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this post was submitted on 28 Jun 2023
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Thank you, I appreciate that. I'll give this a read.
::: spoiler Part 1 Story here, please read below:
FROM THE HEART
Who the hell’s room is this?”
This singular thought penetrated the haze in my mind. The booming of a headache coming on reminded me that I had been out the night before. I opened one eye groggily and sighed heavily.
“Good lord… why do I constantly do things like this to myself?”
Another piercing thought that hit me like a dart in my mind’s eye. Or was that the beginning of a hangover? I wasn’t completely sure at this point. Pulling my face away from the pillow I cautiously rolled myself onto my back not knowing what to expect. Glancing to my right was the slim figure of a woman, thankfully, softly snoring beside me—blonde hair, a small butterfly tattoo behind her ear, and wearing nothing—sleeping without a care in the world. I felt my face contorting; I was trying to remember if this was Courtney, Ashley, Tiffany, or maybe… Samantha? Michelle sounded like the right name, but I couldn’t be sure. I tried to remember, but I wasn’t interested in finding out.
Sitting up, I took a better look around, wondering if there would be clues as to how I got here. The tiny clock on the ramshackle bedside table read 1:35 p.m. There was a soft glow coming from the corner opposite of the bed. My eyes scanned the dimly lit bedroom. There was a lamp placed on a jaggedly stacked pile of books that looked as though they could fall at any moment. Movie posters taped onto the walls and doors. The small box TV that sat on an over-turned orange crate on the ledge beside the kitchenette and was still playing trashy drama shows. Beer bottles littered the counters. Her shirt, my pants, her bra, my boxers, and somebody’s studded belt all lay in a messy trail leading to the bed. I got up as quietly as I could, grabbed my clothes and tried to hastily get myself dressed to leave the shoddy room behind. My head started to feel like I was three hundred feet underwater. All the little sounds in the room, even the clock, pounded in my head. Fighting with my pants and shirt, I made my way towards the door. Without looking back, I slipped out of the hotel room, and headed for the nearest stairwell.
As I was walking outside of the building there was a taxi pulling up to the curb. I stuck my arm out and when it stopped in front of me, I practically threw myself into the back seat. I gave him my address and he returned me a curt nod. This had me hoping he would be like most other taxi drivers in the city and just ignore me the whole ride. No such luck, of course; this driver decided to play Spanish music with a sultry, upbeat, and downright busy tempo which he occasionally turned up and down.
Stuck in early morning traffic with horns blaring and people screaming out windows, I couldn’t help but smirk. People were scrambling to get to work or wherever they needed to be, just like little flies in a swarm. We rolled to a stop at a traffic light in front of this towering, old church when I looked towards the doors to see a couple—who had just been married—walk out holding hands. I watched as they walked down the steps with their faces flushed red with happiness. The tiny group of four half-drunk spectators clapped and threw rice over the couple’s heads as they ducked into an old Ford car, dressed up with tin cans glued to streamers, off towards their honeymoon destination. I rolled my eyes and audibly gagged with the amount of cliché exuding from the whole scene.
"Ahh, friend, don’t be like that! A love like this is most certainly enviable..." the cab driver said with a slight pause. “You don’t see yourself in their place one day?”
"Not likely," I shrugged and said, “The best I can hope for is a few weeks of fun. And then one of us gets bored. That’s when it’s time to move on to the next person.”
"Have you ever taken the time to get to know your partner for more than just ‘fun’?" The driver said as he looked at me through the rear-view mirror.
We made eye contact for the briefest of moments and then he nodded with a sly grin on his face. There was nothing more to say; even this cab driver could see right through me.
I supposed he could be right, but at this time I honestly could not see myself with just one woman for any length of time. It just didn't happen. The commitment was not for guys like me anyways. Even when I tried to be with a girl for longer something always fell apart. Just when it gets good, it comes crashing down. It always happens the same way: we meet, we flirt, and we hook-up. This goes on for a little bit longer until one of us starts to develop feelings, and then I get the hell out of dodge.
