Ex Animo

Friday, November 14th 1975 ~16:06~

My favourite subject was her. She sat two rows down from me. My sights readied and angled to perfection. This afternoon she flipped her messy hair and tucked the stragglers behind her left ear. I could see the mole peeking out from under her earlobe, resting easily on her neck. A bunch of our mutual friends were heading down to Cove’s Creek for some bonfires and beer. I saw an opportunity taking shape and jumped on it. As any good gentleman would do, I proffered to give her a ride. She winced at the thought and explained she had her own car. I was unfazed by the response, for the very thought of seeing her later and having her close was enough for me!

Sincerely, 

Porter Finlay

Friday, November 14th 1975 ~20:17~

I stopped at old Ben’s for a fresh haircut and sprung the extra money for a cologne. If I hadn’t already made an impression on her at school, then tonight she would notice. I was confident enough to know that after studying her for this long, she’d be remiss not to see the catch that I am…

Sincerely, 

Porter Finlay

Saturday, November 15th 1975 ~03:26~

Father doesn’t believe in explanations. That’s what he taught me—you either do something or you don’t. The reasons for it don’t matter—they are both pointless and obscure. The first half of my night unfurled as expected. We played some drinking games around the fire. A couple hours went by and she’d sneak in an excuse to sit next to me on this wooden log made ‘for two.’ She buried her head into my shoulder each time I made her laugh. She would get up and go to a small group of people but throughout the night, she repeatedly returned to where I was sitting. 

My feigned confidence was overturning—a puddle of nerves splashed over me. Alone, I bolted for the trails. I hiked for the better part of an hour. Returning to the campsite, I could see the groups of students had dispersed and the fires dimmed. I searched for her—but she was gone. I sat back down on the log and watched the fire flicker as embers and soot carried off in direction of the creek. Running towards me, a figure emerged—a delicately framed silhouette with arms outstretched and tinted orange by the fire’s glow. She jumped into my arms while I managed to maintain my equilibrium. Her scent infiltrated my nostrils—a mixture of pine cones, burnt cedar and damp moss. I could feel her wet armpits sliding down my arms. She grasped my hand and lead me to the creek—all I could hear was the gush of water racing to meet the rocks. We plodded through and kicked the cans and peanut shells surrounding us to reveal a large flat stone which we sat upon. She told me to count the stars as I inched in closer. I turned to face her and lifted her chin, caressing it with my thumb. I went in for a kiss and she froze. Pushing off her palms, she backed her body up to standing position—barely teetering into the water. Inexplicable forces washed over me—I pushed her hard into the water, slipping on the wetness of the sediment I stood on. She gasped loudly and I put my hand over her mouth to muffle her screams—pushing her head further and further into the muddy water. Her feet and arms flailing all around my head while she tried to poke my eyes with her nails. I wrapped her long hair around my fingers and encircled the back of her head with my hand, pushing it hard up against a rock that floated by the creek’s edge. Her body stopped moving. I held my fingers to her neck and checked for a pulse. Her mole no longer serving a purpose for me, I dragged her lifeless form deep into the forest and dug a shallow grave amongst the branches. A singular yet unforgettable excitement culminated within me the moment I felt her body go limp. I must end this entry out of sheer exhaustion. This night has been long indeed.

Sincerely, 

Porter Finlay

Sunday, November 16th 1975 ~18:51~

You’ve been a loyal and dear friend. Page after page scrawled with my random musings and secret obsessions. Your patience and indiscriminate listening have been of comfort to me. The other night feIt like a confession—it allowed me to move forward with no regrets. Certainly, things unfolded not quite how I had expected that evening but I’ll settle for what did. It was supposed to be my first time fucking and instead it was…Anyway, there will be plenty of time for sex—that’s what college is for. 

Sincerely, 

Porter Finlay

Monday, November 17th 1975 ~22:01~

School days are relentless. Morphing minutes into hours and then weeks. I had to find a new subject of interest—so I chose Latin! I figured I’d concentrate my efforts into actually learning about something instead of someone. I came across a very interesting word in class today. Ex Animo is another way to end a letter. The direct translation into English is ‘from the heart; sincerely. There is also the word Exanimo which means to deprive of breath, life or spirit. Two interpretations created by a single separation. All things considered, I did get the girl in the end!

Ex Animo, 

Porter Finlay 

PRESENT DAY:

As I finished reading the last entry, I clasped the diary shut and dust sputtered from it. I laid it on my lap in disbelief. There were tears running down my cheeks as I battled with myself. Not my father—he was a family man. Porter Finlay was a decent man. Daddy was buried today and I was just cleaning through his things; deciding what to keep, donate, or dispose of. The hardest part is determining into which pile I put the diary in…