TED TONKS: 21 June, 1971
Slipped into the pocket of her bag when she's distracted
Andy-
If you're reading this, and it isn't summer holidays then my plan for this letter has gone terribly awry.
The plan, Operation Deep Sea Diver, was to write you out this long letter to try to tell you everything I wouldn't get to tell you over the summer. Except I realized I don't have the time to write you a novel, because then I would never study for exams and you'd get exasperated with my continued failure to turn a weasel into a ferret. I maintain that there is no difference between a weasel, a mongoose and a ferret. McGonagall and the scientific community are full of lies.
I also realized that if I did tell you everything I wanted to that I'd end up writing you a novel. And it would be like one of those awful Dickens' novels when they paid him by the word. Honestly, who would pay someone to write stories by the word? This is why they ended up with three pages of description about the evil doorknocker in the Christmas Carol. I hate that book. LOATHE it. Did I ever tell you? I don't think so. See? Operation Deep Sea Diver would have mentioned hating Charles Dickens.
I've never wanted to talk to someone the way I've wanted to talk to you, Andy. Usually talk is just talk, you know? Just rambling. But with you, the talking and the rambling and babbling is just so much better. Because you're brilliant at talking and rambling with me. I like the sound of your voice when we talk, Andy.
So I decided to streamline Operation Deep Sea Diver to save you from the trials of reading it all. There was this bit about popsicles that was really neat. Okay, well, mostly it was about how snow cones are inferior to popsicles in every respect including flavor and hilarity. I hate snow cones. You can't get snow cones to change colours as you eat them, can you? There you go. Popsicles reign supreme.
That was pretty much all there was about popsicles, really, so we can cross that off the list of things to talk about. I'd ask what you want to talk about, but this is a letter and letters are never democracies. Except G. G is always the exception.
One thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm sorry if you get into any trouble with your parents because of me. It's not my fault and I wouldn't change anything I did, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry if you get in trouble on my account. I'm also more grateful than I know how to say properly that you think I'm worth the trouble. Because...I tend to wear socks that don't match and I can't ever keep my notes in order. So I don't know why you'd bother with me, really. But I'm glad you do.
Basically, what I mean to say in all this (besides those bits about mongeese and Dickens) is that I love you. I love your eyes, and how your handwriting goes all cramped in the margins of paper, and your hair, and the way you look when you're about to sleep. I didn't ever think I could love someone like this, Andy. It's like...you've got into my head and made me better. If we were in a science fiction movie, you'd be the mad scientist and I would be the regular Joe that you rerouted my brain to make into a super-hero. Only more romantic.
I'm sorry, I'm no good at this. But I really do love you. This...it's the most amazing thing ever. It's better than everything. Getting assigned to do that project with you, even if you made me crazy, was the best thing that ever happened to me.
That's why I'm going to go mad for missing you this summer. I won't even get to write you long, rambling letters unless I think of some super-agent plan to smuggle them to you. I was thinking about going undercover as a house elf until I realized how terribly that would fail. I was also going to possibly...use morse code somehow. I'll get back to you on that one.
I'm going to worry about you this summer. A lot. And I know there's not a whole lot I can do. Except maybe write this ridiculous letter and hope Operation Deep Sea Drive might make you smile a bit while you're at home.
I'm sorry this is so absurdly and tremendously long. I sort of rambled. Probably should have cut out that bit about the popsicles.
I love you, Andy. I love you and I miss you and I hope you're alright this summer and I'll see you in September and think about you every day til then.
-Ted
Andy-
If you're reading this, and it isn't summer holidays then my plan for this letter has gone terribly awry.
The plan, Operation Deep Sea Diver, was to write you out this long letter to try to tell you everything I wouldn't get to tell you over the summer. Except I realized I don't have the time to write you a novel, because then I would never study for exams and you'd get exasperated with my continued failure to turn a weasel into a ferret. I maintain that there is no difference between a weasel, a mongoose and a ferret. McGonagall and the scientific community are full of lies.
I also realized that if I did tell you everything I wanted to that I'd end up writing you a novel. And it would be like one of those awful Dickens' novels when they paid him by the word. Honestly, who would pay someone to write stories by the word? This is why they ended up with three pages of description about the evil doorknocker in the Christmas Carol. I hate that book. LOATHE it. Did I ever tell you? I don't think so. See? Operation Deep Sea Diver would have mentioned hating Charles Dickens.
I've never wanted to talk to someone the way I've wanted to talk to you, Andy. Usually talk is just talk, you know? Just rambling. But with you, the talking and the rambling and babbling is just so much better. Because you're brilliant at talking and rambling with me. I like the sound of your voice when we talk, Andy.
So I decided to streamline Operation Deep Sea Diver to save you from the trials of reading it all. There was this bit about popsicles that was really neat. Okay, well, mostly it was about how snow cones are inferior to popsicles in every respect including flavor and hilarity. I hate snow cones. You can't get snow cones to change colours as you eat them, can you? There you go. Popsicles reign supreme.
That was pretty much all there was about popsicles, really, so we can cross that off the list of things to talk about. I'd ask what you want to talk about, but this is a letter and letters are never democracies. Except G. G is always the exception.
One thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm sorry if you get into any trouble with your parents because of me. It's not my fault and I wouldn't change anything I did, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry if you get in trouble on my account. I'm also more grateful than I know how to say properly that you think I'm worth the trouble. Because...I tend to wear socks that don't match and I can't ever keep my notes in order. So I don't know why you'd bother with me, really. But I'm glad you do.
Basically, what I mean to say in all this (besides those bits about mongeese and Dickens) is that I love you. I love your eyes, and how your handwriting goes all cramped in the margins of paper, and your hair, and the way you look when you're about to sleep. I didn't ever think I could love someone like this, Andy. It's like...you've got into my head and made me better. If we were in a science fiction movie, you'd be the mad scientist and I would be the regular Joe that you rerouted my brain to make into a super-hero. Only more romantic.
I'm sorry, I'm no good at this. But I really do love you. This...it's the most amazing thing ever. It's better than everything. Getting assigned to do that project with you, even if you made me crazy, was the best thing that ever happened to me.
That's why I'm going to go mad for missing you this summer. I won't even get to write you long, rambling letters unless I think of some super-agent plan to smuggle them to you. I was thinking about going undercover as a house elf until I realized how terribly that would fail. I was also going to possibly...use morse code somehow. I'll get back to you on that one.
I'm going to worry about you this summer. A lot. And I know there's not a whole lot I can do. Except maybe write this ridiculous letter and hope Operation Deep Sea Drive might make you smile a bit while you're at home.
I'm sorry this is so absurdly and tremendously long. I sort of rambled. Probably should have cut out that bit about the popsicles.
I love you, Andy. I love you and I miss you and I hope you're alright this summer and I'll see you in September and think about you every day til then.
-Ted