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VALENTINING A STRANGER
Marcus Sanford
Interplans.net
Feb.14.16
There were plenty of other things to see at that moment. There was a 180 view of the shoreline from 150 foot elevation. Although it was Valentine’s day and low cloudiness, there were already some interesting colors resuming from an otherwise grayed winter; cobalts, seagreens, tans from high rivers and streams. The city across this channel was gleaming white from successfully arriving sun. There were eagles floating along the bluff, managing the seagulls below them who had humbled themselves and confined themselves to below the edge of the bluff. If you were a people-watcher, there were others to watch. A young couple, three high school boys already seen outside the marked area of course, retired couples with cameras and complaints about the parking was laid out.
But at that moment, there was something miserable that stood out. Her face was dark. Her hands in her sweatshirt to keep warm. She was maybe in her 30s. But she was not walking to see anything, possibly to leave something behind. She was not walking where she could see what most people came to see—the 180 view. That was it, she was just walking to leave it behind.
Now she walked even further from the view, and as I met her in my car, she turned away. There was plenty of room to drive by safely, but she did not want to be seen.
I was also by myself, as you know from what I’ve said so far. What kind of a friend did she need just now? Would she like to get tea at the café 2 miles over and tell someone her story? Of course not, you don’t do that.
But she was alone and unhappy and it was Valentine’s Day. Perhaps she was treating her self, self-care, taking care of herself, only to realize that she really wanted to be with someone.
I parked and because I knew the park and paths and knew which way she was going, I thought I would ‘check in on her.’
“Well, as one person alone on Valentine’s Day to another, happy Valentine’s Day.”
She said nothing, but she did stop.
“I’m prepared, of course, for complete rejection” I indicated.
It seemed to have worked a bit. “It’s been a ridiculous weekend.”
“I have no intentions here; I’m not even going to ask you to come have a hot drink. I just haven’t wished Happy Valentine’s today to anyone but my daughters.”
“I see… Thanks.”
“But if you want to tell me about the ridiculous part, go ahead. I sense it’s a bit stormy in there.”
“Yeah.”
“In a way, it’s easier to tell me than anyone you know, since we are strangers to each other. There’s no names to bring up; just the character’s features.”
She chuckled. “Features, right.”
“Well, I hope you have nice walk and it clears. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She was still silent, but she didn’t move away. I did.
“Some people love love, rather than you as a person.”
“What happened?”
“I found out my partner was with someone else. I don’t get it, but I supposed everyone says that. But in my case, I don’t get it because we had recently had that talk about how this partnership was a very intimate thing, and it couldn’t just be anybody. We both agreed that we were sort of ‘traditional’ that way. You don’t realize you will be until you get there sometimes. We can’t detach about intimacy, as some would say, like men. Can they--men?”
“Aha, so it’s down to that. I think many men can detach, yes. I think their brain tells them they can, but their mind tells them otherwise.”
“You must mean memory or conscience when you say their ‘mind.’”
“Yeah. Let’s walk along.”
“OK.”
“Do you know the Valentine story?”
“People give ‘I love you’ cards and treats. I mean they do that as kids and students, unless, you know, they’ve got a partner. Then it’s just for them. I mean traditionally.”
“Right. Well, are you familiar with the saint part?”
“Saint? No, huh uh. What’s that?”
“It’s the early middle ages, and Valentine was a Christian, a monk. He’d heard about a girl who was sort of a slave in her father’s house because the family was not making much money since the father died and there were no sons, and there had to be a dowery in consideration for a marriage. So guess what that meant for her. Her prospects were slight. The monks and monasteries often had the edge on business because lots of society had fallen apart after the Roman world ended, and the Christians had a structure and a belief in both being productive and in sharing. The monastery near her took on the family as an alms project, actually to help the girl out, but it would indirectly help the mother as well.”
“So that’s where that comes from. He gave her or the family the dowery money and then she could get married. That’s sweet.”
“But there’s another chapter that will make it more familiar.”
“What’s that?”
“The girl was successfully married, and her estate improved. On the anniversaries of her wedding, she would send him a little gift and a note. But then there was a conflict involving the monastery and some party or another seized it, and banished the monks and imprisoned the one monk. So he now became the needy one.”
“You mean she tried to get him out or buy his way out?”
“Not quite. I guess there was nothing that could be done as the people in power were now pretty rough characters. But every week she tried to visit. She couldn’t get in but you’ve probably heard how persistence pays off. Well, she got permission to send him notes, and as you can imagine it kept his soul alive. Those weekly notes were the original Valentines.”
“Awesome. Well, here’s my car. Thanks for the story. And for saying hi. I didn’t know how I’d feel, but I got it off my chest, by telling you something. And your story was like the woods and the park all over again for me.”
“So did my ‘Valentine’ keep your soul alive a little bit?”
“Yeah…” She was now sitting with the car door open. She had a streak of brightness in her face. “You haven’t really written off the tea, have you? I’ll see you there.”
