Estrangement and Equality: Cross-Fictional Letters
In this short fictional piece, I continue the storylines of the movie, Her by Spike Jonze and Lynn Nottage’s play, Intimate Apparel. Through cross-fictional letters, the main characters of each piece, Theodore and Esther, talk about their past relationships and struggle to find intimacy.
Theodore’s Plea for Connection
Dear Esther,
My name is Theodore — Theodore Twombly. I work in Los Angeles as a professional letter writer. As I write to you (really as the computer writes to you), my voice trembles, and my pale skin flushes red. I’m nervous and apprehensive to be writing to a stranger though this is my job description. Although I enjoy my work and feel a closeness to the people I write to, each letter chips away at something inside of me, exacerbating a pre-existing hole in my life. Sorry, I’m rambling.
I watched your play and resonated with your struggle for intimacy. Your circumstance gave me hope that I’m not alone in my search for closeness. My girlfriend, Samantha, just left me. I still remember her breathy, tender voice, inquisitive yet helpful nature, and how she was “someone who ha[d] an excitement about the world” (Jonze, 52). She supported me through my daily tasks, career in writing, and difficult divorce. I deeply miss her.
It’s difficult for me to understand her situation given the different worlds we come from, but she had to leave: for herself and her well-being. Letting her go was possibly the worst decision I’ve ever made, but for her sake, I guess it was the right choice.
As I finally come to terms with the breakup, I want to focus on improving myself before entering another romantic relationship. After Samantha left, I was able to take the time to reflect on my past intimacies. I now understand my selfishness and inability to handle others’ real emotions, contributing to the downfalls of my previous relationships.
I know I need to continue improving, but I want to share this transformation process with someone. My only friend, Amy, is taking some time off all relationships, including our friendship, realizing that to truly “allow [her]self joy” (Jonze, 82), she needs to focus on herself and process the grief and change alone.
Besides, who better to embark on this journey with than someone who understands the pain of losing a loved one and being alone. Esther, I’m not asking for a superficial rebound as the old Theodore would, but a meaningful, non-physical friendship where we can bond over our shared yearning for connection and possibly supplement each other’s voids of intimacy. I appreciate you for considering my proposal.
With Compassion,
Theodore
Esther’s Candid Response
Dear Mr. Twombly,
I ought to be honest with you, sir. Your letter was quite discomforting. As Mrs. Dickson unapprovingly writes this letter for me, I can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu. In fact, if I hadn’t interfered, Mrs. Dickson would’ve already thrown away your letter, trying to save me from the same mistake I made with George, especially since you’re a white fella. But given my more experienced understanding of relationships, I know I ain’t gonna repeat history with you. Besides, after reading your letter, I feel the need to write to you not for your sake but for myself — for closure.
As you say, I see how we’ve both longed for intimacy but rarely received it. Like you, I’ve lost many people in my life — my parents, my friend, my customer, my husband, and my old self — but we mustn’t get into that now; the past brings up a flurry of painful memories.
However, one aspect that you didn’t realize about me is that I no longer wish for the same kind of intimacy that you described. That was the old me. Similar to Amy, I’m now trying to focus on myself and my soon-to-come baby, making sure to only surround myself with people who actually care for my humanity.
I don’t know who you are nor your story. Heck, I don’t even know what a “kumputer” or a “breakup” is! (I speculate they’re words native to Los Angeles.) Yet the vulnerability you shared, a commendable characteristic not common in most men, allowed me to see your true character, Mr. Twombly.
Even though you certainly show improvement in compassion and empathy towards others, I can’t help but to still suspect some selfishness in your actions and personality. Never did you ask about my well-being or emotions in your writing, knowing well that I’ve been through heartbreak like you. Instead, you just rambled on about your own sorrow.
With all due respect sir, you still expect relationships where you’re the center of attention, one where your partner’ll handle your strong feelings, but you don’t do the same. If you could truly empathize with my situation as you say you do, you’d understand that the last thing I need right now is the burden of another friendship, especially one where we ain’t equals.
Even though we don’t know nothing about each other, you expect me to be at your disposal to satisfy your needs, like George and Mrs. Van Buren expected of me! From your description of Samantha, your inability to reciprocate on any of the things she did for you likely contributed to your “breakup.” (I hope I used the word in the proper context.)
With the experience I gained from my past, I know better than to put myself through a one-sided relationship again. I know you, like George, “ain’t real, [you] a duppy, a spirit” (Nottage, 71). Because of this, I must respectfully decline your request for friendship.
Nonetheless, since I can only begin my new life after dealing with all past affairs, your letter allowed me to reflect and finally put my previous relationships to rest. You gave me the opportunity to let go of some bottled-up feelings about George and Mrs. Van Buren, race and gender. I wish I were able to speak the same way whilst out in my community. I must thank you for this opportunity to openly express my feelings and for hopefully respecting my decision.
Regards,
Ms. Mills
