Mr. Darcy

Every summer, sometimes spring and fall as well, I open Pinterest and search for outfit inspirations. Thousands of beautifully combined pieces of all colors and shapes appear. But I scroll, and scroll some more, looking for something specific. So specific, I might as well start a trend of my own. The one that anyone with cholinergic urticaria can look at and go: “Finally!”. Choli-what, Danielle? My apologies for the confusion. Allow me to introduce the bane of my existence, the “hot girl summer” killer, the one thing nobody will take away from me – heat allergy.

Anytime I bring it up, people realize that they’re 'also allergic to heat' because they 'can’t stand it'. Bless their hearts. At first, I used to correct them and explain my condition more in-depth, but they’d get offended. People are fascinating, truly. Now, I nod and look at their skin blistering with sweat. Side note: sweat is a big no-no. It causes nasty, burning, and tingly hives.

But let’s go back to Pinterest scrolling. I am to avoid any tight, linen, and denim clothing. That’s half of the outfits gone. Something not too open, but also nothing sweat-inducing. Another quarter is gone. Now I am left with a few grandma-inspired options. It’s almost vintage – neat. I decide to search “cholinergic urticaria outfits” and … nothing.

I look outside my balcony where Benji, my senior dachshund, sunbathes with his belly up.

“Lucky bastard”, I smile as I go to turn down the AC.

I walk back to my desk and retrieve my journal. If you assumed that heat is my only enemy, I guess it would be my fault for misleading you. Journaling is an essential tool to avoid a powerful duo that makes CU worse: stress and anxiety. I’d write about anything and everything – bad days, nasty people, new opportunities, fears, uncertainties. You’d be surprised how powerful a pen on paper can get. How liberating it is to let your inside thoughts flow. My favorite thing to do is read notes from past years and laugh at what seems to be the end of the world. Like a few years ago, I picked up my journal and started scribbling away. Sobbing, tears leaving wet bumps on paper, furious. Describing in such detail how much I hated Samantha Kemp. “Her stupid freckles” and “idiotic laughter”, sometimes repeated twice. All because she could stay on a trampoline longer. All because she could spend all day in the scorching heat, play with other kids, and be “oh-so-happy”. The same Sam who is coming later for a movie night because she also happens to be my friend. My only friend, in fact.

“Including you, Benji-boo”, I whisper looking at the sausage in my yard. He is overcooked by now.

Today, of course, it’s nothing I couldn’t handle. So why am I journaling now? James Peters. Oh no, how dare I, to be infatuated with a boy – to be the biggest cliché alive. I’m only 18, give me a break. And you haven’t met my very own Mr. Darcy - so tall, so smart, so not mine. There is no need to mention that we’ve never talked outside of class because then I wouldn’t be such a cliché. What makes me different is that I got his number. But no, not by asking him, and no, I never tried to text or call. Scratch the “different” part. Sam did a project with him once and sent me his number for a promise that I’d actually text him. And I truly meant it when I made that promise, but I haven’t gotten further than opening his contact and staring at the blinking cursor. Sometimes I do it a few times a day, and it’s been nearly seven months since.

I got a text from Sam. “Let’s move the movie night to Saturday, can’t do tonight!”

I groan and text her back, all caps, and go back to journaling.

Today I’m complaining about James’ inability to read signs. Last week we were doing presentations about famous people – perfect, I thought! I searched for any historical figure whose last name was Peters and landed on George Henry Peters – an astronomer. I ended my presentation with “Peters was a truly fascinating individual!” while looking straight at my Mr. Darcy.

Nothing. Not even a head tilt. I’m doomed, it’s hopeless, I should go back to Meryton and tend to my family’s estate until my last days.

I scribble the last drop of frustration and tap on my phone’s screen. I don’t see any replies from Sam which is odd but not odd enough for me to bombard her with more messages. With not much to do, I decide to take a power nap in my hammock before starting any assignments.

In my dream, I'm texting James about our movie night and what snacks he should bring. I call him “honey” and “cutie pie” and send ten heart emojis at the end of every message. It is the sweetest dream that I don’t want to wake up from. But a heavy knock on the door has different plans. I groan, half awake, and look at my watch. “Six o’clock?”. For a moment I imagine that Sam might have felt so guilty that she ended up coming after all. Another knock.

“I’m coming!” I yell from across the house.

I open the front door and see a pair of timbers, denim jeans, and a worn-out t-shirt that says, “Not today, Devil!”. Confused, I lift my head and see James’ face. “Oh no-“, I shut the door in his face and turn around. Too much sun? I’ve experienced a bunch of things with CU but hallucinations? That was new.

I look at my phone and see a new text.

From James.

On my phone.

I open it and instantly grab the nearest wall. None of it was a dream? Or am I still dreaming? I pinch myself, hard. Whimpering from pain I scroll to the very top of our conversation. And see the same text I sent to Sam. Only now I realize that I never replied to her.

THAT’S UNACCEPTABLE, WHAT AN UTTER BETRAYAL. MOVIE NIGTHS ARE SACRED AND YOU MUSN’T SKIP THEM! GUILTY!

I read the last text from James:

Am I watching from the outside? If so, which window?

My mind returns to reality and I open the door. He’s still there, confused and a little amused?

“That’s quite a greeting”, he lets out a little laugh “am I still invited?”

Realizing the full horror of my situation I hurry him inside while thinking of how I’m going to explain it all. I could be honest. Yes, surely my Mr. Darcy would understand that I am a total lunatic and randomly invite people to hang out while bombarding them with emojis and pet names.

“It’s pretty chilly in here”, James noticed shivering.

“Sorry about that I have- “

“I know.”

I pause for a moment.

“You know? How?”

“Because Peters are truly fascinating individuals.”