09/30/1999

I didn’t yell at him, as I’d had threatened to do. It was very important to me, however, that I speak with Lawrence about his emotional inaccessibility. He didn’t seem pleased; rather, he appeared somewhat angry. Nonetheless, he asked Mr. York if we could make use of the back office in Student Resources to talk during 5th Period, when we both have spares.

I’m afraid that what I was really getting at was, “What the hell is going on in our relationship?”

Well, I found out soon enough what isn’t going on; I am once again fatherless.

When I asked if Lawrence did indeed feel like a father to me, he said, “No… no, I don’t. I see you too much as an equal to view myself as your father. Also, I look at my relationship with Kennedy and my relationship with Bess, and I just can’t draw any parallels.”

Well, being daddyless is fine, but I do wish I knew what this relationship is all about. His statement that “I feel very close to you” inflicted a sort of panic sensation upon my very heart.

“Unchartered territory,” I said to Andrew, after my chat with Lawrence.

“Then charter it,” Andrew said.

Beyond this place, there be dragons. Dangerous, but I’m so excited about that which is to come! Why? Because I don’t know. All I can do is sit back and wait to be filled with divine insight… or not.

Highlights from our conversation? (By the way, discussing emotional issues with Lawrence is like trying to see through dense fog.) When I pushed him for answers about who we are to each other, he replied, “Anything that needs to be said will be said in time.”

How much time? I want to know now!

When I asked if there might be another chance for me to stay at his house, since I’d stupidly missed out on this summer’s opportunity, he said, “There is nothing you could ask me to do that I would not do for you.” (Does that not mean the same as “I would do anything for you?” Sounds very romantic indeed.)

And, at the end of our discussion, he asked me for a hug. HE asked ME! There’s a first. Also for the first time ever, I could actually feel his hands on my back as we embraced. His warmth passed into me, making me tingle all over. That had never happened before. When I told him so, told him what I felt, he was puzzled as to why that would be.

So, if not the daughter, then the mistress? The other woman? Another suitcase in another hall…

What is to become of me?

Christie? Why are you so far away?

Giselle

09/25/1999

Dream: Interior Design Is My Middle Name

-I am at school, wearing my ugly jogging pants, painting the girls’ washroom cream, blue and yellow
-Christie takes me to Ms. Pape’s classroom and Andrew is there. I kiss him on the cheek numerous times, then take a seat with Christie
-when everyone is in class, Ms. Pape comments that there are people in the art program who are not in “that place” and mentions me specifically. I feel as though I might cry and then realise that I am crying
-the next day I come to school to check out the bathroom I’d painted, and it’s big and bright and people seem to really like it
-I realise that it’s 9:35 and I’ve missed most of first period, but when I get there Lawrence is my teacher and he says, “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t have to take attendance or anything.” HA!
-he starts talking about Ms. Finch, for some reason, and we walk into the hall after class. He says, “So, we’ll have tea some time.”
-I say, “You wanted so badly to come to my house,” then Ms. Finch joins us and there’s a whole grocery store freezer full of all different kinds of orange juice.

09/24/1999

I read a newspaper article about Margaret Atwood. I’ve never really followed her career, although I loved The Handmaid’s Tale. Love her! Oh, so much so!

Told Lawrence about the article, adding, “If I were a writer, I’d be her.”

“If you were a writer? Are you no longer a writer, then?”

“Yes, just as I am an artist and a scientist and a girl, etc.”

“And a musician,” he said.

“Yes.”

“But before now, I’ve never heard you refer to yourself as anything but a writer.”

True, true. Why do I continue to hold such a strong prejudice against myself? I am a writer.

I was very pleased with him today; when I asked if he remembered when my birthday was, he replied with the answer before I had finished asking the question.

Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love

Giselle

09/21/1999

Dream: Stratford

-I come home to find I have two pieces of mail from my dear Lawrence
-I had previously written him about all the plays I wanted to see, unassumingly, though
-one envelope contains two movie tickets. The other contains many pairs of tickets to plays, most of which are at Stratford
-Wow!
-I decide to tell Leslie, and so I invite her into my room. I ask her to promise she won’t tell mum and then I show her the pairs of tickets, one by one
-my brother yells down the stairs, asking if he can join our discussion
-I yell back, “NO!”

The strangest thing.

When Lawrence pulled out his datebook to check for his E-mail address (umm… you should really have that memorized!) there were 6 or so names on the address page. One of those names was not even a name, but initials: GR.

