Love Letter To Leonardo DiCaprio, Revised And Re-Released For The 25th Anniversary Of Titanic
My heart really will go on.
February, 1̶9̶9̶8̶ 2023
Dear Leo,
My name is Anna. I am f̶i̶f̶t̶e̶e̶n̶ forty years old and a f̶r̶e̶s̶h̶m̶a̶n̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶h̶i̶g̶h̶ ̶s̶c̶h̶o̶o̶l̶ freelance writer embracing her midlife crisis! I’m from northern Wisconsin. I’ve seen Titanic in the theater l̶i̶k̶e̶ six times. [Apologies to you and my 15-year-old self for missing the 15th anniversary 3D IMAX re-release. Apologies also to my older sister: in 1997, home from college and bored, she agreed to drive me and my girlfriends to see Titanic. She rolled her eyes through the film while I wept so intensely that a pool of tears formed on my chest. Afterward, she waited in the lobby while my girlfriends and I huddled and wailed.] I a̶m̶ was your biggest fan!
I’m sure you get this a lot, and it probably sounds l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ crazy coming from a total stranger, but: I a̶m̶ was in love with you, in a my-hippocampus-isn’t-fully-developed way!!!
I’m dating someone, and he’s cool and we’ve said I love you and everything, but between us (and my BFF Carly), my feelings for Joe hardly compare to my feelings for you. [Oh god. Poor Joe.] I feel guilty. I mean, it’s not exactly cheating, but WWJD? [Assuming the ’90s Purity Movement wasn’t raging in Hollywood, that’s What Would Jesus Do? And the answer was SAVE SEX FOR MARRIAGE SKANK, TRUE LOVE WAITS and excuse me while I book a therapy session, this graf should’ve come with a trigger warning.]
Besides the fact that you’r̶e̶ve worked with the best actor alive, Meryl Streep, I think we’d r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶i̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶f̶ be okay acquaintances in real life. We have s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ one thing in common, l̶i̶k̶e̶ our taste in writers: This Boy’s Life, and Shakespeare! [My freshman English teacher assigned “Shakespeare Made Easy” (“Yo, Mercutio! What’s up?”). Imagine how Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet stoked the fire of my tortured teenager angst.] Compared to you, Joe is just a boy. Honestly, he won’t even try second base, let alone scale a balcony to my bedroom. [Oh god. Poor Joe.] I’d give anything to be Clare Danes or Kate Winslet! [Actually, this line holds up.]
I think about you c̶o̶n̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶l̶y̶ sometimes when photos of you and your model girlfriends pop up on my newsfeed. I kee̶pt pictures of you in my locker and posters in my bedroom. Carly got me a book about you for my birthday. [Long gone, I’m afraid. Whatever happened to all that fan merch? Floating the great Pacific garbage patch with the WWJD bracelets and promise rings, I guess. Which reminds me: let me amend this paragraph to say I do admire your environmental advocacy, which — except for the occasional newsfeed — equals the extent of my knowledge of your present-day life. I promise.] She’s the only one who understands!
I’m asking for Titanic for Christmas this year. [What I actually got was a doctored version my dad ordered from a Christian company. Just as Rose entered Jack’s room and moved to open her dressing gown, the screen blanked, before sputtering back to life post-nude-scene. I figured it was a defect. But when it blanked again just as you were finally getting it on in the backseat of the Renault, I knew greater forces were at work. No offense, but your handprint on the steamy window just the same. I never watched it again.] But the thing I want most is to meet you. [You’ll understand, Leo, if I strike this line. I can think of a few items higher on the list these days: age-defying serums, climate change reversal, a world in which Don’t Look Up doesn’t read like nonfiction, a 401K…not necessarily in that order.]
My phone number is (̶7̶1̶5̶)̶1̶2̶3̶–̶5̶5̶5̶5̶ (206)123–5555. Call me if you’re ever in W̶i̶s̶c̶o̶n̶s̶i̶n̶ Seattle. Until then, I’ll live vicariously through the movies and my heart will have to go on. [In case you’re wondering what happened to Joe, on Valentine’s Day that February, he strummed “My Heart Will Go On” on guitar while I listened awkwardly. I’d never heard him sing, not even with the Praise Band. As he shakily whisper-sang the entire ballad, I realized for the first time how very long the song is; how very high Celine Dion’s soprano; how ridiculous it was for us to be acting these parts — for him to play Romeo when he would rather play soccer, for me to play doe-eyed love interest when I only knew love from the movies, and would rather read Seventeen with my BFF — and how I didn’t really know this guy at all, how bizarre it was that we had elevated each other — practical strangers — to objects of worship. Joe’s song was super sweet and vulnerable, and when it was over, I immediately started plotting our break-up.]
̶L̶o̶v̶e̶ Best,
Anna
[P.S. I was smitten with your Gatsby performance in Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation, but your Upper Midwestern accent in Don’t Look Up could have been more authentic. Carly and I are planning an LA trip for our 40th. We’d offer you a “private lesson,” but you’re pushing fifty now, Romeo, and by the looks of that teenaged model you’re dating, when it comes to high school, one of us never let go!]
Anna Vodicka’s essays have appeared in AFAR, Brevity, Guernica, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Ms., Paste, Flash Nonfiction Funny, and elsewhere. She teaches generative writing workshops in Seattle and online — and she has no plans to see the Titanic reboot. Find her on Twitter @AnnaVodicka or at at www.annavodicka.com.
