*Fiction NOT Fact
The sun’s rays in late January are just too lazy to stand up straight and take care of business. At that time of the year they always lie down on the job. In school, of course, the science teacher will say it’s the earth’s axis and rotation schedules, and where we are along the ecliptic that affect the angle at which these errant rays enter earth’s atmosphere in January, thus giving us less light and warmth. But I didn’t need a science teacher to tell me any of that; I already knew there was less light, because when there’s less light, my heart doesn’t sing. And that day it wasn’t singing.
It was late afternoon, but seemed more like early evening. After cleaning all day with Harriet, who had effectively blocked all my attempts to leave the day before, I was finally sitting down for the first time, and was attempting to lasso my mind into solving a crossword puzzle, which I had found on the game table in the library. What I didn’t realize was, the puzzle was in Swahili and I don’t speak Swahili, so I hadn’t made much progress by the time I started nodding off. When I heard the entry door bang shut, I was snapped back to consciousness immediately. I knew it wasn’t Harriet. She had left an hour earlier for the day. That only left one other choice.
At the thought of . . . the other choice, I swallowed hard, but my heart started into cardiac arrhythmia anyway, and I began hyperventilating. Would he come into the library to see me? Or, as he had done for the last two weeks, go straight to his room and hide? A flock of butterflies then took flight somewhere inside my stomach, and was causing that uneasy feeling you get when you start to panic. If he did come in, what would he say? What would I say? Would it be business as ususal? Hi, how are ya? Blah, blah, blah. Or would he want to discuss that kiss—the one that shouldn’t have happened? Or would he just stand there, staring at me—with those eyes, you know, the blue ones, all while assuming his usual stance: left hand in pocket, legs planted firmly, two feet apart, the Andersquint in place, saying absolutely nothing at all—at least not with words, thus creating more panic and more butterflies in my stomach? Thinking about all that made me so nervous, I started shaking, first inside, and then outside when my hands started quivering. I quickly locked them together and thrust them out of sight under the table, just in case he did come looking for me.
It was then I heard footsteps, AND . . . they were coming toward the library, NOT away from the library. My heart was skipping beats like mad, as the arrhythmia shifted into overdrive. I felt weak and a little light-headed. My hands began sweating. I needed oxygen, but was having trouble getting it. The butterflies were now knocking their wings violently against the wall of my stomach, and when the falling dust from their wings mixed with the gastric juices, it created more anxiety than I could handle. I was a veritable wreck, and Andy was only seconds away from making an appearance.
How was I going to react? Should I just play it cool and aloof, and act like he was no big deal?—but . . . but . . . how could I possibly do that? He was a big deal! The biggest deal in my life! But, I knew I had to appear unaffected by his appearance. I couldn’t let him find me in a swoon, I mean . . . how would that look?
As each footstep grew louder and louder, closer and closer, every nerve and sensor receptor in my entire body was put on high alert, and at that exact moment, my body began trembling, like when you’re so cold you can’t stop your body from shivering, well, that’s how I was shaking—I couldn’t stop it!
THEN . . . I heard the footsteps slow to nothing, just before a shadow—Andy’s shadow, cast by the light from a window behind him, appeared in the doorway. I knew my heart could not take much more; it was thumping violently in my throat. But what I didn’t know was, the assault on my poor heart was about to exceed any known limits for survival.
As Andy stepped into the frame of the doorway, he became . . . a great work of art—a Michelangelo, a Donatello, a Botticelli—He was Adonis and David sculpted into one. His black Prada suit, paired with his electric blue shirt and red tie, shouted s-i-z-z-l-e as his eyes smoldered with fire, almost causing the gold overlay to melt and run off the huge Egyptian statues flanking the library entry way. The luminous silver of his hair had captured all the light in the universe for that moment, and was flashing laser-like rays in a dazzling display all across the room.
My breathing had ceased altogether now; my heart silenced, and the hinges holding my mouth shut had sprung open, revealing how completely and totally awe-struck I was as I beheld, with mortal eyes, this perfect artwork of a man, but not just any man—the Anderman. Does the earth have any understanding of the great and rare treasure it shelters here, I wondered?
As Andy stood there, the Andersquint of his eyes was in perfect harmony with the Anderpout of his lips, and those two things in conjunction were enough to jumpstart any heart, anywhere that had stopped beating—which, under the present circumstances, was lucky for me, to say the least.