What would it be like to take control? To just say to myself, ‘you’re not hooking up anymore.’ But then my mind always answers back ‘Could you really stand to be with one of your current girls forever?’ I was trying to picture it in my mind when we pulled up to my apartment and shook off the thought.
“Thought you’d fallen asleep. You were so quiet!” the driver said, further trying to console me, “I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. It’s not my business to poke around in.”
Putting a faint smile on, I paid the driver. As I ducked my head out of the car I paused and met his eyes once again and replied to him, “Thank you. I appreciate the advice. It just might do some good in the future.”
Walking into the building I decided to check my mailbox since it had been a couple of days. Walking towards the other side of the lobby I slid my hands into my pockets and fumbled around for my keys. As it was turning the small key got stuck halfway. Jiggling the key back and forth in the lock didn’t work. Fighting with it a bit more, now leaning my shoulder against the thin metal door, the lock to my box clicked and it opened. Sheets of flyers fell out onto the ground. Junk, junk, more junk.
I was about to toss the whole lot out when I saw a small red envelope peeking out, stuck between a magazine and more advertisements. It was strange; the texture felt almost velvety and the envelope itself printed using high-quality shiny paper. The envelope was not just red, but scarlet red in colour, and the envelope had curvy ornate designs twisting around the corners. The letter was sealed with a dark red wax which was very uncommon for almost any kind of letter nowadays. The seal was in the shape of a heart. The words ‘with love’ were pushed into the center. I flipped it back and for two or three times looking for a name or return address at a lazy pace toward the elevator.
"Well, someone definitely went out of their way to make sure this was noticed." I mused to myself fanning the envelope back and forth a couple times. It faintly smelled as if someone had dabbed it with a sickly-sweet perfume. “Oddly enough, they had not included a return address.”
I checked it over again. There was nothing; not even a first name to go by. I shrugged and peeled off the wax to gently open the envelope. Inside there was a letter written in a very neat handwriting. The elevator bell dinged, and I stepped out onto my floor, tucking the letter into my jacket pocket giving it a small tap. The smell of cigarettes and burnt cooking invaded my nose at once. What a pleasant way to be welcomed home. Practically sprinting to my door, I flung it open and almost pulled it shut before I was all the way through.
“Thank the good lord my apartment doesn’t soak up that nasty smell.” I muttered to myself, “Anything but that.”
I hopped onto my ratty old chesterfield, and its springs answered with a soft creak. Pulling the letter out of my pocket and dropping the scarlet envelope onto the small coffee table beside me, I was beginning to read the letter, and scratched my chin.
Shaking my head and studying it over once more my eyes traced every letter of soft cursive:
Dear Mister Apartment #206,
I've been watching you. I've seen you coming home with a different girl many times. I’ve thought about it, and I'm jealous you haven’t tried to pick me up yet. So, why don’t we have some fun?
Now that I've aroused…your attention: I want you to meet me at the restaurant where you took the last girl you were with. This Friday night. Show up by 8 p.m., sharp, I don't like to be kept waiting.
Approaching you is completely opposite to your usual pick-up method, and may seem strange, but I've wanted you for so long.
Sincerely,
A Secret Admirer
Laying down on the chesterfield, my eyebrows knit together, and I mumbled aloud, "This Friday night? Really? This is way too convenient. This must be one of the guys playing a prank on me. There is no way that this is real.” While I was taking some medication and lazing about—finally nursing my hangover—my mind kept wandering towards the letter. What if there was a chick out there that was crazy in love with me? What if she had written that letter? What kind of fun was she into? Would I finally be able to say that I loved someone back?
That was it. I’d decided that I'd check it out. It couldn't hurt anything, and at the least if it didn’t pan out, I'd have another girl to flirt around with. If she was a weirdo, then I would just ‘smash and dash.’ Move if I had to. It was a solution where everyone benefits as far as I was concerned. I chuckled aloud at the thought of juggling yet another girl around without the other ones finding out. It was becoming a game of dodgeball, and a sick part of me was proud of myself for keeping it up even this long. Chuckling more to myself, I got up took a quick shower, shaved, and prepared for bed. I took out a small bottle of expensive cologne and left it on the side of the bathroom sink.
