Darla

Posted on Friday, 5 September 2003

It's odd the way some things in life seem as though they were meant to be, the way one choice can set in motion a chain of events that will change our lives forever, or the way a disappointment can be the impetus for finding happiness. I was twenty-three years old when I met William Darcy, and I shudder to think what course my life might have taken had we never met. It's true, there were other events, other choices - some within my control and some not - along the way, which eventually led me to where I am now, but it all started that night. Sadly, it all began with disappointment and heartache. Not mine - his.

I met William in December. I had just finished college at State U that semester, and I still spent a lot of time socializing with other students that attended my university. A friend of mine, Mary King, threw a New Year's Eve party at her house and invited just about every college-aged kid in the county. William had come with some friends, but when I met him he was standing alone in a corner. Mary had heard a rumor that he'd been crossed in love and she thought it would be a good idea to get him someone to talk to. She had only just met him that night herself - apparently they had a mutual acquaintance, one Charles Bingley.

She introduced me to him as "Darla Lucas," of course. That's how everyone always introduces me. That's how everyone knows me. I've grown accustomed to it over the years. I stopped protesting and correcting people long ago, because all my efforts would be undone as soon as whomever I'd corrected met my parents. But, I did roll my eyes, as I always do.

You see, my parents named me Charlotte Darla Lucas, but have always called me Darla, in spite of my attempts to make my preference for Charlotte clear. Apparently my mom was about eight and a half months pregnant with me - and already knew I was a girl - when her grandmother - my great-grandmother and my namesake - passed away. My mother was her only grandchild, and her dying wish was that I'd be named after her. But, my parents had already picked out Darla. So they named me Charlotte on paper, to honor their promise, but have always called me Darla. Besides the fact that I like Charlotte infinitely better than Darla, I feel as if my great-grandmother was cheated out of her dying wish.

Anyway, to say that William Darcy was a mess when I met him would be a gross understatement. Though his demeanor was reserved, and I later learned that his emotions are not of a nature to be displayed openly, I could perceive his melancholy at once. He was feeling something deeply; he was carrying around a strong grief. He seemed like he needed a friend. Mary stood around talking with us for a few minutes then moved away leaving us alone, but only after some pretty strong hints and knowing glances about where she expected our acquaintance to lead us. When we looked at each other, after she'd walked away, I started to laugh and he actually cracked a smile.

"Don't worry," I said jokingly, "I don't expect an engagement ring before Valentine's Day."

He smiled a little more and we began talking about the usual stuff people who have just met talk about. I was intrigued when I found out he'd minored in Japanese. I'd spent a year in Japan as a child, mostly while I was eleven, and though I remember living there I did not retain any of the language, notwithstanding my mother's insistence that I was quite fluent at the time.

We continued talking, and I think William was glad to have someone to chat comfortably with so he could avoid meeting anyone else. After a while the room got kind of stuffy, so we walked out into Mary's back yard. I don't know how the conversation turned serious, but sometimes that happens - you meet someone for the first time and tell them things . . . personal things . . . secrets. I think William felt safe with me. I think he realized I had never even thought of he and I actually getting together. So he told me. Right there in Mary King's back yard, under the strings of little white lights that connected the trees, he poured his heart out to me. He told me what he had never confided to any other human being. He told me about Elizabeth Bennet. His Elizabeth.

He had fallen in love with her, deeply in love - slowly, carefully, after getting to know her, after watching her and learning everything about her. The trouble was, she had not been falling in love with him.

When he finally confessed his feelings to her she reacted far differently than what he'd expected. He realized that she hadn't learned a thing about him. His reserved nature had prevented his personality and his character from being observed. He had been too busy learning everything he could about her to let anything of himself out. This circumstance had, of course, made it impossible for her to love him. So for the next two and a half months he had been e-mailing her information about himself everyday, sharing the secrets of his soul . . . and she'd never responded - not even once.

He had put all his hope into seeing her over the Christmas holidays when she came home from college. He would then know what effect his e-mails had had on her. Two days before Christmas, he had seen her briefly at a party, but she had left without saying so much as a word to him.