Funny.

In a million years, I never would have fathomed those initials represented me. Even when I saw my street name written underneath them, doubt remained. “Who, me?” Completely!

Amusing, since I’ve listed all his address/phone information under ‘Bess’ in my address book, just to make his contact info a little tougher for my mother to find, should she go looking.

I know exactly what he would have been thinking when he recorded my particulars thusly: “It’s very unlikely that anyone should look through this book, but if someone does, it would seem rather incriminating to have “her” personal information in there… but I do wish to keep it handy, so I’ll just encode her name so that no one will know but me.”

What innocent romantics we are!

This is the colour of my Love.

Giselle

09/17/1999

Arrived at school to find my locker adorned with teddy bear stickers. Only one person in the world could have done this: Lawrence, to acknowledge the progression of my inner child experience. Hard to believe that a man who always plays by the rules would deface school property. Stickers on lockers is strictly forbidden, and he knows it.

And “disrupting” my Mod West class to give me those books I asked to borrow? I thought Ms. Finch’s eyes were going to pop out of her head. Lawrence is not the kind of teacher who interrupts his colleagues’ course time. It’s almost unthinkable. And the way he singled me out like that was practically a public acknowledgement that I matter to him.

Love makes 50-year-old men act like 18-year-old girls.

Wonderful mood, today.

Love.

Andrew asked me out with an insecure insistence.

Love.

Residual fear.

Love.

The war rages on…

Giselle

09/13/1999

Dream: Dead Bolt

-I’m in the basement of grandma’s house and there’s a party going on. Grandma is there, but so are Andrew and a bunch of people I don’t recognise
-people sitting on the stairs say something about my dad
-I go upstairs and Leslie is now with me. Dad is wearing a jacket similar to mine and walks out the kitchen door, very angry
-to keep him out, I close the door, put my finger on the lock, but then decide that I (mentally) can’t do it. I say, “Leslie, lock the door!” with a distinct sense of urgency. She doesn’t move or even react
-dad turns around on the porch, to come to the door. Quickly, I turn the lock, but dad starts yelling with a vicious look on his face, like a mad dog
-I turn the key on the second lock, the deadbolt
-the door is completely secure, but dad keeps yelling

I’m slightly less confused about what I’d like to do with my life. Psychology seems like the best path. Introspection seems to be my forte, and perhaps I could extend my interest in the workings of my own mind to others.

I HATE this house. I want to leave.

Giselle

09/10/1999

Dream: Kill the Wolf-Cat

-the wolf is actually a long beige cat
-it runs up from the basement of my house with grandma and I chasing it
-she follows it into the backyard, but I stop and peek through the screen door. I don’t see the cat-wolf. I open the door and it creeps out of the closet
-I kick the wolf-cat in the ribs and it bites my foot, but at least it’s outside
-Leslie keeps letting the wolf-cat in the front door
-I keep yelling at her because it takes a long time to get rid of it and then she just invites it back in again
-I get the wolf-cat out and into the backyard, looking for some way to trap it, and notice the barbeque. I draw the wolf’s attention to it, then, when it’s on the barbeque, close the lid
-now I don’t have to worry about the wolf-cat anymore

Hey, I just figured out the psychology behind my strangest childhood fear: the fear of the… TELEPHONE!

Although I do still get nervous phoning certain people, I have pretty much conquered my fear. For years, this has puzzled me, but now, as I reflect upon it, this fear is starting to make sense. You see, when I was a child, every time the doorbell rang, my mother would answer if she was home, but my father would hide in the nearest bathroom.

When my mother wasn’t home, we were all instructed to hide wherever we happened to be; that meant, drop to the ground and pretend nobody’s home. Dad would always say, in his best slurred English, “Oh, it’s just salespeople, and they won’t ever leave you alone.”

When the phone rang, the story was the same: Dad would walk right into the bathroom without missing a beat! He never offered an explanation for this action; he didn’t owe us anything of that nature.

Wow! What a powerful force that phone must be if it can scare my daddy so!

I didn’t realize then that my father spent his existence in fear. I’m not sure if I even realised, at that point, that it was not the phone itself, but the people on the other end, that worried him.

This all makes sense, now. Now I understand why I’ve always been so cautious around the phone; perhaps I figured I would be inflicting a similar fear on the household I was trying to contact, and that’s not something I would wish upon anyone.