Sure, she was crazy for me now, but I was set on making an even better impression on this woman.
#:::spoiler Part 2: I handed the taxi driver a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. I waved to the taxi as he sped off and crossed the street. I’m not usually that generous with my money, but he drove fast and didn’t complain that he was driving a couple of kilometres out of the city. This city was planned out like a haphazard compromise; the area I was in now could not considered the city, but also couldn’t be considered completely rural. The locals liked to call the strings of parks and strip malls a kind of ‘green-space.’
Outside of the restaurant I took a deep breath and inhaled the mouth-watering scent of steak, French fries, and burgers floating around in the air. I was getting pumped for some seriously fancy pub fare for dinner, and even more excited for what dessert may have in store for me after. While it was mostly an alcoholic blur from the other night, I did recall this was an upscale restaurant for the area. I felt a little under dressed but hoped my date wouldn’t mind my khakis and tacky golf shirt. I lied to myself, ‘It’s a classic combo, there’s nothing to hate on.’ Steadying my nerves as I entered, I looked upon a man in a well-fitted black suit standing behind a short desk. He fixed his bowtie and cleared his throat. I groaned. There were more than a few occasions that I had him. This man was obsessive and arrogant; one could say it fit him to be the maître d’ of a restaurant.
Trying to produce a smile, instead I showed off a slightly strained grin. I walked over to him and said, "Hello, sir, I've got a reservation for 8 p.m. It should be a table for two."
"Alright sir, what's the name for the reservation?" he asked expectantly.
It dawned on me at that moment that this mystery woman never gave me a name.
"Well, y-you see..." I began, stammering, "I received a, uh, letter from a ‘secret admirer,’ and she told me to m-meet her here at 8 p.m. She didn't specify a name. It might be under my name?"
He scrutinised me, eyes moving up and down, with suspicion on his face. "And your name, sir?"
"O'Connor." I flashed another grin in hopes that it would help. "Uh, er, Randy. If that helps." The waiter looked unimpressed, but I kept speaking, my voice trailing off, “But it might be under #206. It may be a kind of secret code…between us two…”
He surveyed the reservation list up and down and even double-checked on the computer listings. It was taking what felt like quite a while. Luckily, there wasn't a line of people behind me.
Eventually speaking at me--not to me--with a raised eyebrow, “I’m terribly sorry sir, but there is no notice of any reservation at that specific time, nor any under your name or a specific number.” He continued with a sneer, “Furthermore, our only reservations have been made for seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Maybe your ‘admirer’ has given you the wrong address...?"
His increasingly haughty attitude put me on the spot and that had me getting more frustrated. I looked around behind him, trying to see if she was there and glancing my way. A few people milling about, a few couples. I scanned the area for a woman alone at a table. No such luck. I looked outside to the patio. Empty.
"Alright then, I'm really sorry to have wasted your time." I apologised and started to walk away, face flushed and quite embarrassed.
The maître d’ replied flatly, "It was my pleasure."
Disregarding his jab, I bee-lined it out of the restaurant. “Well,” I thought, “I might as well go home. It would be more productive than waiting around here and making an even bigger fool of myself.” Reaching into my pocket for my phone to call back that cab my nerves started to run even more, and I began to pat myself down looking for my cellphone.
Oh, no.
Had I somehow managed to forget to grab my phone before I left? Shuffling my way down a few streets I was about to give up hope and pulled out my wallet to fish for a few quarters hoping to find a payphone. As this happened, a folded piece of paper fell out of my wallet and onto the street. I bent down and scooped it up. I squinted and scrutinized it. After flipping it over a few times in the dim streetlight my eyes could discern just enough words to recognise that it was the letter I had received; however, I hadn’t noticed the number written on the backside. Strange. Don’t remember that being there before.