Now, I've never been the romantic sort, I'd never been in love, but I'm as familiar as anyone with how it's supposed to work, and this just wasn't right. When he was finished, I told him what I really thought. I was completely honest with him. It was not a ploy - catching him was the furthest thing from my mind. I just wanted him to feel better, to understand the situation from an objective viewpoint. And he knew that.

"Do you want to know what I really think?" I asked him.

"Sure."

"I think your Elizabeth is selfish, unfeeling and stupid."

"Darla, don't say that. It's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"No. I know her and you don't. So please don't say things like that. She's the sweetest, most thoughtful person you could know. I think you'd like her."

"I seriously doubt that. I already dislike her and, like you said, I don't even know her. I don't have to know her. What you've told me is enough information on which to base an opinion."

He continued to try to protest but I persisted, "Any decent woman would have given you a clue by now, William. A 'yes' or a 'no' or at the very least an 'I'm not certain.'"

"But she never asked for my love or my attention. For all I know it could just be annoying her."

"Then that's all the more reason she should have the decency to tell you to get lost once and for all. I mean, her actions convey the same message loud and clear but . . ."

"Do you really think so?" he interrupted my little anti-Elizabeth tirade. "Do you really think there's no hope?"

"I don't see how you can go on hoping, William. She's obviously not interested. I think she's being a coward by not facing you, but she's sending a pretty clear message by not responding, or interacting with you at all."

He was not convinced, but I later learned that I had sown the first seeds of acceptance in his mind - acceptance that Elizabeth would never come around, would never love him. He was waiting for her to show up in his life one day and say she loved him too. He was waiting for a fairy tale, and life just doesn't happen that way.

"What are you going to do, William," I continued, "wait forever? Waste your life hoping for something that's never going to happen? You have to move on."

I didn't know it at the time, but my words hit home. I only saw him shake his head. I thought I hadn't made an impression at all. But I had. It turns out he thought a lot about what I'd said over the next few months.

We continued to see each other and developed a steady friendship. We hardly ever talked about Elizabeth - only enough for me to ascertain that he was still writing to her, still devoted. I didn't lecture him anymore. He was a grown man. I just gave him my friendship. He knew I was there if he ever needed to talk. I started e-mailing him almost every day in an effort to cheer him up from the disappointment I knew awaited him when he opened his in-box. I sent him funny jokes, little cards, or pictures. Anything I thought would make him laugh, or at least smile.

It was during this time that we really got to know one another. I learned more about him than his feelings for Elizabeth and he seemed interested in learning about me too. I even told him the story about how I was named, but I didn't disclose my abhorrence for the name he always used to address me.

Since he'd already revealed the depths of his heart to me, we had attained a level of intimacy that allowed me to reveal myself to him as I'd never done before with anyone else. It didn't take long for him to notice that I never talked about men or past relationships. Finally, he asked me one day if I'd ever been in love. It was a perfectly innocent question - just another step in his effort to get to know me, just another blank to fill in.

I laughed, "I don't believe in love, William."

He was genuinely astonished. "I can attest to the fact that it does exist," he replied.

"Yes, so you claim, but it's only made you miserable."

"But it doesn't have to be that way," he insisted.

"I'm amazed that you, of all people, would continue to defend love."

"And you sound like you're bitter and disillusioned."

I laughed again. "Nope, actually I'm neither. I've never been hurt, William. I've never given anyone that kind of power over me. And, I intend to keep it that way. I'm just not the romantic type. Never was. From what I can tell, love only causes heartache and pain."

"Maybe you just haven't met the right man."

"The right man for me is one who doesn't expect love. Mutual respect, compatibility, even liking one another is required, but not love."

"So you do hope to settle down with someone?"

"Of course I do. I'd like to have a family. I don't want to be alone my whole life, William, do you?" I had asked as a pointed reference to this torch he was carrying, as a way of emphasizing my opinion that he needed to move on -- not as a hint for he and I to get together in that way

Thankfully, he didn't take it that way. But he was struggling with his situation and his choices. "No, I don't," he said quietly, casting his eyes down.

When I realized my comment had really hurt him, I took his hand. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," he replied.