As he stepped out of his frame and advanced toward me, I noticed he was carrying a long, rectangular box, unmistakably a box which was meant for only one thing—a dozen long stemmed roses. Andy was bringing me roses!!!!! And as he approached—in
s-l-o-w—m-o-t-i-o-n, his right hand, also in s-l-o-w—-m-o-t-i-o-n, reached up and caught the tail of the bright red silk bow tied around the middle of the box, and ever so carefully started tugging on it until it was freed from the container, and began its undulating, slo-mo descent to the floor when he let it slip from his long, slim fingers. His eyes had never left mine.
Next to come off, in the same slow motion, was the lid, which again Andy let slip to the floor. And when his hand reached inside, the crisp, green tissue crackled as he swept it aside, revealing what lay beneath. At that moment, his eyes dropped to view the contents, and as he did so, I watched the blue of his eyes suddenly intensify and widen slightly, and his two lips curl in on each other when he pressed them together.
When his hand scooped up the flowers, the first flash of red caught my eyes, and my breath—RED ROSES!!!!! ANDY WAS GIVING ME RED ROSES!!!! I felt faint as I let that thought wash over me. I had a perfect understanding of the symbolism of RED ROSES! Giving red roses to someone is a statement of pure love, passion, and desire. I gasped and choked simultaneously, setting off severe tachycardia, as those thoughts of love, passion and desire played across the screen of my mind at that moment. And . . . and . . . and not only that, but Andy was still on the same trajectory, albeit in slow motion, headed straight for ME!
All of a sudden I felt as if I needed to fan myself, which I couldn’t very well do in front of him, and yet if I didn’t, I just knew spontaneous combustion was a real threat. I needed air—cool air, even cooler if possible—actually, what I needed was ice cold air!! Or even better . . . a blast of chilling arctic air. Oh, heck, what I REALLY needed more than anything else at that moment was a blast of pure liquid nitrogen—right in the face, to put out the raging fire that had roared to life, and was blazing out of control in my furnace! And MY OH MY . . .*cough, cough, sputter, sputter* . . . Andy and his eyes were almost within striking distance—and I . . . I knew the vapors would be claiming me at any second. Oh dear me . . . what was I to do?
By this time, the Red Roses were out of the box, and the box had already hit the floor, and Andy . . . well, Andy was only nanoseconds from making his declaration of love, desire and passion for me. I was so breathless at that point, I could not have blown a gnat off a fast moving train in gale force winds!
Once he had reached my vicinity, I could see his eyes were already beginning his declaration, even before his words or . . . or even before . . . ohhhhhhhh, . . . his . . . his . . . ACTIONS! How was I going to survive this? And then, what came next was . . . well . . . it was a complete shock! He bluntly tossed the bouquet on the table in a blur of red and said,
"Here! These are for you!"
And then turned and walked back into the picture frame from which he had come, and disappeared around the corner. It was that blast of cold arctic air I had been longing for, but now wished hadn’t come. His actions, instead of raising my temperature to a tropical sizzle, had immediately plunged it into an artic freeze.
The Red Roses were helter-skelter all over the table, one having slid off and fallen to the floor. As I leaned over to pick it up, I noticed a little pink envelope on the floor also, next to the box. As I reached for it, I detected there was no card inside. Turning it over to the front I read, "To Ellee, the Fairest of All."
Somehow, all this wasn’t adding up. I didn’t understand the meaning of his actions, coupled with what his eyes were telling me and now, to add to the confusion, how he had addressed the envelope, AND the lack of any card.
At this very moment, as my confusion had almost reached the summit, he once again appeared in that frame and strode quickly towards me saying,
"Oh, I almost forgot this . . ."
He held up the missing pink gift card, and with a contemptuous flip of the wrist, sailed it across the room in my direction. Fortunately for me, I had been a member of the high school intramural frisbee team, which took state two years in a row, with my having received the MVP award each of those two years, so when I saw that card speeding my way, I was able to reach out and pluck it right out of the air with my thumb and middle finger.
Turning the card right side up, I read,
A Red, Red Rose
O my love is like a red, red rose.
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my love is like a melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till all the seas run dry.
Till all the seas run dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt with the sun.
`I will love thee still, my Dear,
While the sands of life shall run . . .
Robert Burns
As I looked up at Andy with puzzled and questioning eyes, it all fell into place when he announced,
"It’s from your . . . little friend, Leonardo!!!!"
The little friend, and Leonardo were both spewed out of his mouth like bitter dregs.
"LEONARDO !!?" I gasped, the wind knocked out of me, my expectations dashed to pieces like crystal thrown against cement. I looked at the bottom of the card for verification. To my complete dismay and utter shock it said . . . All my love, Leonardo.