Then again, I wasn’t exactly thinking with the head on my shoulders yesterday. I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking along the road until I saw a half-lit sign above a badly graffitied phonebooth.
Picking up the payphone, I slid a quarter into the slot and dialed in the number. After five or six rings I brought my hand down ready to put the phone back on the receiver. At that moment there was a small click and a muffled, “Hello?” a slight pause, “Hello? Can I help you?” Hearing the voice of an elderly woman I apologised for calling the wrong number so late and hung up.
Disappointed even further, I walked down the sidewalk for a few more blocks and flagged down a passing taxi. I sat down inside of the grungy backseat and gave the driver my address. He scowled and informed me, quite rudely, that he was ‘going to be off duty soon and that he didn’t feel like driving fifteen minutes back towards the city and told me to get out. Sorry buddy.'
Yeah, thanks. What rotten luck. I had geared up for an amazing night. It was not supposed to turn out like this! Here I am, walking around and wandering the streets, and it’s all because of some potentially non-existent, head-over-heels-in-love-with-me woman. Was I not worthy, deserving, even, of finding that love?
Absolutely not. This was negative karma directed back at me for being a player. Very well deserved, at that.
It was close to 10 p.m. now. Close to a quarter of the way home I decided to just hoof it the rest of the way to my apartment. It was a hour away at a brisk walk if there wasn’t any temptation to stop and smell the flowers along the way.
:::spoiler Part 3: After walking now for what felt like ages, I stopped to sit on a bench and catch my breath. I had the slight sensation of being disoriented because it was night now; I couldn’t picture exactly where I was but knew the general area. Another ten minutes and I would be home. Glancing around there was a clock on a short stand in the park across the road. It was around 11:30 p.m. now and I was beginning to get tired of wandering around aimlessly. Down the road, there was a tall steeple with a glowing white cross at the very top. It felt like I was having déjà-vu. Was this the church I’d passed by yesterday on the way back from the other girl’s house? I shook my head and sighed. Not what I wanted to think about now. As I started to begin my trek back home, I couldn’t shake this feeling of being drawn toward the ornate wooden doors.
Not being too deeply religious, my nerves went into overdrive as the door opened and I slipped inside. The last time I had set foot inside a church was with my grandmother on Christmas close to ten years ago. I took it as a positive sign that I hadn’t burst into flames or smote by lightning when sitting down in one of the pews. I drew in a slow breath and let out a heavy sigh. Of all the places to end up…? Are you truly so desperate? Pondering this, I heard hushed voices echoing from across the church. Stepping out of a small partition in the back half of the room was an older lady and a middle-aged man dressed in dark vestments with a violet-coloured tippet.
The older woman placed a hand on the man’s arm and spoke in a whisper to him, “Thank you for being here this late, and on such short notice Father.”
The priest smiled warmly and replied, “You’re quite welcome. Believe me, it’s no trouble to be doing God’s work, regardless of the time.”
Two women walked out of the selfsame room the other two had. They stopped just behind the other couple. Both were clad in black dresses and hats with dark, wispy veils. I could hear them sniffling and the sounds of small whispers back and forth between them and wondered what had happened. Just as I thought this, they turned around and pulled back the partition. Set upon a small mahogany stand was a gorgeous urn, very delicate looking and seemed to have been handmade. There was a picture of an older gentleman propped up on an easel. The priest picked up his Bible from the altar beside him. He gently and tenderly began to speak to the two women about how they imagined they would like the service to be.
The blood began to drain from my face. My palms began to sweat. In my own complacency I had wandered into a mid-night funeral. I started to become increasingly uncomfortable; not only because I hadn’t been noticed yet, and this was obviously something that was very private, but because the willpower to make my legs move was gone.
There was a small creak in the wood underneath me and there was something moving in of the corner of my peripheral vision. Instinctively, I turned my head to the right, letting out a silent breath and turned my sheepish gaze on the woman at the other end of the pew. I had been so fixated on not being noticed by the grieving family up front that I didn’t even notice this woman walk in. She, too, was dressed in black. Her greying hair was up in a tight bun, and she carried with her a scrunched-up handkerchief.
