"Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you."
Loretta Young
A Valentine Tale
by Rebecca McKeehan
15 Years Ago
The little girl stomped out onto the porch, the screen door banging shut behind her like an exclamation point. She was dressed in prim and proper pink, her organdy dress with its lacy pinafore belied by the band aid on one knee. Her fiery red hair seemed to warn of imminent danger.
She sank down huffily on the top step, her arms immediately akimbo, her pretty face pinched into a ferocious scowl as she mumbled heatedly, and secretly, to herself. From down the street a young tow-headed boy walked along the sidewalk, whistling a nameless tune between his front teeth. He repeatedly slapped a baseball from his left hand into the glove on his right. When his eyes fell on the little girl he stopped in surprise.
“What the hell happened to you?”: he demanded to know, using the curse word with all the relish of an eight-year-old and sounding like a higher pitched version of his father.
The little girl started, eyes widening as her cupid's bow lips softened momentarily, before resuming her indignant scowl.
“Mom wants me to look like this for some dumb Valentine's picture. She said she was going to send it to my dad.”
“Bummer.” was the young boy's reply, “I guess you won't be playing ball with us this afternoon.”
Her angry scowl turned petulant, “No. Dumb picture. I hate wearing this dress!”
“It's not so bad,” he replied seriously before smiling mischievously, “but it makes you look like a girl.”
“You take that back!”
“It does,” he teased in mock disgust, “A real prissy sissy!”
Instantly she was on her feet, her new white mary janes carrying her down the steps in a most unladylike manner. Her hands were clenched and there was blood in her eye.
“You shut up or I'll clobber you!”
“Na, na, na-na-na!”
But just as she drew back to follow through on her threat her mother's voice cracked through the air.
“You get back up here, young lady!”
The little girl continued to glare into his grinning face, her jeweled eyes seething, until her mother growled her full name in warning. With a last fulminating glare that promised terrible retribution she turned and marched back to the steps.
“So long, little gurl!” He laughed before resuming his trek down the sidewalk, once again whistling between his teeth and with a new jauntiness to his step.
Today
The sun was barely above the horizon when the screen door opened with a familiar protest and a young woman emerged. Stepping to one of the porch's posts she began to stretch her lithe body, preparing for her morning run. Though dressed in common jogging attire and with her long auburn hair pulled back in a pony's tail, there was an echo to her appearance of the little girl she had once been.
After years away, living with her artist father while her mother followed her military career around the world, it was good to be home in the house left to her as a child by her grandmother. Just two months ago she had graduated from college, relieved to have finally attained her long sought after degree in physical education. In a few weeks she would begin her career as a phys ed teacher at the local middle school. She could hardly wait.
Leaning forward against the post with one hand she raised her ankle toward her hip with the other, her eyes half closed in pleasure as she held the stretch. There was nothing like it to awaken the senses before setting off in the morning coolness.
The sudden squeal of locked tires on the pavement brought her back to earth. Dropping her foot as her eyes flew to the street in search of the noise's origin, she found herself staring at a dark red, older pick up truck. The interior was shadowed so she couldn't clearly see the driver but a bell began to ring familiarly inside her mind and for a moment she was certain they were staring into one another's eyes.
“Yes?”
The driver door opened and a tall, lean young man with golden wheat-colored hair stepped out. In an instant she recognized him, images from her childhood rushing through her mind as he stepped over the curb onto the sidewalk, leaving the truck idling in the middle of the street.
“You?” she laughed delightedly, “Oh my God!”
Down the steps she sprinted, her cupid's bow lips lifted in delight as their arms closed about one another and he swung her around with a deep throated laugh of his own.
“Hello little gurl!”
Arms still wrapped around each others waists they leaned apart, their eyes sparkling as the years seemed to fall away.
“When did you get back?” he asked.
“Yesterday. Just yesterday. And you?”
“Last month.” Impulsively he hugged her again, “Oh, man! It's good to see you!””
Happiness bubbled like champagne through her veins, leaving its shimmering evidence in her eyes, and suddenly they were both talking at once, asking the same questions, giving similar answers. Yet they heard and understood every word, their once close friendship resurrected as if the years apart had never happened. And through it all the attraction that had always lain dormant with promise in their hearts began to bloom.
“Get your truck out of the street and come inside,” she told him and drew away, “I'll make us some coffee.”
By the time he returned she had dark roast coffee steeping in the French press and a plate of apple bran muffins with a crock of fresh butter waiting on the small bistro table.
They spent the morning getting reacquainted and reminiscing about days that suddenly didn't seem so far away. They smiled into one another's eyes, laughed with and at one another, and commiserated with one another's misfortunes. But, by and large, the conversation, like the cups of coffee, flowed fluidly from minds that had long ago met and meshed, and unknowingly hungered during their years apart for contact between them.
As lunchtime approached they slowly withdrew from the past, only to become increasingly aware of each other in a more profound way. His warm brown eyes lingered on her face, watching an unfamiliar shyness gently chase the laughter from hers. As the silence grew between them he reached for her hand, squeezing gently before engulfing it in both of his.
“I've missed you,” he murmured unnecessarily, raising one hand to caress her blushing cheek. She could only nod and lean her face into his tender touch, eyes closing to fully embrace the moment. “Do you realize what day this is?”
Her brow knitted briefly before smoothing with realization, “Valentine's Day.”
“Yes.” He stroked her cheek once more, “Would you spend it with me?”
“I, um, need to finish unpacking,” she protested insincerely, “I don't know where most of my clothes are and...”
“And it doesn't matter. We are perfectly dressed for a day at the lake or a picnic in the park. What do you say?”
A long moment of silent communication passed between them as they welcomed fully the change in their relationship, a change that was fifteen years in the making. Then any hesitancy they may have had vanished as they leaned toward one another across the little table, cheeks nuzzling, their lips finding their way to each other's.
“You know what?” he whispered when they drew slightly apart.
This is the beginning of a romantic tale that begs to be told. Anyone who has not experienced it at least in part simply has not lived. You are well on your way, Rebecca, and I can't wait to read more. Kudos.
What a wonderful tale! I love the little details that you included. Great writing and a great romance blooming. I don't understand why others aren't commenting.
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A Valentine Tale