We didn't have any more serious conversations like that for a long time. We just enjoyed each other's company. Our friendship was a unique one, unencumbered by the uncertainties and expectations of most new relationships between a man and a woman. We both knew where we stood with each other, and neither of us wanted or expected anything beyond friendship.

It was late April when he finally opened up to me again about Elizabeth. "It's been six months," he said abruptly one day. "I can't do it anymore. It's over."

I didn't say anything. He didn't need my approval. He didn't need to hear me express my relief for his sake. He just needed me to listen. He loved her and he knew he always would. He didn't know how to stop. But he needed finality. It hurt too much to be rejected day after day when he opened his e-mail and there was no message from her. It hurt too much to constantly wonder when she would reappear in his life, and what that meeting might bring.

When he was finished, he was on the verge of tears. I held him in my arms, and I told him he was doing the right thing, making the right choice - for him.

Over the next few months, our relationship changed. He eventually became more cheerful, and I think it was due to his freedom from the daily disappointment of hoping for an email from her. If she wasn't responding when he was writing, then she certainly wasn't going to respond to nothing. At first, though, I think he hoped that when she stopped receiving e-mails from him, she might be induced to send him one, perhaps just out of curiosity, to find out why he'd stopped writing. But I knew she wouldn't. Even if she was curious, she would be too proud to do anything about it. She might even have been relieved to stop receiving messages from him. It didn't take long for him to resign himself to the fact that she was never going to write to him.

Then, we were watching the fireworks on July Fourth from his rooftop when he bowled me over.

"Darla," he said, "I've been thinking about what you said a few months ago, about not wanting to be alone. Well, I don't want to be alone either. And when I think about what we mean to each other, and my situation, and your expectations, I just think we could be happy together."

"What are you saying William?"

"I guess I'm asking you to marry me." I will not say that the thought had never crossed my mind. I could not think of a better arrangement. He was a great person. He was honest, loyal and compassionate, and I knew he would never let me down. Once he made his choice, once we were married, he would never repent it. Even if he did, I would not be devastated, I would not be hurt, at least not as one who loves feels it. And he didn't expect anything from me that I wasn't willing to give. It was good for him too. How many women of quality would take him with that kind of baggage? And I knew he couldn't be dishonest about his feelings. Plus, he'd be getting the same benefits I was getting: security from ever being hurt again, companionship that we already knew we enjoyed, honesty with each other about our expectations, and the knowledge that I would always be there.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I had to ask.

"Yes, Darla, I'm sure."

I should have known he wasn't sure. I knew he still loved her. But, I didn't understand that love gives a person the absolute inability to ever completely give up hope. He had resigned himself to a future without her, but as long as she lived there was hope. I thought I understood love even though I'd never experienced it, but I was wrong. Very wrong.

We agreed to get married in a quiet civil ceremony on New Year's Eve, to commemorate the anniversary of our first meeting. We weren't in love, but we were sentimental. There was no engagement ring, no formal announcement. We agreed to just tell our families and a few friends gradually over the next few months, as the date for the wedding approached. We sealed the deal with a dispassionate kiss, and then laughed at ourselves for it.

Our relationship didn't change much after that except that we both tried to be more physically intimate. We both wanted children and we knew how to get them. Although it was unspoken between us, I think we both decided that when the time came we might as well enjoy making them. Our newfound intimacy consisted mostly of holding hands. It was uncomfortable at first, but we got used to it.

For a month we lived under the illusion that we were happy, that this is what we wanted, that there was no Elizabeth. We were at William's house, on our way out to see a movie, when she resurfaced. His sister was visiting relatives, which seemed like a perfectly plausible excuse for his eagerness in checking his e-mail. "Let me just check my e-mail before we go," he said. His voice had a slight edge to it when he said it, but I ignored it - or pretended to.

I stood behind him, my hands on his shoulders, looking anywhere but at the screen, trying to be nonchalant about the meaning of his activity. Then I felt him stiffen and I knew she had finally written to him. I turned my eyes toward the screen as he opened the message. It was very short:

I'm coming home, and I have a present for you. I'll see you soon.

