Again, I'm posting another piece I wrote while in Andover. This one is a short story. I had been thinking a lot about New York City and chance encounters and decided to write a love story that incorporated both things. I also love the idea that everyone has a different side to the same story which is what I wanted to show in this piece. Here it is...
Valentine’s Day
Apparently, you’re supposed to buy your Valentine’s Day box of chocolates before 11:30 p.m. on Valentine’s Day. I guess that’s why all of the chocolate boxes were marked down for half price when I ran to the mini-mart to grab a quart of milk. Naturally, I bought one for myself. Hey, it was half-price. I am not ashamed.
Now I had a box of chocolates to snack on in my apartment for the next week. Who am I kidding? It’ll last two days. At the most.
I stepped onto the subway and strode through the car clutching my chocolates rather protectively. I settled myself into a seat and began to drift into the lethargic state of mind that I often found myself in when riding the subway near midnight. I was pretty tired from my basketball game with the other dateless guys from work. The train pulled into its next stop, and the doors opened. Suddenly I was jolted out of my lethargy by the sight of what had just entered.
Now keep in mind I live in New York City. I see plenty of weirdos on a daily basis-- especially on the subway. I really had thought that I’d seen it all. But not this. Standing there, in the middle of the subway, was a wedding dress.
Now, obviously, the dress had a person inside of it, but that’s not what I saw at first. All I saw was a colossal creation of white-- layers upon layers that made the wearer look like a floating cloud. The dress was so big, it brushed both sides of the aisle as its wearer walked towards the nearest available seat-- right across from me.
The dress sat down, and, for the first time, I really noticed the person inside. It was a woman whose honey-colored hair was twisted into an elaborate braided bun on the top of her head. I’m sure it looked perfect this morning, but now it was disheveled and untidy with loose pieces poking out every which way. The woman’s eyes were closed as she rubbed her temples with long, graceful fingers-- fingers that looked as though they were meant for playing the piano. Her face looked tired and worn, and her makeup was practically worn away. Through this smudged makeup I could see the faint print of freckles on her nose-- freckles splattered across her nose like stars across the sky.
Suddenly, I felt my heart stop. The woman opened her eyes-- which I knew would be starry and grey, and I thought to myself, Freckle Face.
*****
What could be more romantic than getting married on Valentine’s Day? That’s what I had thought. It’s the perfect day for everything love-related-- dates, engagements, anniversaries, and of course, weddings. Apparently, it’s also the perfect day for your fiancé to tell you that he’s been cheating on you.
Of course he had to tell me after I had gotten all ready in the wedding dress of my dreams with perfect hair and makeup. At least he didn’t wait to tell me until after we were married.
I should’ve stayed home. That’s what a strong person would’ve done. But I’m not strong. Not today. I couldn’t handle the pictures of him, the whispers of family members, my mother’s worried brow, the cake that would never be eaten, the bouquet that would never be thrown. So I left. And that’s why I now found myself in the subway station-- still in my wedding dress, hair and makeup completely ruined. As I stepped onto the subway, I thought to myself, What am I doing?
I sat down in the nearest seat and held my head in my hands. I felt tears begin to brim in my eyes. Great, I thought. Now I’m sitting on the subway, in my wedding dress, crying.
I opened my eyes and looked across the car. Instantly, my eyes were met by the warm, brown eyes of the man across from me. I looked into the face of the person I thought was a stranger, and I felt like I had been struck by lightning.
I could hear his voice in my head clear as day. Freckle Face, it said.
*****
On the first day of kindergarten, I remember my teacher seated us in alphabetical order by last name. On my right was Kenneth Wood, and on my left was Emma Waters-- two braids of honey-colored hair, inquisitive grey eyes, and lots and lots of freckles. Her desk was arranged to be a model of perfection. There really was a place for everything and everything a place. Her crayon box and pencils were placed in the straightest line I’d ever seen in my whole life. I suddenly felt ashamed of the slight disaster zone that was my desk. I tried hopelessly to organize my things.
Later, we were coloring a picture of us and our families. Suddenly, I realized I was missing my yellow crayon. How on Earth was I supposed to color the sun without a yellow crayon?! I glanced at Emma’s crayon box. She had three different yellows! I would just ask her. Suddenly, I was horribly nervous.
“Can-- can-- can I borrow your yellow crayon?” I stammered.
Emma turned to me and smiled a beaming smile brighter than a thousand crayon-drawn suns.
“Of course,” she said. She handed me sunshine yellow and glanced at my crayon box. “You have piggy pink!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah,” I replied, suddenly quite proud of my piggy pink.
“Can I borrow it?” she asked shyly.
“Sure,” I said. And that was the beginning of everything.
