Page 148 of Late Fees

Tilly

PS: I will not call you or show up at Langford unannounced, even though you have no idea how badly I want to do that. I want you to take your time and decide if I deserve a place in your life, and even though not seeing you will be torture, it’s what I need to do. Because If I can prove my love to you, then I know the two of us will finally be unbreakable.

August 30, 1993

Dear Journal (or whatever)—Dear Diary is so lame, but Journal is…I don’t know, bland? So…maybe I’ll give you a name. Hmmmm…what shall I call you?

Let’s go with Harrison Ford.

Works for me.

Ronnie bought you for me, hoping it would get me out of my slump—that I could purge my feelings or whatever she said—but so far, I’m not feeling it.

And yes, I know I’ve only just started.

I miss him, Harrison. Badly.

The day he left, I swear it was like someone walked up to me on that street and yanked my heart out of my chest, then crushed it into squishy little bits, threw it on the ground, and kicked it to the side of the road. Like an ordinary piece of trash.

Buckle up, Harrison, because Tilly Hamilton knows how to get dramatic.

I skipped my audition at Lurie’s. Pathetic, I know. But I just couldn’t do it. Lurie’s was our dream, Wyatt’s and mine. And I knew if I went to sing in front of those professors, my voice would fall flat. And they’d reject me anyway.

He wrote me a letter. I just keep staring at it. It’s sitting on my desk, propped up by my pencil cup. If I open it, I feel like I’ll suffocate. Does that make sense? I don’t want to know what Norway is like. I don’t want to know that he’s enjoying himself without me. God, I’m so selfish. But I just can’t do it. And so, it sits on my desk. Maybe by the time I write to you again, I’ll have had the guts to open it. But, of course, there are no guarantees.

Because when it comes to Wyatt…I’m learning that I’m powerless to stop the heartache inside of me. I’m broken, and no letter can fix that. I hope you can save me, Harrison. Because right now, I think the abyss might swallow me whole.

Until next time,

Tilly

Staying away from Tilly was hard. Really hard.

Every day, I’d gotten into a routine of stopping by the mailbox before class. And every single day, a pink envelope would be waiting for me. I’d purposely leave early for class so that I could sit in my desk and read her journal entries, giving myself time to process her words and my own feelings before class began. And then, I’d go back to Langford and place them in a drawer. And sometimes, I’d read them all again. In sequence—because clearly, I was a masochist.

September 8, 1993

Dear Harrison,

I went on a date. I know… I know what you’re going to say—Tilly, you stupid girl, how can you be dating when your heart is in Norway? I KNOW. Oden Marcello is that guy—you know the one…well, I’m guessing he’s kind of like…a Tom Cruise. The school hottie that’s the best at everything—smart, athletic, classically handsome. The guy that every girl wants. And he’s got the smoothest lines I’ve ever heard. As that SNL character says, they’re like “buttah.”

But here’s the thing, I’ve never had a thing for Tom Cruise. Do I recognize the fact that he’s a good-looking man with characteristics that make women flock to him?

I mean, come on, I’m not stupid!

But my Hollywood crush is…well, you, Harrison Ford. Understated, ruggedly handsome, creative yet sensitive. You know the type—Yeah, I do, too. And I lost him. No matter how much he may try, Tom Cruise can never compete with Harrison Ford when it comes to my heart.

In other words, I miss Wyatt. I miss him so badly it physically hurts.

Anyway, back to the date. How do I describe it? Hmmmm…oh, yes, I got it. Imagine going out for pizza…and as you’re heading to the pizza place, you’re thinking about the perfect pie—for me, it’s an S.O.B., this sinfully delicious pizza that our local Rosati’s makes on their secret menu. Sausage, onions, barbecue sauce, and bacon. Heaven on a slice of dough.

Okay, so imagine you get to the pizza place, and you’re served a piping hot pepperoni with red sauce. For most people, that would hit the spot, right?

But I don’t want pepperoni and red sauce.

I want the S.O.B.—I want the pizza from the secret menu—the one not everyone can enjoy or appreciate. The hidden gem that melts in your mouth—if you’re willing to try it.

Oden is pepperoni and red sauce.

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