Sercia

Dear Sercia,

Hi. You may not remember me, of course, but I think you might. I certainly remember you. I learned how to spell your name, at least. Occasionally I spoke to you, although we rarely – if ever – exchanged more than pleasantries. But then, you never said much to anyone at all. You were quiet, unassuming, and impenetrable.

But then that all added to the mystique.

You never even seemed to mind that I bunked next to you on that residential. There weren’t many spaces left and I took one between you and my geeky mate. He was a friend, of course, and I just liked your general vibe. You radiated an air of calm, cool collectedness, which made me feel at ease. At that time, I wasn’t particularly enjoying life, and you helped.

The other thing that I associated with ‘the Sercia vibe’ was your air of general innocence. Because you were so quiet and somewhat detached, you seemed to carry around a certain amount of purity. You were sweet, slightly abashed and almost virginal. You were also very pretty, which helped complete the look.

What was the big thing for me, of course, was the reputation you had.

It didn’t suit you at all, and yet you seemed unfazed by it, to your immense credit. You said, in your soft, dreamy voice, that you had never kissed anyone without that leading to sex – and, since that was during I Have Never, I would assume you were telling the truth. Your closest friend, who was slightly more forthcoming with information even when not playing I Have Never, would talk about you in ways that you never contradicted.

The air around you and your general attitude didn’t really fit with the picture that was gradually painted of this hypersexual, promiscuous dynamo who would sleep with pretty much anyone at the drop of a hat basically because she could.

“Sercia,” your friend said, “had a lot more sex than me in the earlier days. Of course, she had started when she was 13, so there were a few years between us and I had to catch up…”
“That’s quite early…” someone said uncertainly.
“Ah, yes it is, but that’s Sercia; you know what she’s like.”

But did we? Did we really?

At the time, of course, I had a huge, unrequited crush on Leaf, and I didn’t need another one on you, Sercia. You were out of my league anyway, and in any case, I wasn’t going to be hooking up at any Woodcraft event, on account of the fact that… well… it’s me, isn’t it? People don’t go for me. I only ever got to kiss Leaf because she was drunk.

But my brain built up this fantasy anyway.

Somehow, inexplicably, we’d end up in a relationship. On the last night, with nobody else in the room (which never happened; it was a major thoroughfare, people had sex in the smaller rooms), we’d have sex, and it would be a moment of glory given your beauty and experience (and my enthusiasm). For the next couple of years I would spend my spare time ferrying myself between Nottingham and Solihull – a much shorter journey than London to Birmingham – and we would enjoy each other’s company, and each other’s body.

Judging by what you said, it would only take a kiss. But I wasn’t going to try that.

What you don’t know, Sercia, is that I almost tried it. On the last day of the residential, I was going to ask you out. You hadn’t raised any objections to sleeping next to me for three days, you were single, and you were quiet enough to say no without anyone else finding out. Had I actually asked Leaf, I would have been so embarrassed by her rejection that I would have hesitated on going to any further events. I didn’t want to jeopardise that.

Besides, I liked your general vibe. You were fun. It would be fun.

But, of course, I didn’t. I didn’t (and still don’t) do asking people out. I wasn’t even sure what to say, or how to say it. The one and only time I did, it didn’t go too well.

So I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t do anything. Because I never did. And you never knew what was going on in my head every time you sighed in your sleep or turned up at breakfast looking perfect.

You came to a few more events, because of course you did, but you were conspicuously absent for my last few.

“What happened to Sercia?” I asked my geeky friend.
“No idea. I haven’t seen her either. Maybe she’s just busy with… Sercia stuff?”

Yes, what exactly did you do when not at Woodcraft? Nobody had heard you talking about anything but sex. Trying to imagine your life was almost impossible, like envisioning a stupid professor or a competent Tory Prime Minister.

But kindly take this letter as an indication that I did very much like you.

Because I never told you, and I think you ought to know.