A Somewhat Embarrassing Confession

I like to think of myself as weird when it comes to men. I have yet to find that perfect man, so until he comes, I am happy with daydreaming about drool worthy, fictional men� but that is not the somewhat embarrassing confession at all.

 

 

I like to think of myself as weird when it comes to men. I have yet to find that perfect man, but I know what I am looking for. Until he comes, I am happy with daydreaming about drool worthy, fictional men. Yes, that’s right. I said fictional. I like to imagine that those lovely pixilated men are all mine… but that is not the somewhat embarrassing confession I indicated in the title.

 

Like I said, I am comfortable with being weird. If you asked me, I would tell you proudly about these fantasies. However, there was a time when I was swept up into the word of actors and movies, stars in my eyes. After my grade school days of mooning after boy bands, I vowed to myself to never fall in love with an actor. I broke that promise only a year ago.

 

Brown leaves clumped in groups outside my window as I searched through my favorite’s list to see if there were any updates. I always checked for news; a habit that led to being comfortable at the brainstorming table for my school’s newspaper. When I scrolled down a particular website, something caught my interest. There was a photo of a young man, a little older than me, smiling back at me like he knew I was staring. I found myself studying the photo with scrutinizing detail, memorizing everything. My heart thumped in my chest… what was going on? I read the headline and my heart did a little flip: he was to play my favorite character in an upcoming movie.

 

I have to warn you: it is rare for me to like a main character. I always root for the minor ones, and this guy, named Robert, was to play one of my favorite minors. I searched for pictures of him, using my mouse as a shovel, and found a few dozen. Not much, but it would do. Robert had a talent for looking the same in almost every photo. It was a little thrilling when he was shot at a different angle.

 

His face floated in my dreams, pushing out all thoughts of fictional men. This one was real… and he was gorgeous. Robert was very tall, and would surely loom over me if I ever met him. His skin was smooth and pale, wrapped tightly against his high cheek bones and strong chin. His eyes were small yet warm, dark brown and glittering with humor and cleverness. The eyebrows above them were large and dark; a prominent feature. His nose was straight except for the rounded tip and his lips, though thin, expressed his emotions thoroughly. His hair was soft and short, the color of chestnuts, and it was always fun to see how different stylists sculpted his hair.

 

Bordering on ridiculous, I really thought I knew him. I found out what plays he performed in the past, what shows and movies he had been in, and tracked down every interview I could find. Watching him talk to the lady with the microphone in the pouring rain made me smile. I laughed when he did; I wanted to pat him on the back when he caught that woman’s umbrella. I liked that he tried new things. He had a hero, someone to look up to, and he tried his best. I liked how he stayed in the background, quiet and humble, waiting until he earned the right to brag. I loved how laid back he was, coming to photo shoots and interviews in a grey shirt and jeans. My mother thought he should have brushed his hair before going out; untouched by stylists; he left it as a curling, disheveled mess. I loved it. What I loved the most was when; either embarrassed or tired from exercise, his cheeks would flush red.

 

I joined a few online sites, eager to meet some people that might be fans of his. I stuck with a group that liked to make icons and crack jokes about his character. We had fun, posting news and other tidbits, friendly battles between other actor’s threads, and so forth. At one point in time, one of the girls found a picture of him autographing someone’s paper… with the pen cap lodged between his teeth. We made a big deal over that; wishing like the fan girls we were, that the pen cap had belonged to one of us… or that we were the pen cap. An indirect kiss! 

 

I wrote a letter to him about two weeks before the movie came out. In it, there was a letter and a drawing. I drew a picture of him as his character, and slaved away with my colored pencils to make sure there was no spec of white. I drew a picture because, before I fully realized my knack for writing, I wanted to draw as well. The letter… well… I took some liberty with it. For some reason, I did not want to come off as the shy girl I was. I wanted to write something – anything – so that he might possibly send a reply. I delved into my memory, remembering things that he said from his past interviews. My pen started to fly across the paper. Told Robert that I as a kid, I used to force my brother to dress up as a girl, just like his sister did to him (I wonder, is that a natural occurrence?). I also asked him why… he was expelled from… I think grade school. Not that I should have asked, but it was all about the ploy to get a reply. My mom convinced me to stick a photo in the package and ask for an autograph; he would at least do that. I packed it all up and dropped it off at the post office, wondering how long it would take before it reached England.

 

In the months that followed, I let my dreams take over. I imagined him opening the letter, intrigued by what I wrote, and rushing to my hometown in haste to sweep me off my feet. Different choices, different outcomes… but it was always the same type of thing. The movie came to theatres and I enjoyed watching him on “the big screen,” covered in darkness and gripping my seat in anticipation. My heart would leap when he showed up on screen and I would nudge my mom or my brother, whispering, “It’s him!” unnecessarily. I wanted to close my eyes when the ending came; I read the book. I knew how it was going to end. Yet still I forced my eyes open, knowing I would regret it later if I did not watch. His death was quick; I squeaked when he crumbled to the ground. Clutching my mother’s hand, we both let our eyes well up. It was pretty emotional.

 

The buzz of the movie lowered to a hush, and everyone went back to their normal lives. They knew that the next book would become a movie, another great film to look forward too. But I knew that there would be no more Robert. There would be no ghostly return, no resurrection of any kind. The character I loved was dead. And I did not know when I would see Robert on the screen again.

 

I will not lie when I say it was hard to pull away. My obsession with Robert was by no means unhealthy. The problem was that I wanted it to end. If you fall in love with a star, it is impossible to reach it. You can stare up at the sky all you want, but the star will never come to you. Unless you are a star too, nestled next to it in the sky, only a spaceship could take you closer. But it would never be enough. It is the same as falling in love with an actor or actress. Unless you know them, are there with them, you’ll only be dreaming. I resolved that if I wanted to dream, it would be about men that I could use my imagination to get close to. That or a real man. Not a star. I quit the fan forums. I held my hand steady as I deleted every website that could lead me back to Robert. After a while, I felt I was back to normal.

 

A package came in the mail three months later. Sleeping inside it was a photograph, secured neatly with bubble wrap. It was the photo I stuffed in with my letter and drawing. Robert stood in it with his hands in his pockets, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Across the page, in blue sharpie was a simple but messy message:

 

To Kim

Best Wishes,

 Robert

 X

 

If I did not already know who he was, I would not have been able to read the chicken scratch that was his signature. He left his last name out, and the ‘x’ stood for a kiss. A kiss… that made me grin.

 

To this day, I have the photo pinned to my wall, amongst other various posters and papers. I smile every time I pass it. My star-struck love has dwindled to just like. I would watch another movie with him in it. I would cheer for him. I would watch him get interviewed. But, I would never again be plagued by the violent want, the need to find any and all about him. The only way to survive a crush of celebrity nature. I do not feel heartbroken or that I wasted my time. The way I see it, love is an important thing to experience. Each time you love, no matter how it turns out, you learn something new. Unrequited love… does not always have to be painful. I can thank Robert for lighting up a part of my life, making it fun and exciting.

 

What I find embarrassing about this confession is that I broke my promise. No more celebrity crushes. Thank you Robert, universe, but once is enough. No more. I resealed my promise with a day dream of drawn men, and have stayed away from celebrity crushes since.                   

Author's Note

One of my happy memoirs, finally back up :)