Swampwater Debutante

You broke my heart. I knew you would.

I was late to your party; late to the entire revival, in fact. I’d heard about it, of course, but hadn’t gotten around to watching it since I didn’t have cable and didn’t know anyone with cable who would be interested in watching with me. And so it slid by, one series and then two and I didn’t see any of it.

Odd when you consider that Doctor Who had been a part of my consciousness for as long as I could remember.

My earliest Who memories are tricky. I’m never sure when they occurred, but somewhere between ages nine and twelve. After careful examination I can be nearly entirely certain that Colin Baker was in fact my first Doctor. I remember asking Mom who the man in the funny coat was. Who could forget his insane waistcoat? He was compellingly jerkish and self assured and dressed like a circus clown. I was intrigued.

I wouldn’t have classified myself as a fan – PBS kept the rerun schedule as chaotic as possible and they were the only conduit I had to the Doctor. I watched four Doctors as a youth, completely confused as to what was happening, but unable to look away. I liked to figure things out, you see, and I was convinced if I watched enough I could figure out what was going on.

Well. Not so much. I never did work it out.

But it never left me. There wasn’t time that went by that I didn’t wonder what happened to the show when someone mentioned it. I was 12 when it went off the air, and I never knew about the movie till I was an adult. But I always remembered it. I remembered little other than that I liked it even as it frightened me (I kept my head under the pillow – that’s what we do here in America, we don’t hide behind the couch – Who used to come on so late we’d be watching it in our bedrooms with the volume low so our parents wouldn’t hear, so when you heard EXTERMINATE you shoved your head under the pillow and peeked out when it might be safe), but I remembered.

I came back to the series by accident. Roaming YouTube one late night in early 2007, I stumbled upon the entirety of The Runaway Bride. It had been the Christmas Special in 2006, but BBCAmerica hadn’t quite cottoned on to how many Americans liked the show, so it wasn’t airing with much consistency. We hadn’t gotten the Christmas Special yet (and wouldn’t until nearly 2008, AFTER Voyage of the Damned, even).

I didn’t have cable. This would be my only chance to see what was up with the revival of my childhood memories, I reasoned. So I hadn’t seen the show in years. I’d been confused and lost then; what difference did it make now? I’d figure it out, and if I didn’t, well, hadn’t I just been presented with an example of how amazing was the internet? I punched play.

“I’m…I’m not…I’m not…I’m not from Mars.”

You had me then, right then. I slid down in my chair, literally kicking my feet in the air and gasping with delighted laughter. The look of consternation on your face, the helpless delivery, the resignation as you chased after this mad redhead in a wedding dress who’d appeared randomly in your TARDIS, which hadn’t been at all like the TARDIS I remembered. Except for the rondules. Oh, you were perfect, just mad and wild and funny and even cheerful even though I’d seen you’d just suffered some (unknown to me what, right then) huge loss right before Donna appeared.

I was hopelessly adoring of you from that moment on. Six may have been my first Doctor, but in that moment, you became MY Doctor, a terminology you yourself would introduce in the Children in Need special of 2007.

They started airing the series properly here. I began to watch, with my best friend (it wasn’t hard – she’d married another childhood Who fan) I looked things up online. I got caught up, got to know you better.

You were dark, like the vague memories I had of Seven. Sometimes rude and arrogant like Six, though far more contrite about it. You were boyish and exuberant like Five, as babblingly lunatic as Four at times, and as idealistic as Eight at others.

It all added up to you. To Ten. To My Doctor. And oh, how I loved you for all of it.

You were broken. You hurt.

You mourned Companions that left or died. You lamented your lot in life, to watch as Companions cycled in and out while you lived on but you were unable to permanently distance yourself from the idea of having a travelling friend.

You knew they’d end up breaking your hearts every time. You were excited to meet new friends, even if you knew eventually they’d leave somehow and it was going to hurt.

That’s how we feel about you, when you become ours. We know you have to leave eventually but we love you anyway. We can’t help it. It’s part of what makes one Doctor someone’s most especial Doctor.

I cried to watch you die. I cried to watch you know you were going to die. It had always been that way – I was joyous when you were joyous, angry when you were angry, and now just devastated as you were devastated. You were that brilliant, always. I couldn’t help but feel what you felt.

And I watched you go with tears in my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks and yes, a slightly dribbly nose. I didn’t want you to go. Not my Doctor. Not my zany, broken, determined, clever Doctor.

But you are gone, now. A new man sauntered – no, flung himself headlong off in your place. He looks to be even madder than you, and I’m intrigued to see what he does, what he’s like. But he’s not you, and he won’t ever be my Doctor. That’s you, always you.

And you broke my heart. I knew you would.