Marcus Sanford’s short novels and feature scripts are at Amazon.com
Marcus Sanford
Interplans.net
Feb.14.16
There were plenty of other things to see at that moment. There was a 180 view of the shoreline from 150 foot elevation. Although it was Valentine’s day and low cloudiness, there were already some interesting colors resuming from an otherwise grayed winter; cobalts, seagreens, tans from high rivers and streams. The city across this channel was gleaming white from successfully arriving sun. There were eagles floating along the bluff, managing the seagulls below them who had humbled themselves and confined themselves to below the edge of the bluff. If you were a people-watcher, there were others to watch. A young couple, three high school boys already seen outside the marked area of course, retired couples with cameras and complaints about the parking was laid out.
But at that moment, there was something miserable that stood out. Her face was dark. Her hands in her sweatshirt to keep warm. She was maybe in her 30s. But she was not walking to see anything, possibly to leave something behind. She was not walking where she could see what most people came to see—the 180 view. That was it, she was just walking to leave it behind.
Now she walked even further from the view, and as I met her in my car, she turned away. There was plenty of room to drive by safely, but she did not want to be seen.
I was also by myself, as you know from what I’ve said so far. What kind of a friend did she need just now? Would she like to get tea at the café 2 miles over and tell someone her story? Of course not, you don’t do that.
But she was alone and unhappy and it was Valentine’s Day. Perhaps she was treating her self, self-care, taking care of herself, only to realize that she really wanted to be with someone.
I parked and because I knew the park and paths and knew which way she was going, I thought I would ‘check in on her.’
“Well, as one person alone on Valentine’s Day to another, happy Valentine’s Day.”
She said nothing, but she did stop.
“I’m prepared, of course, for complete rejection” I indicated.
It seemed to have worked a bit. “It’s been a ridiculous weekend.”
“I have no intentions here; I’m not even going to ask you to come have a hot drink. I just haven’t wished Happy Valentine’s today to anyone but my daughters.”
“I see… Thanks.”
“But if you want to tell me about the ridiculous part, go ahead. I sense it’s a bit stormy in there.”
“Yeah.”
“In a way, it’s easier to tell me than anyone you know, since we are strangers to each other. There’s no names to bring up; just the character’s features.”
She chuckled. “Features, right.”
“Well, I hope you have nice walk and it clears. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She was still silent, but she didn’t move away. I did.
“Some people love love, rather than you as a person.”
“What happened?”
“I found out my partner was with someone else. I don’t get it, but I supposed everyone says that. But in my case, I don’t get it because we had recently had that talk about how this partnership was a very intimate thing, and it couldn’t just be anybody. We both agreed that we were sort of ‘traditional’ that way. You don’t realize you will be until you get there sometimes. We can’t detach about intimacy, as some would say, like men. Can they--men?”
“Aha, so it’s down to that. I think many men can detach, yes. I think their brain tells them they can, but their mind tells them otherwise.”
“You must mean memory or conscience when you say their ‘mind.’”
“Yeah. Let’s walk along.”
“OK.”
“Do you know the Valentine story?”
“People give ‘I love you’ cards and treats. I mean they do that as kids and students, unless, you know, they’ve got a partner. Then it’s just for them. I mean traditionally.”
“Right. Well, are you familiar with the saint part?”
“Saint? No, huh uh. What’s that?”
“It’s the early middle ages, and Valentine was a Christian, a monk. He’d heard about a girl who was sort of a slave in her father’s house because the family was not making much money since the father died and there were no sons, and there had to be a dowery in consideration for a marriage. So guess what that meant for her. Her prospects were slight. The monks and monasteries often had the edge on business because lots of society had fallen apart after the Roman world ended, and the Christians had a structure and a belief in both being productive and in sharing. The monastery near her took on the family as an alms project, actually to help the girl out, but it would indirectly help the mother as well.”
“So that’s where that comes from. He gave her or the family the dowery money and then she could get married. That’s sweet.”
“But there’s another chapter that will make it more familiar.”
“What’s that?”
“The girl was successfully married, and her estate improved. On the anniversaries of her wedding, she would send him a little gift and a note. But then there was a conflict involving the monastery and some party or another seized it, and banished the monks and imprisoned the one monk. So he now became the needy one.”
“You mean she tried to get him out or buy his way out?”
“Not quite. I guess there was nothing that could be done as the people in power were now pretty rough characters. But every week she tried to visit. She couldn’t get in but you’ve probably heard how persistence pays off. Well, she got permission to send him notes, and as you can imagine it kept his soul alive. Those weekly notes were the original Valentines.”
“Awesome. Well, here’s my car. Thanks for the story. And for saying hi. I didn’t know how I’d feel, but I got it off my chest, by telling you something. And your story was like the woods and the park all over again for me.”
“So did my ‘Valentine’ keep your soul alive a little bit?”
“Yeah…” She was now sitting with the car door open. She had a streak of brightness in her face. “You haven’t really written off the tea, have you? I’ll see you there.”
Marcus Sanford’s short novels and feature scripts are at Amazon.com