"Are you okay?" I asked, extending my arms around his neck in a sort of hug.

"Yeah," he said, logging out of his account, "let's go."

"William we should talk about this."

"No, there's nothing to talk about." He shook himself from my embrace and stood up. "If I let myself hope I'll just be disappointed again. Whatever this present of hers is, I'm sure it's not . . . ." He stopped suddenly.

"It's not what? It's not her love?"

"Exactly. This is what I gave her up for, to rid myself of this anxiety. I'm not going to do this again. I'm not going to hope for something that will never be."

But he did hope. He hoped against his will and against his reason. He loved her - he could not help but hope. Of course, I didn't realize this at the time, and we just went to our movie as if nothing had happened. I tried to ignore the fact that he was preoccupied all evening and he tried to appear as if he was not preoccupied. Thinking back on it now, I realize what a ridiculous farce it was.

I had never met William's friend, Charles. He was still in school, and very often visiting his girlfriend two states away. When he returned in mid-August from an extended visit, bringing her with him, we went to his house to hang out. I knew Elizabeth was Jane's cousin and William warned me that she might be there. In truth, I was very curious to meet her.

William was right. She was there. And if I'm any good at reading people, she was floored by my presence. I felt triumphant - not because I had him and she didn't, but because she'd had the audacity to expect him to remain alone when she'd made it perfectly clear she didn't want him. He wasn't alone, he had me. I felt proud of him for having the courage to move on.

After a few minutes she got up and went to the kitchen to get some drinks. He followed her with his eyes. When she disappeared, he looked at me. I nudged my head in the direction of the kitchen as if giving him permission. If he needed closure, then I wasn't going to hinder it. When he returned his expression was bland. Later, he told me that nothing of consequence had happened between them.

We all hung out as a group every night for the next week. Elizabeth was watching us with what I thought was a morbid curiosity. I didn't think much of her. She was pretty enough and seemed nice enough, but I couldn't get over her rejection of William. I couldn't forgive her for that.

On the last day before she was to leave town, we had all planned on going hiking together. I still felt William needed closure, and he wasn't going to get it with me around. Maybe if he finally confronted her, she would finally confirm that she didn't want him and he would be free of her once and for all. I wanted it as much for his sake as for mine. I did not love him like that - all romantic - but I cared deeply for him, still do. He was the best friend I'd ever had. I just wanted him to stop hurting. I told him I'd feel uncomfortable around Elizabeth for the whole day. I think he understood my motives.

It was very late that night when he showed up on my doorstep. I only needed the briefest glance at his face to know what had happened. Tears came to my eyes. To this day, I'm not sure if they were tears of happiness on his behalf or tears of sorrow on mine. I was angry, I was disappointed. I had every right to be. He had his heart's desire and I was left out in the cold. But all those negative feelings melted away when I saw how happy he was. His face was diffused with such a look of heartfelt delight that even the sense of loneliness welling up inside of me could not withstand. He was my friend, and I could only be happy for him.

He swept me up in his arms and spun me around, saying, "She loves me, Darla. She loves me."

Isn't it odd the way the strangest things come to our minds at the most inappropriate times? All I could think to say in that moment was, "I don't like to be called Darla." I felt like I could finally admit it to him and this was as good a time as any.

"What?" he asked, in obvious and understandable confusion.

"Charlotte, my name is Charlotte."

"But your family calls you Darla."

"I like Charlotte."

He smiled, "Charlotte, you will release me from our engagement, won't you?"

I laughed at the fact that he was actually asking for my permission. "Of course I will," I beamed at him. Then I brought my hand to his cheek and repeated, "Of course I will. After all, she loves you."

"Thank you," he said with all his heart as he took my hand from his cheek with his own and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"Who am I to stand in the way of a love that was meant to be?"

