platonik bir aşk hikayesi

• bu hikaye aktör sean patrick flanery'in yasadığı gerçek bir hikayedir:
  jane came into my life headfirst in 1973 when i was 8 years old. i was
  starting into my bowl of cocoa puffs, listening to my new 45 of simon and
  garfunkel’s "sound of silence," when i heard a repetition of small,
  passion-filled breaths that are usually reserved for nubile porno stars. my
  eyes followed the sound through the sliding glass window, across our
  backyard, up the fence, and collided intermittently with what i can only
  describe as the perfect embodiment of everything that i find wonderful
  about this life. i never noticed anyone moving into the house that ours
  shared a rear fence with, much less that they had a trampoline, or a lot
  much less that jane would bounce on it. my hatred of gravity was punctuated
  by the fact that it only allowed my short glimpses of jane’s face before
  calling her back down, never failing to notify her long black hair last so
  it hovered in the air just that much longer. from that moment on, jane
  would be the catalyst for all my ideas, secrets and dreams, never allowing
  my passions a moment’s rest.
  the next day, although completely unaware of it, jane became the star
  of my first short film. i documented her rhythmic bouncing on an old windup
  bolex movie camera that my grandfather had given me--one five-minute shot
  of the top of my fence with jane’s head coming in at regular intervals. i
  kept the film in an old charles chips container in my closet along with all
  of my other prized possessions. either projected on my bedroom wall or out
  my back window, jane bounced to "sounds of silence" all summer long.
  i came face-to-face with jane for the first time when a brainstorm told
  me to confront my claustrophobia by locking myself in the trunk of my father’s
  car after figuring out how to open it from the inside. i was determined to
  stay in for 10 minutes, and i was halfway through the first five seconds
  when panic set in. my brain was on sabbatical somewhere near the engine
  compartment, and i couldn’t get the latch (whose mechanism i had committed
  to memory) to be my friend. i hollered and yelled as i flailed around in
  the trunk until it finally popped open, at which time i leaped out,
  gracefully catching my shoe on the rim and going into a 10-point face plant
  in the center of the driveway.
  why fortune sent jane walking home via my front sidewalk on this very
  day haunts me still, but she stood there staring at me from no more than 10
  feet. it wasn’t until then that i realized that jane was nothing less than
  an alien being beamed down for the sole purpose of making a mockery of our
  female population. her presence caused me to slip into inarticulateness,
  and after an inordinately long pause, i searched my vocabulary and came up
  with, well, "...hi." she then answered back with an equal if not more
  gusto-filled "hi," the only difference being that it was then followed,
  after what seemed like three weeks, with a devastating "bye."
  after our chance meeting by the car trunk, i began writing letters to
  jane and sending them to a fictitious address, my rationale being that if she
  were meant to get them, then the postman would recognize the name and
  reroute them accordingly. i began receiving the returned letters unopened
  and eventually starting mailing them from the 7-eleven mailbox, after
  getting a verbal reprimand from the disturbed postal worker who couldn’t
  understand someone making the same address mistake over the course of many
  years.
  i never told a soul about my affection for this tempestuous creature,
  but she moved me so much that i kept on going. jane was a drug that could
  completely reorganize my chemistry from across the fence, so i was
  privately devastated when my mother sold my charles chips can in a garage
  sale, oblivious to the magnitude of it’s contents. i learned early in life
  that there were 17 important people in the universe and that jane was nine
  of them. i am convinced that she was the prototype for lenny kravitz’s
  "butterfly."
  jane’s parents were woodstockers who actually numbered their children.
  jane was originally two, but it became her middle name by the time i
  discovered her. jane two. she was a true flower child, and the more i
  learned about her, the more i fell in love. most of my information came
  from her mother, who ended up being my homeroom teacher in eighth grade.
  she would often speak of her daughter, and because she was their only girl
  and went to a different school, i was sure i was the only one who knew who
  she was. she would bring pieces of art that jane had painted to show the
  class, but it wasn’t news to me, as i had watched jane create them in her
  garage weeks before.