Glancing up at Andy again, I could see his eyes were enraged with fire, and the brilliant blue had melted away. His gaze pinned me down like a cicada to the bottom of a bug box, and I was just as immobilized, unable to move or speak, not that I would have known what to say or do anyway. That continued for what seemed like an eternity, and the longer he stared, the more intense the emotions inside him seemed to become. He was struggling, hardly able to contain himself, until at last, so overcome, he turned and made a hasty retreat from this tense and uncomfortable scene. And as I rehearsed everything that had just taken place in those 3.5 minutes, it became very clear—Andy was jealous of Leonardo—again!
I remained motionless for some time thereafter, unable to put myself back together from the trauma I had just experienced. As minutes passed, waiting for my heart to calm down, it occurred to me—I could use those roses to my advantage. So I carefully gathered each one, reforming the bouquet, and went in search of a vase, which I found on the top shelf of a cabinet in the kitchen. Filling the crystal vase with water and dropping in one aspirin to act as a preservative, I then arranged all twelve Red Roses into a stunning display, and placed it in the middle of the breakfast table, where I was sure it would catch Andy’s attention in the morning—I was counting on it!
Although it was dusk, with very little light remaining in the day, my heart was now singing. Andy’s display of jealousy could only mean one thing—he cared for me more deeply than he understood, or would probably admit to. A little smile crept across my face and my heart. One day I would have to thank Leonardo—poor Leonardo.
I was late to rise the next morning, so by the time I entered the breakfast room, I could see from the dirty dishes that Andy had already eaten, but apparently was not there. The vase was still in the center of the table, but THE RED ROSES WERE GONE! I looked around the room, but saw no red. Once again, I felt a little smile steal across my heart. It had worked, the little reminder had worked. The jealousy had been moved to another phase.
After searching the entire apartment, I finally found Leonardo’s dozen Red Roses shoved head first into Andy’s waste receptacle in his office. Starved for water and a gentle hand, they looked pathetic, all wilted and brown.
It was Harriet’s day off and I had to make use of the free time to do my shopping, because she had said, just before leaving the day before,
"ELLEE," she was still yelling, "don’t make ANY plans at all for day after tomorrow! We have to vacumn ALL the draperies and polish ALL the silver, and change ALL the bedding . . . and blah, blah, blah, blah . . . blah, blah, blah," she went on and on and on, and I knew I would never be able to escape, once she got those hands of hers on me. So I spent the rest of the day doing what I wanted.
I ate supper downtown, so when I returned at 7: 00 pm., I went directly to my room. As I opened the door I noticed something in the middle of my bed—a familiar-shaped box, long and rectangular, white with a wide, silk ribbon of gold tied around the middle. My heart started its now familiar thumping as I pulled on the bow to loosen it from the box. Slipping off the lid, I discovered a white envelope on top of the gold tissue, covering whatever lay beneath. And I had a pretty good idea what lay beneath. Ellee was the only thing written on the front of the envelope.
My fingers were shaking as I fumbled to retrieve the card inside. I was almost afraid to let my eyes see what was written there. A desperate thought danced across my mind at that moment, What if it’s from . . . Leonardo? I drew in a quick breath and felt sick inside. For a minute I didn’t want to discover the reality. I just wanted to keep my fantasy, my desire, thinking it was from that one special person—the one in my heart. I stared at the envelope for five minutes. If I didn’t take the card out, my heart couldn’t be disappointed again. And I could believe anything I wanted, that those roses were from Andy!
I set the card down on the bed, and quickly tore open the gold tissue, revealing the contents—THEY WERE RED ROSES! My heart leaped out of my chest at that moment and tears flooded my eyes. Oh, they just HAD to be from Andy, NOT Leonardo!!! Please, please, please, I was begging, please LET THEM BE FROM ANDY!
I sunk to the bed, looking over at the card—still unopened. As anxiety took hold, I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat made it difficult. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Ohhhhh, I agonized, what should I do? Keep my fantasy or discover the reality? The envelope was begging to be opened. Temptation was mounting. It was unbearable. I HAD to see! I HAD to know! Didn’t I?
All at once I grabbed the envelope and tore it off the card in one easy stroke. The naked card was now in my hands. All I had to do was look at it, but I looked up at the ceiling instead, and tried to stifle the sob that my face was already poised to show, when and if the tears were allowed to flow. I swallowed again and again, but it was too late, the tears were already flowing.
I realized these could either be tears of joy or tears of disappointment. Which was it? Should I find out? Or just stay with my desire? Oh the agony, the anxiety, the fear, the hope! What was I to do? But even as I struggled, my hand was slowly lifting the card to eye level, and when the words came into focus, the floodgate was then opened all the way, and the tears splashed down the spillway of my cheeks as I read:
Bye for now
Love,
Ellee
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