Love? From?
A TRIP DOWN A LOVE-LETTER LINED MEMORY LANE
Love? From? Circle one.
— Mike*
It was the signature line to an old handwritten note — one resurrected by a friend from her keepsake box, now brought into my life via group text. Had this sign-off been from an adult, I would have screamed “Run! Save yourself!” to its recipient. It reeked of desperation and confusion — the inability to just have that awkward “so where is this going” conversation. But knowing it was from a pre-teen, or maybe younger — back when passing artfully folded notes in the hallway was a right of passage — I found the note hilarious. Ironic. The perfect amalgamation of early love and childhood expression. The clarity of an even circle around an uneven concept. Love or from? You tell me.
As a diligent group-text member, I laughed and shared some “witty” (read that as ‘snarky’) response. Together, we laughed at the hearts above the i’s, the crummy sentence structure, the useless dialogue that, in any other format and from any other time in our lives, would have made us fake a headache just to get away. But I couldn’t help but reflect on the simplicity of young love — the ability to throw it all out on paper in one 40-minute math class. The belief that, if she just put a circle on the damn paper, it would all be set in stone — a forever date to the semester’s big dance, someone to hug on Columbus Day (yes, that’s a thing — don’t ask).
Throughout my research for the love letters podcast episode, I didn’t reflect a whole lot on my own love notes. I had received a few, but they weren’t serious, I reasoned, hardly worthy of “research”. I didn’t date a Napoleon or a Beethoven or even a Winston Churchill. My boyfriends — and my love notes — were mostly marks of youth, something that we only cared about because we didn’t know how much it wouldn’t matter once you left town, got a job, became a responsible voting citizen. As my world expanded from small-town citoyen to woman-of-the-world, I saw much of those teenage years as an airport layover with really bad weather — annoying, prolonged, but also something that nobody could do much about.
But, inspired by this group text and looking for anything to avoid an editing deadline, I decided to re-explore — to open my own keepsake box and see what I could see.
I’m a big fan of culling. I throw stuff away monthly, as if I’m preparing to move across the country and can only take a single mini-van. I hate clutter and kitsch. I feel a lot of weight when I own things I don’t or can’t use. So to make it into my keepsake box is a little like making it Ivy League. You’re either really, really great, or you met some arbitrary admission standard that won’t save you from future cuts if you’re not at least pretty darn good. Thus, it wasn’t much of a shock when I could only find two love letters there. I’m pretty sure it’s not because I didn’t get more... no, that can’t be it at all... 😉
How they made the cut became clear to me almost immediately.
The first was from an ex — I’d say circa 9th grade? — the break-up from whom was rather traumatic... for him. I did the heartbreaking on this one and I won’t even pretend that I regret it. It was 9th grade, guys. Nothing gold can stay.
But the letter was as adult as they come. It said things like “don’t ever let anyone bring you down” and “I’m grateful for the things you taught me... you give me confidence.” I’m not trying to toot my own horn here. It’s just... it was so damn generous. Especially to say to the girl who broke your heart.
I remember receiving this letter distinctly. It had been placed on my bed with a pack of Chewy Sprees, my favorite candy at the time and something I got anytime I went to the movies. It was, by all accounts, a lovely note and a sweet gesture.
And I was pissed.
Warning to all the men in my life: it’s about to be period talk time.
That day, my bed had been in rough shape. I had had a very heavy leak in the middle of the night, and it looked like someone had a severe injury on my sheets. My Disney sheets. That’s right — as a 9th grader, I had Disney sheets. Not like cool Monsters Inc. or Mulan sheets. No, it was Micky and Minnie Mouse kissing while seated on a magical moon. Romance in all it’s animated glory. In a hormone-induced haze — and really out of sheer laziness — I had made literally zero attempt to strip or remake the bed. So when I came home to notice that someone had not only been in my room but had touched that bed — and that my parents had allowed them to — I was out-of-my-mind angry. Hadn’t he gotten the hint? Couldn’t he just stay away? Embarrassment shows itself in weird ways when you’re young.
At some point, I got over it. I’m guessing I aged into the beauty of the note, that, at some point, I realized that it was well-intentioned, that he didn’t care about the state of my room, that he didn’t tell the whole 48-person 9th grade class about my private sanctuary in it’s Disney-coated glory. Despite the fact that I haven’t spoken to its writer since my best friend’s wedding, I had kept his words. They were powerful. Uplifting. Even a lesson in forgiveness — something I can still relate to today, even if I can’t relate to the young lovers mentioned in its content.
The second love letter was more of a love note. It held just three simple words: “DJ loves you.” I too recall finding this one, written in a small notebook that had been on my desk at college — the remnants of a weekend visit long-forgotten.
At the time, I loved the simplicity of its contents. And the surprise. I hadn’t noticed it until its writer gone back home until our next foray and it made me smile — a gentle reminder that some feelings actually were easy to express.
Ironically, I now see that same note as something slightly more ominous. I actually forgot about it until I went to use that notebook again. (I’m a culler but I don’t waste — it was in perfect shape with few to no used pages save this one). So when I found it again, I ripped it out and put it in my keepsake box – a place for it to ferment a little, while I went on with my task — not wishing to throw it out in haste, but not able to take the time to consider it much. Uncovering it for this “research”, the first thought that came to my mind was “why was he at my desk in the first place.” I’m sure that’s hardly what he was going for but still — I could feel my personal space closing in just thinking about it. I swear, I’m not paranoid; I just really like my privacy.
It’s an expected twist for my Ivy League keepsake standards — that the most promising applicant would be the one that wouldn’t have the staying power, wouldn’t make the cut over the long term. But I guess that’s the nature of the beast: memory and history are colored and changed by all of the time in between. And it got me thinking: would Beethoven 200 years older think his Immortal Beloved letters were the bee’s knees or misplaced creativity better spent on his music — or at least on someone more available? We can’t really know — but I suspect he kept them in their secret hiding place for a pretty good reason.
*Name changed because I don’t feel like getting yelled out. Even though I don’t think anyone should be embarrassed by what is clearly a well-thought out attempt to woo a young lady.
For more on love letters, Beethoven, and my teenager years…
Are Love Letters Dead? - Was Is Could Be, Season 1, Episode 1 - A look at Beethoven’s mysterious love letters, the purpose of letter writing, and why we should bring it back.
Beethoven Meets Big - A look at the role of Beethoven’s Immortal Beloved Letters in the Sex and the City movie, featuring podcast interviewee Jennifer Silvershein.
Beethoven’s Immortal Beloved Letters - What are these letters all about anyways? Check them out for yourself - translated and all.
Modern vs. 19th Century Love Letters - A comparison between modern love letters and love letters of the 19th century.
What I’ve Learned About Love Letters - A few months of research will do something to you. Here’s my main takeaways from a summer of reading other people’s love letters.