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The summer Laurie went away was the worst summer of Amy’s life. Meg was married in May because she wanted the spring blooms, and so she had moved into her own home and kept it and learned to be a wife. Amy didn’t see her nearly as much as she wanted. And she was angry at Jo, as usual but she was angry because she and Laurie and Aunt March were supposed to take the same boat, but after Jo turned Laurie down, he left early. He didn’t even say goodbye.
Amy couldn’t tell if she was furious at her sister, or if she was elated. Because she turned Laurie down. Because she sent him away. Because Amy would get to follow as she always did.
Fever dream high
In the quiet of the night
You know that I caught it (oh yeah, you're right, I want it)
Amy’s bed was under the window that faced towards the Lawrence manor. One of her favorite things to do was in the dead of night when Meg and Beth had fallen asleep, and Jo had probably fallen asleep in the attic writing again, was to sit up in her bed and watch the manor. Sometimes in darkest, clearest nights she could see Laurie illuminated in his bedroom as well. Whenever she saw him staring out into the dark, she liked to think that they could see each other. Even though she knew he was checking to see if Jo was still awake, she liked to pretend.
On her most romantic nights, she blew him a kiss, hoping he’d catch it.
Bad, bad boys
Shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it (oh yeah, you're right, I want it)
Killing me slow, out the window
I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below
Amy didn’t go back to dancing after that ball. Her altercation and subsequent embarrassment with Laurie put a stain on the evening, and blackened it even more after Fred came over (very drunk as well) and she had to smooth over ruffled feathers. She made the necessary excuses and goodbyes and she hurried out towards her carriage.
She was fuming. At Laurie, at Fred, at herself. Hell even Jo. Because it always came back to Jo. She had saved her favorite dress for the season for a special night, and when Laurie said he would take her she knew that this was why she was saving it. And then he didn’t show. He didn’t come. Whatever Amy had thought about Laurie even liking her, was quashed in that moment. She’d given him countless things (her most precious gift though he didn’t know it yet: her heart) trinkets, paintings she’d spent weeks on just for him. Not that she’d ever tell. And he still wears that piece of tin Jo gave him.
(What Laurie doesn’t know is that Amy picked it out at the corner stores and showed Jo)
(What Amy doesn’t know is that her paintings are kept in his room back home, so only he may look at them, and be reminded of her. The miniature of the flowers in the garden is kept in his breast pocket, over his heart.)
Even when Amy got into bed she said she hated him, and Jo and they were dead to her.
(She hated herself for saying it)
But what she hated most of all, that she knew that she’d wait a thousand lifetimes for him.
Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
What doesn't kill me makes me want you more
And it's new
The shape of your body, it's blue
The feeling I've got.
Amy had tried to tell Jo a thousand times. But Jo was Jo. A force of nature who held her things out of Amy’s reach. That included Laurie. Laurie was Jo’s friend who also sometimes allowed to talk to her sisters. Jo called the shots, and Laurie followed, Meg rolled her eyes and pretended to be above it all because she was the oldest, and Beth was far too shy to do anything but peer from behind Amy.
Amy had wanted to tell Jo. God how she wanted. Because Amy and Jo were both full of passion and fierce about the things they loved. About the people they loved. Jo nursed Beth back to health, Amy painted Beth a picture every day to put by her bed. Deep down Amy knew only Jo would understand what she felt for Laurie. She also knew that Jo would never speak to her again. Amy remembers being at her most selfish when she burned Jo’s book and Jo wouldn’t even look at her. It was the worst week of her life. She had vowed that she wouldn’t take any of Jo’s things again. That included Laurie.
It would probably kill her, if he and her sister ever ended up together. But for the time being it only made the glances she stole at him and the hugs he would giver her that much more sacred. They were numbered.
So cut the headlights
Summer's a knife
I'm always waiting for you
Just to cut to the bone
Devils roll the dice
Angels roll their eyes
And if I bleed
You'll be the last to know
She won’t let him see her cry. She won’t. She cannot let him know he got to her. She won’t be the girl who cries. Laurie doesn’t know about all the times he made her cry.
(When he didn’t invite her to the play.)
(When he teased her about her nose that time)
(When he didn’t come see her after she fell in the lake)
(When he didn’t dance with her at Meg’s wedding even though he danced with all her sisters)
(When he didn’t pick her up, she let out a few tears and composed herself)
(After when she was angry they fought, and he let those other girls… touch him.)
(When he didn’t fight for her as she left with Fred)
And right now. She’d never tell.
I'm drunk in the back of the car
And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (oh)
Said, "I'm fine", but it wasn't true
I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you
And I, snuck in through the garden gate
Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh)
Amy had too much to drink. After Laurie had made his grand exit and she had to soothe Fred and assure him that Laurie “didn’t know what he was talking about darling”, she started to down champagne. She was drunk in the carriage like it was her first outing in Europe all over again. Aunt March would be furious.
It is there in this carriage that Amy finally lets herself scream. Cry. Sob. Beating her fist into the plush upholstery because why couldn’t he just see.
When the driver glances back at her he asks her, “Miss, are you.. alright?”
Amy delicately dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m fine, thank you.” The handkerchief was embroidered with a blue “A” surrounded by pink flowers. It was Beth’s gift to Amy before she’d left.
Amy composed herself. She had to tell him. Not now, she was far too angry at him to give him any satisfaction of knowing she loved him. But soon. It was too hard, and maybe if she did she could let him go, and marry Fred and love Fred as she should.
When the carriage dropped her off a street away, she went through the back of the estate. Aunt March would definitely hear her coming through the front door, so the garden gate it was. She had learned this trick after one too many scoldings by the old woman.
When she got into bed, Amy was feeling much better. Because. Amy had made her decision. After all, Amy made her own fate.
And I screamed, "For whatever it's worth"
"I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"
He looks up, grinning like a devil
Laurie knew Amy was a saint. And he wasn’t which is why he called her that. In his moment of weakness, he tried to hurt her. His Amy. Who was never as good as Beth, or as fair as Meg, or as fiery as Jo. He wanted to make her feel like she wasn’t good. Because she loved him.
Laurie realizes that now. That he loved Amy in that moment, but didn’t know. He was angry because Amy, Amy AMY was holding his heart in her hands now. And he was angry because he had sworn he’d never give it away again. And he’d done it without even realizing.
When Amy told him she loved him in the garden, he could hear the frustration in her voice. The anger. Telling him that for whatever it was worth, that she loved him. Even if what the worst thing he could ever hear.
When she was completely gone he knelt in the grass and picked up the drawings of him. They were him without question. She had captured something only an artists who truly knew their subject. Better than the muse knew themselves. Her love had bled into the thing she was most proud of. He had permeated her sacred space.
And in spite of himself, he looked up to where she had disappeared, and smiled.