IOU

by jkatejohnston

30 April 1995

Dear Maximus Schotticus,

Teresa came home from biking this morning all smiley. “I’m sorry I was a pain, last night.”

“A pain? When?”

“Well, which time?” And then I remembered how last night she said, “Do you ever feel terrible for no reason?”

I draped around her, barely awake. “What’s the matter, baby. You feel terrible?” She nodded. “Well, what kind of terrible?”

I felt her shrug, and after several minutes she said, “I feel like I could almost cry and I don’t know the reason.” I wrapped around her and tried to be comforting and was asleep in seconds.

This morning she pointed to the couch, “That’s where I was last night, watching bad comedians and thinking, ‘If Pork really loved me, she’d wake up.'” But this morning she’s sparkling and happy. Right now she’s singing Rock Island Line and cleaning out the cat box.

We found a place to live and applied for it, and we can tell that the people really like us and we like them, and still we probably won’t get the place because my income is a negative number. I was planning to borrow the money for the move-in cost, either from my credit card or my parents. So when Teresa and I were talking about the house I said, “I think I can come up with $800.”

“Where are you going to get $800, Princess?”

“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to admit to borrowing it, and I never thought she’d ask, and then, there it was. She extracted a confession and now insists on lending it to me herself. She will pay the whole move-in cost, and I will pay her back gradually.[1]

When we met the landlords, Teresa was so competent and impressive. I love hearing her talk to other people. The difference between that and the silly sparkly way she talks to me makes me feel how different I am to her from all the rest of the world.


[1] I never did pay her back. She still has the handwritten IOU. She likes to bring it up every few years. 

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