*****
In elementary school I had known a boy named Josh Williams. I met him the very first day of kindergarten, and from the moment he lent me his piggy pink crayon, I was deeply in love with him. He had curly, chestnut colored hair, the warmest, friendliest brown eyes, and an infectious smile. He was so funny; he made me laugh every day. He was a hard worker too, and he was never too busy to help somebody out.
I never thought for a moment that my love was unrequited. Josh was always smiling at me, and he would compliment me almost every day. Then, Zeke Palmer had to ruin everything by kissing me on the cheek the day of the 4th grade kickball championship. I don’t know why he did it. Boys could be stupid sometimes. They still are really.
The next day, my best friend Lois asked me what the kiss was like and if I liked Zeke. I told her that the kiss really wasn’t anything special, and that I didn’t like Zeke, but I thought he was nice.
Then, out of nowhere, Josh came up and made fun of my freckles, called me dumb, told me he hated me, and ran away. My heart was broken. I felt the deepest despair that I’d ever felt in my entire ten-year-old existence. The only boy I loved hated me. He didn’t talk to me the rest of the year, and it was absolutely terrible.
*****
By the time I was ten years old, an age when other boys were positively repulsed by cooties, I was totally in love with Emma Waters. Not only was she pretty, but she was incredibly intelligent, funny, and kind. She was everything to me. Her smile would make me smile, her laugh would make me laugh, and her tears would make me cry.
For a while, I thought I was everything to her too. She would smile at me from across the room, and she always laughed at my jokes. Plus, Emma’s best friend Lois’ friend Becca’s cousin Candice told me that Emma had said that she liked me. Obviously, it must’ve been true.
Everything changed when Zeke Palmer decided that he liked Emma. And then, he just had to go and score the winning homerun in our 4th grade kickball game. Everyone was cheering, including Emma. He decided to seize the opportunity, so he ran up to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. And she let him!
I thought I could get over it, but the next day I heard her tell Lois that she thought Zeke was “nice.” I felt like my heart was a glass that had shattered into a million pieces, and now, the shards were piercing me from the inside. A spark of anger soon became a blaze of fury. I snapped.
I told Emma that I couldn’t believe that anyone would want to kiss her ugly “Freckle Face.” I told her that she was dumb-- even though she was the smartest girl in our class. And, worst of all, I told her I hated her. I can still picture her grey eyes as they filled with tears and reflected my angry, regret-filled face. I wanted to take back my words as soon as I had spoken them, but it was too late. I ran away. Emma didn’t talk to me the rest of the year, and I didn’t say a word to her. I was too ashamed to apologize. So I never did.
*****
After events of fourth grade, my relationship with Josh was never the same. We could never talk as easily. I would try to start conversations with him, but it seemed like talking to me caused him great pain. I remember one time I complimented him on his shirt. He looked at me with a grimace.
“Thanks,” he replied, sounding as though he could hardly bare speaking to me. He must’ve really hated me.
During junior year, things actually seemed to take a turn for the better. Josh smiled at and chatted with me more.
We actually got to the point that when we passed each other in the hallway he would grin and wave at me.
“Hi Josh!” I’d say.
“Hey,” he’d reply. “How are you liking To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“I really love it so far,” I would say. Sometimes he would even stop me to ask for help on a math problem-- even though I was pretty sure he usually knew what he was doing.
I was even considering asking him to the spring dance-- a fact that Lois felt she needed to share with Josh. I was standing right next to her when she did. I was absolutely horrified by the incredulous look on Josh’s face. It was like he couldn’t even imagine the horror of me asking him to a dance. I didn’t want him to think that I thought more of our relationship than he did! Pride took over, and I quickly backpedaled by pretending Josh wasn’t even there and asking Lois, “Do you really think I would ever ask him to a dance?” It went against every instinct in my heart and soul to do so.
The pain I felt quickly went away when Josh responded with “Like I would ever want to go with you.” These were words I had dreaded to hear, and my pride was immediately wounded. I decided to never talk to Josh again.
Unfortunately, I loved him too much, and I only made it through the rest of junior year. I began talking to him again during senior year, but every conversation felt stilted and forced.
Our conversations about books and math problems turned into him hesitantly glancing at me and asking, “Hey, can you pass the test tube?”
“Here,” I replied, handing it to him.
There was a long pause and another glance. “Thanks.”
We ended our high school careers as though we were simply classmates who barely knew each other. I hated it, and I’ve often, even all these years later, reflected on what I could have done differently to somehow save our relationship.
I hadn’t seen Josh since graduation. And now, the day that my wedding fell to pieces, he was sitting right across from me, on a New York City subway train, of all places.
