Darby and Joan: September 2012














Darby & Joan are the quintessential middle-aged British couple, characterised by knitwear, hours of scrabble, and a penchant for staying in on Saturday nights. Darby and Joan are, in fact, @calummcswiggan and me. 





Dear
Darby,





I
knew you’d got the travel bug this summer. But when you messaged me last night
with Can’t talk. Will email later. Right
now I’m writing from Nebraska dinner table, I freaked the Lady Diana OUT.





I
started Googling maps of America, my thought process being:





1.     NEBRASKA?!


2.     Wow. Nebraska.


3.     I can’t believe it. He’s gone
to Nebraska.


4.     I CAN’T BELIEVE HE’S GONE
TO NEBRASKA.


5.     I’m so proud! Nebraska!


6.     MY BEST FRIEND IS IN NEBRASKA
AND HE WANTED AN ADVENTURE AND NOW HE HAS JUST SAID YES TO LIFE AND GONE
AND I LOVE IT THIS IS SO AMAZING AND COOL AND WONDERFUL AND ALL THE ADJECTIVES!


7.     Urm. Where is Nebraska?





And
then a second message came through that said Sorry. I’m writing from BENEATH the dinner table. Bloody auto correct.






I was
suddenly all DON’T DO THAT TO A GIRL, and you were like WHAT? And I was all
JESUS LORD MARY I THOUGHT YOU HAD GONE TO AMERICA. I THOUGHT YOU’D JUST… DONE
IT. GONE. And then you didn’t say anything so I carried on, all THIS WAS A
GENUINE REACTION AND THUS INDICATIVE AS TO THE CURRENT STATE OF OUR ADVENTUROUS
LIVES BECAUSE NOBODY SHOULD RECEIVE A MESSAGE AUTO CORRECTED BY AN APPLE PRODUCT
AND PRESUME IT TO BE THE TRUTH.





But I
did. Because you are flying higher than angels right now, with plans and exploits,
escapades and voyages, and you deserve it. You should to fly to Nebraska if you want to.





I’m
kind of disappointed that you didn’t, actually.





After
all that thrilling agitation I kind of missed you- us- and so I decided to go through our archives to read old
messages and be nostalgic. Then Facebook told me there were 4,053 pieces of
nostalgia so I went to watch The Parade on iPlayer with Mum and Dad instead because
really, who has that kind of time?





I
didn’t mention that bit, did I? I’m back in England now. And currently living on my parents' sofa.





It’s
weird being so close to your old home and knowing that you’re not here. Not
here to do pretentious French lunches with. Not here to go to the university
library with and pretend like we are writing our dissertations again. Not here
to watch X-Factor with and eat too All The Pizza and Pic n Mix and do
impressions of Louis Walsh with.





Instead
you are finishing up your temporary teaching contract in Italy. Frustratingly,
this week you are an hour down the road from where I was teaching for the
entire summer. Oh, travelling Gods! How you mock us!





I’m
pleased we weren’t so close that you missed the chance to go to Verona to see
the opera, though. Last Saturday you emailed to say you were off to Juliet’s
House, and that you’d written me a letter. You said it was three pages front
and back, done in your fancy pen, and that you had asked her to bring me a man
who could love me as much as you do. It seemed to be no coincidence that on a
particularly difficult day you were able to do that.





Three
hours later you messaged again to say that security guards wouldn’t let you pin
it to her house so it had to go in a letterbox instead.





You
tried.





My
instinct is to ask exactly what you wrote in that letter. I want words and
phrases and thoughts and ideas, because that’s my problem. I want to know
everything, always. But I know in my deepest heart that you said everything I
would’ve said for myself, and a few things I haven’t thought of yet. I trust
you.





You’ve
got a bazillion more travel dreams and plans and schedules and I don’t know
when you’ll be on British soil BUT the thing that gets me most excited is that
when you are, it’ll be MY sofa you sleep on.





You
said recently I feel
like we are the same person but I am just a little bit behind you. Not in a bad
way, but just in a way that you are the future me and I am the past you. Like
magic, and fairies and cups and stuff, and
I know what you meant.





But I disagree.





What you are doing now inspires me to push for my future dreams. The strength that you have demonstrated to the
universe through heartache and upset and not-knowing means that when you write to
me I don't know what I'm doing with my
life (the sentence uttered most by the both of us this year) I know that in
my own non-plans I’ll be okay too. Because I watch you, being here, and there,
and loving, and laughing and being so purposeful, so engaged with life, that I’m stronger and more engaged with my own
life by proxy.





I have to be. I’m part of a team. And
I can’t let the team down.





Happy travelling, lover.





Laura x




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