Permanent Heart Condition

One year, a Christmas card came from him. My name and address were printed on the envelope with a neat hand – which had me stumped for a moment as to who the sender was.

When I opened the card, I recognized at once by the untidy scrawl that filled the blank verso of the card who the sender was. And he’d ended his message with, “... don’t you dare forget me. I love you” and signed his name.

It’s funny how my heart had skipped when I got to that last bit. But I’d also almost immediately tsk-tsked at myself for that little skip of the heart: he was attached then – and had been so for the past two years to the same girl. (She was the one who had addressed the envelope.) He loved me only in a purely platonic way.

Don’t read so much into it, you little idiot, I’d chastised myself. In fact, you should be thankful he isn’t afraid to use those three little words on friends, unlike your other guy friends.

Still, I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop wondering at the impossibilities. What if ...?

What if ...?

What if ...?

Eventually, I made myself put the card away and firmly bound my heart with the thought that he had never, and would never ever, feel any other way for me. You’ve known each other for so long, it’s too late for him to start seeing you as anything more than a friend. Then I laughed at myself for entertaining such ridiculous ideas and generally being such an idiot.

So the card had gone into nestling with other birthday cards, Christmas cards, and Valentines I’d received in a box in my drawer.

Now, whenever I’m home for the summer, as is my habit, I’d go through my personal effects – flipping through photo albums, and going through old diaries, letters and cards. Inevitably, I’d pull that card out - still in its envelope with his (now) ex-girlfriend’s neat handwriting - open it, and re-read it; and every time I do that, I swear my heart still skips – however faintly.






That silly Pumpkin – he might’ve given me a permanent heart condition.