*****
After my terrible deed had been done, nothing was ever the same. All throughout middle school and high school Emma and I barely spoke to each other. Every time she looked at me it was with such a sad gaze that it made me feel awful all over again, so I usually tried to avoid her in the hallways. I still never apologized to her. I was too embarrassed.
When we had to speak to each other, we spoke stiffly.
I remember one time I ran into her going around the corner.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“It’s okay,” she replied nervously. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No,” I said. “I should’ve been watching where I was going.” Looking back on it, my tone may have been a tad argumentative.
“Okay,” she said after an awkward pause. “Have a nice day.”
“I will,” I said. She walked away, and I internally kicked myself. Why didn’t I say “You too?”
Somehow, our relationship actually began to improve. We talked more in between classes. We mostly talked about classwork, but sometimes we would talk about movies, music, our weekend plans. Sometimes, I would even ask for help on math problems that I already knew the answer to, just so I could talk to her. Every once in a while I would catch Emma laughing at one of my jokes or smiling when she thought I wasn’t watching, and I would feel hope rise and swell in my chest.
That all came to an end during the 2nd semester of our junior year. There was a girl’s choice dance coming up. I stumbled into Emma and Lois in the hallway, and Lois told me that Emma had been thinking of asking me to the dance. I couldn’t believe it. This was the best day of my life! I stared at Emma incredulously wondering if she had really forgiven me. Was it even possible?
Almost immediately Emma denied Lois’ claims with a sharp “Do you really think I would ever ask him to a dance?” All of my hope disappeared and was replaced by horrible, terrible pride.
“Like I would ever want to go with you,” I replied angrily. I refused to speak a single word to Emma the rest of the year.
Senior year got better. Neither of us were angry anymore, but we didn’t know how to talk to each other. We parted ways awkwardly as distant acquaintances; although, I still really did love her. I never saw Emma Waters again after graduation-- until now.
I didn’t know what had happened to Emma since graduation. I had no idea what kind of person she had become, and I really didn’t have a clue what she was doing on the subway in a wedding dress at 11:40 p.m. on Valentine’s Day.
I did know that she recognized me though. As soon as our eyes met, I saw a light of recognition dawn on her beautiful, freckled face. And suddenly, as I watched her watch me, I was sure of one thing.
I loved Emma Waters. I’ve always loved her, and I still do. I would never stop loving her-- I couldn’t. I wasn’t happy without her. Yes, I may have a successful career and close friends. Yes, I may have moved on with my life, but I wasn’t really satisfied. I had been waiting for something-- her.
Every second brought the train closer and closer to my stop. I knew I had to do something. I shoved my hand into my pocket and rummaged around for my receipt from the mini-mart.
There it was. I asked the women next to me if she had a pen in her purse. She handed me one, and I scribbled a hurried note on the back of the receipt.
The subway pulled into my stop, and I stood up. I walked quickly to the door of the train-- note and box of chocolates in hand. The doors opened, and I paused just a moment to quickly place the chocolates and the note into those long, graceful fingers.
I stepped off the train. All I could do now was wait, hope, and love.
*****
What could I have done differently? That’s all I could think about. I had loved him! How could I have shown him? I forgot about my ex-fiancé, my ruined wedding, and the sorry state I was in. None of that was important. What was important was that I had once loved Josh Williams. The more I thought about it, the more realized that I hadn’t loved Josh “once upon a time.” I still loved him even now.
Maybe that’s why my wedding didn’t happen. Maybe I was destined to be on this subway right now. It certainly felt like fate. I was here to right my wrongs with Josh.
I felt like I should take action-- that I should do something, anything. That’s what my heart told me, but my mind said that I had just almost gotten married. I couldn't do anything.
So I just watched him, feeling suddenly hopeless. He was writing furiously on something that looked like a receipt. He stood up as the subway pulled to a stop.
This is it, I thought. We’re both going our separate ways, never to see each other again. I could hardly stand the thought. Then, Josh stopped moments before stepping off the subway. Almost as if I knew what he was thinking, I opened my hands.
He placed two things into my waiting fingers-- a box of Valentine’s Day chocolates and a note. And then, he was gone-- before either of us could say a word.
I looked down at the note in my hands, and I smiled at the familiar handwriting as I began to read...
Emma--
I am so sorry for what I said to you when Zeke Palmer kissed you and the way I acted towards you afterwards. I should have apologized a long time ago. Please forgive me. I want you to know that I never hated you. In fact, I loved you-- a lot. Emma, I still do love you. Please, will you give me a second chance?
Love always,
Josh
I finished reading and turned the receipt over to reveal a phone number. There was a lifetime of misunderstandings to understand and wrongs to right, but somehow, I was sure it would all work out. I read the note again and again, and for the first time in a long while, I cried tears of joy.
So there's my story. I apologize for its cheesiness. Let me know what you think!
--Brianna
