Heathrow. How they lost one of her bags. How there was absolutely no one to help. How one of the world’s major airports could be so ridiculously understaffed. How it baffled the mind. How I ran hither and thither for assistance, like some demented mouse in search of cheese. The reason I said to just leave the bag. That I’d get it back for her one way or the other. How when I saw her doubled over from the stress and the strain of the journey and the horrendous arrival, it almost broke my heart. No, we won’t go into that. Just this.

She saw me. I saw her. There was only one thing to do. One thing she needed right then, at that time, at that moment.

We embraced like the long-lost lovers we were. I took her in my arms and squeezed, gave as much of myself to her as I could. And though our journeys had wiped both of us out, wrapped together like the two peas in a pod we were, there was one stark reality: We were meant to be. I could have shouted it to the world.

This was the first time we’d met face to literal face, yet it felt like we’d held each other forever. From then on, my every flicker of energy would be channeled into make sure we would.