The sun is shining through my blinds and the light softly falls across my face, and I wake up to the birds singing the sweet songs of morning. I already know what I'm going to wear. Red. Frilly, blushing, Valentine's Day red. The red dress I choose is stunning, made for a Valentine's Day like this. When I unpin my pin curls, they come down perfectly and my hair is a mane of soft, wavy glory. Right as I open the door to my apartment to walk to the bus, I find a bouquet of beautiful, bright sunflowers with lavender, heart-shaped balloons attached to the vase at my doorstep. Right beside it is a cute little stuffed monkey holding an envelope. When I open up the envelope, I find a Starbucks gift card that will allow me to get a free white chocolate mocha every day for a whole year, as well as a Papa John's gift card that will allow me to get a free pepperoni pizza every day for a year. There is also a note. It says:
My dearest Chantell,
It is not enough to say I love you. Instead, I must tell you what I love of you. I love the light in your almond-shaped eyes, the cleft in your chin, and the sun in your toothy smile. I love the joy in your ebullient, sudden, infectious laugh and the way you girlishly cover your mouth because you're afraid it's too loud. I love your slender fingers and the way you absentmindedly crack your knuckles. Though it may annoy some, the sound of those pops is music to my ears. I love the way you walk slightly hunched over from years of carrying a heavy backpack in high school. Yes, you were and are a nerd, my dear. And I love your nerdiness. I love the GRE words you use and your obsession with Maureen Dowd columns because of the vocabulary she uses. Everything about you, your voice, the way you roll your eyes, the way you respond to things with "whatever" even though you're almost 30 years old and not a teenage valley girl, even your exaggerated disappointment when the automatic stapler doesn't staple your printed articles exactly the way you want it to, all of these things have endeared you to me.
I know you may be wondering who I am, my dear. Though it may be hard to believe, I am he. I am the one you've always wished existed, but whose existence you feared wishing for was unrealistic. No, my dear, I am a living, breathing man who exists. I am tall, I am erudite, I am bespectacled, I am curly-haired, long-lashed, and rather dashing. I am also a bit older than you, and I know you like that because I am settled down and established and know exactly what I want. I have a Colgate smile. I quote Shakespeare, Langston Hughes and Malcolm Gladwell. I speak all of the Romance languages, including Romanian. But most of all, I am Apostolic, I speak in tongues at least once a day, and I wear pants. And, if you haven't already gotten the point, I love you.
Meet me at East West Bistro downtown at 6:00 p.m. where I have reserved a candlelit table for two. You'll know me when you see me. I will be waiting.
Sincerely,
The One
P.S. - I also love your blog. Now you'll have to change the title from "Where You Can Find Me" to "I Have Been Found." I found you, my dear. I have been searching for you all my life, and I have, at long last, found you.
I detect a faint whiff of a delicious, manly fragrance as I study the note once more, then hold it to my nose and inhale. Ah. Eternity for Men.
The entire day goes by wonderfully. I get compliments on my wavy hair and my stunning dress. The cute Peruvian guy in my program gives me a box of dark chocolate and asks if I have plans for the evening.
"Sorry," I say, "Yes, I do." He looks after me longingly as I pick up my graded essay on my way out of class. A plus.
Finally, 6:00 p.m. arrives. I walk into East West Bistro, and I see him. The One. As the note said, I know him as soon as I lay eyes upon him. When the waiter comes, he orders for me, because he already knows what I want.
"Listen," he begins. His voice is velvet. Like dark roast coffee flavored with Italian creme creamer. "I know what you're thinking, and I want to calm your worries. First of all, I know you're in the middle of a PhD program. Don't worry. I won't be a distraction. Second of all, your father. I've already taken care of it. Check your phone."
I pull out my phone and see a text from Dad. It says: "Say yes."
He continues, "Just from reading my note and observing me thus far, your gut is telling you that I'm a dedicated man who will take care of you and who will love you for you and will let you be you and wants to have lots of fat brown babies and who will go to church every time the doors are open, isn't it?"
I nod.
"I realize that it will take time for you to get to know me. I want you to feel comfortable and I don't want to push you into anything. I am not so presumptuous as to think that a mere Valentine's Day present and a dinner would win you over. You deserve the very best because you are valuable, you are beautiful, and you are worth it. I will wait for you. I will fight for you. I will support you. I will be here for you. And I love you. Always."
Tears well up in my eyes. I'm speechless. "I-I don't even know what to say."
He reaches out for my hand. "You don't have to say anything. Let's just enjoy one another's company."
THE END
Stay tuned for tomorrow's companion piece, "A Single Girl's Valentine's Day Reality."
3 comments:
I think you should have referred to your secret admirer as "The He..." whoa, wait a second it's the Peruvian waiter??!!!
LOL! No ... the Peruvian guy is not the waiter or The One. He's just some dude in my program. The One orders for me at the restaurant when the waiter comes because he (The One) already knows what I want.
I went back and added a little clarification to the part when I walk into the East West Bistro.
Post a Comment