Read My Lips - the blog

Blogging for Books 8

The premise was stated:

Blogging for Books #8: Risk (Guest Author: Faulker Fox)
Risk is an inherent part of life. We take our lives in our hands each day just by getting out of bed. Risk is responsible for much of our pain in this world, but it's also the source of all of our pleasures.

For this Blogging for Books, write a blog entry (2,000 words or less, please) about a time when you took a risk in your life on someone or something - a new romance, a new career, a new home, etc. Were you successful beyond your wildest dreams - or did you crash and burn?

Murphy's Love, by Terence A. (Tiger) Russell

Almost everyone has suffered the anguish of inconsolable rejection after having bared their basest emotions in honest disclosure of their feelings to a beloved. Is there a more intense pain than that associated with a broken heart or is any other experience comparable to having one's offer of love merely refuted and swept away as so much unwanted jetsam upon the winds of ill fate? Consider, if you would, the following scenario of true love denied.

At the tender young age of 23, following my four-year stint in the US Army, I was just another penniless college student living off-campus in a sparsely furnished apartment. I ate very little and survived on meager rations: four-for-a-buck macaroni and cheese dinners and popcorn. I would likely have eaten a bit better if I were not also saddled, at the time, with a two-pack-a-day addiction to Camel Filters. The cigarette habit, which I eventually, only very recently, conquered, was acquired while I was in High School and perfected during my Army years. "Smoke ‘em if you've got ‘em." If you were in the Army between 1973 and 1977, you'll know what I mean.

Most of my popcorn supply was pilfered, clandestinely, from the huge bags that supplied the popper at my nearby convenience store. I had often, during those lean college years, supplemented my small monthly GI Bill stipend by clerking in that very same chain of convenience stores. Indispensable knowledge was gained via that employment which assisted in building easy bonds with other, similarly employed, people. Upon my arrival in the new neighborhood, I had quickly allied myself with the employees of the local store. Despite the steady employee turnover, the assorted crew members provided a steady supply of raw popcorn kernels, as well as allowed a bit of free range grazing, so-to-speak: popcorn served in a plain-brown-paper bag and fountain drinks in a reused cup.

There happened along this particular girl who caught my eye. Her name was Kate. Kate was far lovelier than any girl I had previously encountered. My mind, even to this day, lacks the competence to fully describe her beauty. On her every scheduled shift, where classes allowed, I would make several trips to the store for a chat, a bite of popcorn, a drink, or, sometimes, to actually purchase another pack of smokes. As our relationship had progressed over a period of weeks, I began to feel my heart beat as she glanced in my direction. Kate's eyes sparkled and I was dazzled. I easily fell head-over-heels-in-love with Kate.

Inside, however, as now, I am yet but a shy and insecure little boy. That part of me struggles to voice my innermost feelings. I remained resolute and mute in Kate's company, always the gentleman, as my mother had insisted. Sullenly, I would often amble back to my tiny space, flop down, and loll upon my unmade bed: a mattress tossed upon the floor. How could I, a guy who begged for food to eat, ever win the heart of my sweet Katie. My innards twisted into knots and my knees wobbled. Mentally, I was unsteady and unsure of what to do or say so as to profess my deep-felt love.

Eventually, I began to wrangle with my scattered thoughts, and, in attempting to find some order in that chaos, began to jot notes. I soon found myself compelled to write and I wrote words. I scratched those words out, and wrote other words in their place. At some point, I looked at the words and found that I had produced the following prayer:

O Wondrous One! Aid Me!
Minister to my needs.
I only seek to honor
That flower ‘mong the weeds
Whose goodness has brushed
This wicked heart of mine,
And caused my eyes to see
That Divine Plan of Thine
Which unites man with woman
And woman with a man,
To join their lives together
Through guidance of Your Hand.
O Wondrous One! Aid Me!
The words I cannot find
Which sincerely serve to paint
This queen of womankind.
The grace of Aphrodite,
The beautiful rainbow,
The sweetness of honey,
Or the purity of snow;
Each fails in its mission
To metaphorically portray
The virtues of this angel
Whose smile lights my day.
O Wondrous One! Aid Me!

I read and reread the prayer, allowing my conviction that I had produced something extraordinary to defeat my nagging self-doubt. I scribbled and scratched the words of my creation upon a clean sheet of paper. I repeated the process endlessly until the proper level penmanship perfection was attained. That perfect copy of my sentimental psalm was slipped into a highly valuable clean white envelope upon which had previously been meticulously penned: "Kate."The sealed envelope, I delivered it into the capable hands of the store's manager. He heartily agreed to present it to Kate upon her mid-afternoon arrival.

My gamble made, and no reply expected for several hours, I headed off to class. Tick-tock, tick-tock. My stomach endlessly churned. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Kate's shift had begun. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Surely she had read it by now. Tick-tock, tick-tock. I just finished my last class and can now go home. Should I now make a store run to get her reaction? I'll wait. It's rush hour and the store will be very busy right now. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Rush hour is over and I'm out of smokes. Now I had to get to the store.

I made that trip a bit more slowly than I had ever previously done and, as I ambled forth, my mind filled with possibilities. I soon arrived, however, and, as I entered, I saw Kate behind the counter, conversing with her co-worker and roommate, Jill. I liked Jill, as well, but not in the same way as I like Kate. I loved Kate, after all.

Kate walked over. "I got your poem," she said. "I really liked it."

"You did?" I beamed.

"Yes," she said, as she altered the tone of her voice, "but there's something you don't understand. Jilly is more than just my roommate."

I took the point to be that Jill, too, loved Kate and that Kate loved Jill, in return. Such revelation produced a heartache within me from which I have never fully recovered. I never again attempted to pen poetry nor do I now ever offer much in the way of prayer.

I did, however, marry twice to women who physically resembled Kate, although neither of those marriages endured. The first woman eventually drifted off along an entirely different path than myself while the second woman's path ended entirely too abruptly. Kate, along with Jill, I hope, lived happily ever after.