I admit that for a long time I assumed that it was me that had swayed Elizabeth -- that she had realized she loved him, wanted him, only after seeing him with me. But I later learned that it had happened months before. I will not comment on whether I believe she made the wisest choice by waiting to tell him of her feelings in person. But he had so thoroughly convinced her of his devotion that she didn't question it even during the four months he failed to write to her at all. And the more I thought about it the more I realized he wasn't totally faultless. After six months of constant expressions of devotion, after instilling in her such utter confidence in his feelings for her, he just gave her up without any word or warning. Maybe he should have told her he felt he didn't have any choice but to give her up unless she gave him a reason not to. Maybe I should have advised him to do it. But I hadn't been thinking of Elizabeth's feelings at the time. I had never liked her. I didn't even know her.

Elizabeth wasn't comfortable with me, at first; but once William explained our entire relationship to her and she saw over time that I truly cared for him but only as a friend, she accepted me.

I went to their wedding. It was there that I met Colin Fitzwilliam -- William's cousin. Although it had been nine months since our break up, William still felt guilty about leaving me. He always assured me, though, that I would never be alone. I couldn't have his children, but I would always have his friendship and that's all I would have gotten married to him anyway, all I had ever wanted. So, when he introduced me to his cousin, to Colin, he had high hopes for the two of us. He introduced me as Charlotte and Colin has called me that ever since -- even after meeting my family. Just about everyone calls me that now, except my parents.

Colin had been burned, and burned bad. His fiancée had been cheating on him and embezzling money from his company. No woman could please him more than one who did not believe in love. I thought similarly. Having always sought companionship and respect without wanting the vulnerability and emotional expense that comes with a romantic relationship, I thought his situation was ideal for me.

Fate, however, had other plans. With Colin, I did learn what it was to love, and he learned that love could be good and pure and happy. Our love story was not as exciting as William's. We got to know each other, we fell in love, and we got married a year after we met. There was very little drama in the whole of our courtship. But, when we started to become closer physically there was a great difference from when I'd been with William. I felt warm when he touched me, not just where he touched me, but all over. And, when he kissed me it was incredible, still is. I learned what it was to feel passion.

During that year, my relationship with Colin and my friendship with William threw me much in company with Elizabeth. Once we were able to forge a friendship, I understood why William loved her so much and I could see that she truly loved him in return. In them, I saw for the first time in my life a couple who was truly in love and truly happy. They were making it work, not effortlessly, but happily. And I was on such terms of intimacy with him and with the history of their relationship that I saw more of their relationship than what a casual friend might have been privy to. I received from them invaluable insight into the inner workings of a healthy, successful marriage. If it had not been for their example, if they had not shown me it was possible, I don't know if I would ever have been able to let Colin into my heart, to give of myself to him so completely.

We became a very contented foursome, except when Charles and Jane were with us and we were a sixsome. Elizabeth and I became close friends and confidantes. Since I already knew much of her personal saga, it seemed very natural that it should be so. She even became comfortable enough with me to listen to my stories of William during the first eight months of my relationship with him -- when she hadn't been around. Now, I have my own place in her heart, just as she has in mine.

William danced with me at my wedding, and teased me relentlessly about not believing in love. I acknowledged that I had been wrong, that I was madly, passionately in love with Colin. I even admitted that he had the power to hurt me, though I was confident he never would. Yet, even if he did, I know that experiencing the kind of love we share would be worth every bit of the pain that would result.

A year after my wedding, Elizabeth gave birth to her first child, our goddaughter, Charlotte Jane Darcy. They called her CJ, and she always loved it. Their second daughter, Sarah Jennifer had Charles and Jane for godparents. They named their son Bennet Charles William Darcy.

I have three children of my own. As much as I wanted to name one of them after my best friend (second only to my husband) I thought William Fitzwilliam would be too much of a curse for the child (even worse than Darla Darcy would have been for me!) But I had always liked my maiden name, so our first child, and only son, was named Lucas Colin Fitzwilliam (Elizabeth got the idea from me). Our first daughter was named after my husband's two grandmothers, Cynthia Rita - we later learned that she disliked Cynthia so we always called her Cindy after that - and our second daughter was named after my two grandmothers, Alyson Sofia.

I have a good life. But, if it hadn't been for William and his broken heart, I'm not so sure I would have found such profound happiness, or learned what it is to truly love and be loved. Things turned out pretty well for all of us - just as they were meant to be.

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