  one day, jane’s mother asked everyone in the class to write down an
  invention and turn it in the next day. she even brought an example for us
  to look at. it was for an antigravity machine that utilized two objects
  that wielded the same attraction and would thus cancel each other out. one
  of the objects was a cat, because that no matter how you held a cat and
  dropped it, it would land on its feet. the other was a slice of
  peanut-butter toast that, with 14 years of breakfasts to the inventor’s
  credit, had been proven to always land peanut-butter-side down if dropped.
  the inventor suggested that if the toast were strapped to the back of the
  cat, peanut-butter-side up, then the cat would just hover, each side
  insisting on hitting the ground when only one could be allowed to.
  i didn’t need to see the “two” at the top of the page to know who
  wrote it. this was the jane vernacular, and i was in love. john lennon once
  said: “no one i think is in my tree,” but i had definitely found someone in
  mine. her nonsense suited my nonsense, and to say i was smitten would qualify
  for the understatement of the year contest. jane was the most perfect person
  in the history of perfect people, or in the history of ever for that matter.
  jane was the answer.
  by the time i left for california in 1989, i had accrued 143 letters
  stamped return to sender and postmarked as early as nov. 14, 1973. jane had
  moved to another part of the city in ‘84, but i kept sending them to the
  same address, as they had become a sort of therapy. the day i left with my
  car packed, i drove by the art supply store where she worked and sent a
  goodbye letter to her from the mailbox right in front of her store.
  in october of ‘96, another 44 letters later, i found myself back in my
  hometown at a friend’s wedding, listening to the obligatory "how ya
  been?"s, when someone asked if anyone remembered "that love child, jane,
  who always had her head in the clouds." i froze. he then proceeded to
  address the table with some other shit he called language and ended the
  sentence with "you know she’s got cancer?"
  i had never wanted to violate a person more severely with a carving
  knife, but my claustrophobia had spread to my fingers, and i could no longer
  make a fist. i got up and left, and an hour and a couple of phone calls later
  was outside jane’s hospital room, trying to control my heart rate before
  telling my hand to knock. her mother opened the door with her lips moving,
  but nothing coming out. i walked past her and saw jane on the bed looking
  more beautiful than i could have possibly remembered. she said, "sean," and
  at that moment the viscosity of my blood changed. i couldn’t move. jane not
  only remembered me; she knew my name.
  that night, i told her all the times i watched her bounce, and i was
  the one who stole her charlie’s angels t-shirt from the swimming pool. she
  admitted that she had left the copy of ultravox’s vienna on my doorstep for
  my birthday in 1981, and that she’d read all of my papers her mother
  brought home to grade, and that the bastard who had taken her to every
  festivity was actually her cousin because all the other boys thought she
  was weird, and that she had seen me standing in line one halloween for the
  school’s haunted house and jumped behind the counter so that she could be
  the one to hold my hand and place it in the bowl of grapes while whispering
  in my ear that they were eyeballs, and that she was angry that she’s missed
  out on so much of life, and why the hell didn’t i talk to her sooner?
  before she fell asleep, i told her that i would send her a box with the
  last 23 years of us inside.
  i leaned over the pillow that she was dreaming on and kissed her
  goodnight at 6:43 a.m. and promised her that i would attend her gallery
  opening in two weeks, after a brief return to los angeles. as i left, i
  couldn’t comprehend how anything wretched could live inside something so
  beautiful, nor how her new haircut could be sufficient in keeping her thought
  cage warm.
  jane died on nov. 1. her mother said that she’d received my box of
  letters, and the she had read every one of them. she also said she would
  send me a package that she said jane had wanted me to have. this wasn’t the
  plan. i had dreams to live, and i didn’t remember jane’s absence being in
  any of them. i was welcomed into this jesus time-share experience when i
  got here, and i knew that some stays would be shorter than others, but
  somehow now i felt betrayed. jane’s stay was too short, but she drove her
  point home... straight into my heart.
  a month later, i pulled into my driveway and noticed a ups box on my
  doorstep. with a mixture of trepidation and desire, i opened it up. inside
  was a partially rusted charles chips can that was much smaller than i
  remembered. it contained about 100 feet of slightly yellowed film and a 45
  of simon and garfunkel’s "sound of silence" with sean + two written in the
  center in purple crayola.
  written by : sean patrick flanery