My Mr. Darcy

I often question what keeps me breathing. Alone at night, away in translucent thoughts, sometimes half awake or half dreaming. Is it my ambition? My personal treasures? Or the undeniable savoir-faire of my life? Perhaps it is simply the incessant fear of what is to come next? Only seventeen and I'd already traveled to one end of the Earth and back...
          My great expeditions were the products of expensive family trips; of course, they often disregarded the fact that I even existed and took great company in only themselves and their money. I didn't mind so much as I was given the freedom of the world to explore and call my own. In London, I marched the Red District, taunting prostitutes and cross dressers, and coaxing bossy boys on the streets of Soho. In Mexico, I danced under the moon in the streets of the gypsy market. In Gibraltar, I climbed the Rock and played hide and go seek with the monkeys. And in Spain, I walked the cobblestone alleys, seeking attention, and smoking Pall Malls over deep conversation with two young men who didn't speak a word of English. It was the best conversation I had ever held, and yet we understood nothing of words, but actions. My travels were only a taste of what was to come. Here I was – young and beautiful and prisoner to my own heart. I had fallen in love with the world, and I was certain it had fallen in love with me.
          About one direction I was sure, I had known all kinds of love but one – the love of a man. It was strange to wonder that my life had never known such an element, despite the fact that I did indeed have frequent lovers over the years; they all proved to be unprincipled and wanton. I ached now for only one, undivided and irrevocable love.
          The movie of my life, myself as the star, constantly played in my head and tormented me to tears over the affirmation of my failure towards this yearning emotion. I longed to care for someone the way Austen's Elizabeth Bennett had attempted to care for Mr. Wickham; however, it was her Mr. Darcy who captured Miss Bennett's heart repeatedly. These greedy Wickhams came and went, but my heart always belonged somewhere else and I had no chance of paying them any respectable amount of attention. I was too much in love with my Mr. Darcy, I just hadn't met him yet.
         
          Today was the last day I set foot in the glass house I had grown up in. It earned the notion the glass house because one would not dare touch anything or it was quite possible the walls would shatter; as if the tension wasn't already enough. Only a week ago was when the newspaper delivered me my only chance for liberation. The ad that may have very well saved my life listed a reasonable price for one ticket out of here, one ticket to Europe – train passes included. I remember hiding the tiny paper cutout in the pocket of my neatly pressed skirt as if exposed, would mean the end of my hankering aspirations. The significance of the small paper was not just a place and a price, it was the possibilities my future influenced. Here my thoughts were again, the re-occurring and unrelenting fear of what could only come next. I bought the ticket as soon as possible a couple of days after I discovered the ad and intended to make my escape that night.
          Leaving only one letter to my family explaining it would be in the best of interest of us both to not come looking for me, I packed a single bag and brought enough money to survive for three months until I could find sufficient work. I had always done the right thing and honoured my family name, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand their fictitious behaviors. In the late hours, after the whole house had retired and not a sound was to be heard, I snuck out of the house and stood alone, silently saying my good-byes. The first breath of my new life was much like being a child again, inside a blanket fort for hours on end, only finally coming out and taking the first breath of fresh, new air. It was exhilarating.

        The airport was not overly crowded as I boarded my flight to Sweden, the destination listed on my airline ticket, with great anticipation. The flight was long and the more time that passed, the more curious I grew. How long had we been in the air? Nine hours? Fourteen hours? A day? I had no recollection of time, but I didn't care. When the flight landed, I embarked on the first train I saw outside the foreign airport and traveled until I was lost. I wasn't even completely sure if I was still in the same country on the fare ticket anymore.
        The train came to a screeching halt after long hours and announced to its passengers that we had arrived at the last stop. I packed up my belongings and stretched out my sore muscles. I was one of the last passengers to leave the train and looking around the crowded station I felt calm. The strange but familiar air washed away every feeling of homesickness and my suffocating fear dissolved. I was home. This was where I belonged.

        This new feeling of ambition and desire held me close like a never-ending climactic high of the most perfect drug. The passionate freedom that had long twisted inside of me finally broke free and then, as though time stood still, through the faceless crowd, I saw him.
        The strangest feeling overcame me and each tiny hair on my body stood on end. All I had ever known were small fragments of my very existence, but in this moment, I had discovered the underlying connection of those pieces. I didn't know who he was, or if we spoke in different tongues, but our eyes met and instantly I knew he was mine. And I was his forever if he wanted me so. My Mr. Darcy.
        Pacing towards this stranger, the only stranger in the area it seemed, his eyes were still strangely locked into mine as we stood inches apart.
        “Hello.” he spoke in the most devastating accent.
        “Hello,” I replied, fearful yet welcoming of this new feeling.
        “You seem lost, little bird,” he spoke quietly; he spoke only to me.
        “Just the opposite, in fact,” I retorted anxiously as we began to walk, “I'm very at home.”

        And in that fleeting moment, I didn't know where we were going or what would happen, but I never wanted to look back. In that moment, we were infinite.