Embarrassing? Definitely. Humiliating? Without a doubt. But it happened just this way.
It was the day before Valentine's Day, 1968. Newly married, they were struggling through college. She, the incurable romantic, hunched over the drawing board, toiling to create a giant-size king of hearts for her own King of Hearts. India ink was unforgiving. But her Beloved was worth the labor of love.
Anticipating his utter astonishment the next day, she tingled with delight. Beloved would occasionally saunter through to cast a sidewise glance. What was so important, so secretive as to consume precious study time?
"You'll never guess what I'm doing," she gently teased. "Hmmm. I guess not. But you better get to studying." "No, this is worth it." "Well, don't say I didn't warn you."
She dreams. "My Precious is so mysterious! I wonder what he's going to get me?"
The big day arrives. 7:00 AM. She whips out the card. "Happy Valentine's Day!!! YOU are the King of MY heart!!" "Is that what you spent all day doing? Man! You should have been studying." "Don't you like it?" "Huh? Yeah. Oh, yes. very nice. And so are you. I love you. I'm off to class. See you at noon."
But she's ever the optimist. "Isn't he romantic? He's going to build up my anticipation and surprise me at noon. My hero!"
Noon. She's preparing to leave when he arrives. "Well, it's about time to go. See you later." "Good. Good. See you at 5:00." She pauses, wide-eyed, gazing expectantly into his eyes. "Well, aren't you leaving? You'll be late." "Yes. Yes, I'm going now. Bye."
Her heart is still hopeful. "He's really building up the excitement! I guess he's going to give me my gift at 5:00."
Valentine's evening, 5:00 PM. They're eating supper when Beloved speaks. "Supper was great! You're really cooking a lot better now! Remember the first time you made gravy? When I picked up the spoon, the whole bowl of congealed grease came up with it! I've got to study now. Here, this is for you." Her heart flutters, anticipating what he's about to hand her.
She takes the dirty plate from his hand. Fluttering stops. He opens his book; she continues her reverie. "He's so romantic! He's waiting until 7:00 to give me my present. that's the romantic hour!"
As 7:30 comes and goes, reverie wanes. Emotional flip-flops set in. "Maybe he doesn't have me a gift. No, of course he does. He loves me, doesn't he? No, he's not going to give me a gift. Yes, he is. No, he's not. Yes, he is."
Exasperated, she stands and shouts. "No – you – are – not – going – to – give – me – a – Valentine's – present!" Leaping up, Beloved the bookish scholar knocks his chair over. "Yes I am! I was just about to go and get it!" Instantly saturating her with his absence, Beloved soon returnes with a lovely bottle of Woodhue by Fabergé.
He learned something that day: lessons of the heart aren't in books.
Copyright 2001 James McAlister
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