Back home in California, Marisol found herself counting the days until she could see Paul again. He called her every night, which was no small feat. Transatlantic calls had to be scheduled with an international operator and depended upon whether or not the transatlantic cable was at capacity. They discovered Paul's calls were more likely to go through in the middle of the night in London when everyone else was asleep. They still had to deal with the constant hiss and low-level static, so their calls usually ended in frustration.
She received a letter from him a week after she'd been home. He ended the newsy letter with "See you soon, All my love, Paul" and she read the letter through three times, wondering about what was going on with his relationship with Jane and trying to find hidden clues in his words.
Sitting in her bedroom with the letter in her hands, she began thinking about the locked blue suitcase in the back of her closet. There were close to a dozen unopened letters from Paul inside. She had locked them away as soon as they arrived, knowing it would be far too painful to read them. But right now, staring at the closet, curiosity gnawed at her.
She hauled out the suitcase and dusted it off. The key was still in the lock. On top of the collection of gifts, records, and trinkets he had given her over the course of a year was a small stack of letters. She pulled out the last one he'd sent, a light blue envelope with her name and address in Paul's familiar writing. There was no return address. In England, it was customary to put the sender's address at the top of the letter instead of on the envelope.
She tore it open, heart-pounding, one hand covering her mouth as she read the words he'd written to her over a year ago.
February 1965
The Ballad of Paul and Marisol*
Once upon a time a boy asked a girl if she would take his hand and let him love her. Once upon a time he kissed her lips and wondered how he had ever said I love you to anyone else.
He wondered because he had never felt so much love for anyone else. Not for his first love or any other. This was a feeling like no other he had experienced. That scared the boy more than he could articulate, describe or understand.
They were best friends who had discovered a secret. They were lovers and confidants. He was her hero, hopelessly devoted and so very scared.
That didn't mean that he didn't make the girl crazy because he did. He knew how to press all of her buttons and he knew how to make her feel simply....wonderful. It was uncanny how easily he charmed her. It was infuriating to her not to be able to stay angry with him.
But how can you stay angry with someone who knows how to open your heart with a word and whose presence soothes your soul. You cannot and you don't.
At least that is what you think and what you feel- but sometimes things happen.
They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty but whether that is true or not remains in the eyes of the beholder. Really it all comes back to perspective and the man who had been the boy readily admitted that he didn't have as much of that as he wished.
The girl and the boy who had loved each other with passion and promises never to let go had moved on and let go of that which had kept them together. The faith they held in each other had been tested and they had failed the test.
When push came to pull and pull came to shove they had fallen. Fingers that had been intertwined and hands that had been held were no more.
She was gone and though he had chased after her she had refused to listen. His head told him how foolish it was to waste so much energy on such a silly thing as a girl, a single girl. The world was full of millions of women. It should be easy to replace her. It should be as simple as changing shoes, but it was not. It was not, it was not.
The heart wants what the heart wants. It does, and his had chosen someone that was far more special to him than all the others. His lips remembered hers. He could still feel her touch.
His heart told him that she wasn't really gone and that her silence was her defense. It argued against letting go and told him to give it time.
Time passed. His words went unanswered and his pleas were unheard. The boy turned into a man and learned the meaning of happiness and hell.
Reason says let go. Hope says no. Heart battles head. The man closes his eyes and sees her looking back at him. Was he not given a heart to love her?
Once he was her hero and she was his girl. Heart battles head. Would a hero give up or would he continue to fight for her?
Marisol held the letter in a shaking hand, stunned that Paul had written these words, six months after their relationship had ended. She wondered what she would have done if she'd read this at the time instead of stashing it away. Would it have made a difference?
It hurt her heart to think that Paul assumed she had read this emotional, heartfelt letter and ignored it. Instead, she had thrown it unread into a suitcase and ignored it. Which was worse?
Her hand sifted through the other unopened letters and she made a decision. She was going to read each one, let his words into her heart, and then she was going to spend the next part of her life making up for lost time.
*The Ballad of Paul and Marisol was largely inspired by the gorgeous writings and amazing blog of jackbenimble