She gave me a weak smile, came and sat down beside me and spoke to me in a low whisper, “It’s so sad. The husband…” she paused briefly and pointed out to the members of group the of women, “…those two girls’ father, died just a day and a half ago. It’s bittersweet; they miss him, but they are also happy for him.”
“Oh, I see. My condolences ma’am. But…How? How could they be happy that he is gone so suddenly? Isn’t that a little…” I started to say, glancing back to the woman beside me.
She waved in a dismissing motion as she said, “Oh, dear, no they aren’t happy he’s gone. Lord, no!” She let out a small giggle and continued to say, “Church, for some, can be like a beacon that calls out when we are in need of a place to be alone with our thoughts. The wife, for example," the lady gestured, "She comes here often. Rarely missed a mass the past year. Now, her husband was fighting all sorts of awful cancer. Just as they heard news that he was through the worst of it and on the mend... the pneumonia took him in his sleep. He went in peace. And they’re satisfied he’s in a much better place, free of such suffering.”
I hesitated as I thought about that and replied, “Well, I guess they do say God works in mysterious ways.”
“Yes. Absolutely, pet.” The woman said, nodding deeply. “But, if I may pry, why are you here? Forgive me if I am wrong, but I don’t think I have seen you here before, and you clearly didn't know the mister.”
I exhaled. Where to begin? I started with the only thing I knew for certain.
“I’m… well, I’m lost you could say. I know I haven’t made the best choices up until now. I know it, without a doubt. But I just can’t seem to help myself make the right decisions.” I said, ranting on almost without pausing for a breath, “It’s always on repeat in my head, ‘You can find love Randy, this time is the last time you sleep with a random stranger.’ In fact, just yesterday when I woke up, I even questioned why I continued to put myself in those situations.”
She rested her hand on my shoulder and spoke softly to me, “God finds a lot of people when they are lost. You should try to speak with Him. Perhaps you’ll be surprised with the way He answers back.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. I would find it hard to believe He was looking for me specifically though.” I leaned back dejectedly into the pew. I stared at the ceiling for a moment and closed my eyes and spoke, my voice trembling just the slightest, “And ma’am, it’s cheesy to say, but I’ve spent a long time looking for love tonight. Or what I thought I could turn into love. I feel like it was something—or someone—letting me know that I was looking in the wrong places.”
Feeling once again her hand on my shoulder, and this time reproving me, “You know, they also say that we don’t find love. Love finds us. If you know what needs to be done, then make the change you know you need to make and have some faith. Whether that faith is to be placed in your actions or to God Himself. I’m not trying to say you need to blindly believe in something, but it’s a direction to start in.”
“You’re right. I just need to find where that direction is pointing me. I’m sorry, I’m not a deeply religious guy. How would I go about asking God for faith? What about love? Is that even something you can ask Him for?” I asked.
She smiled at me, and deep understanding filled her eyes. She spoke candidly, “Well, faith is a tough concept for anyone to understand, and I’ve had a long enough life to figure it out. For me, it's that purposeful act of trusting in and believing that God--someone, or something--with a higher purpose than yourself exists; to affirm this belief without needing to absolutely know if He is real or not."
She turned and faced me in the pew. Gently, she took hold of my hands and held them. “Faith is… much like a river; an ebb and flow that gently steers you in the direction you need to go. Although, truthfully, it may feel like you are fighting against a raging current at the time. In the end, it’s not where you end up, but what you hold onto for when you arrive. Will you grasp the paddle He extends to you, and steer it in your own way, or will you simply hold onto the mast and let the current take you with Him?” She gave me a soft wink as she said, "That's a trick question. There's no wrong answer there."
I nodded in silence. I wanted to soak in what that could mean to me. As if knowing this, the lady continued, "In that same way, people are free choose to love. And love...can be hard to even fathom if you aren’t familiar with it. Some of us are fortunate to grow up with love in our lives, and unfortunately, some are not. So, no, dear, a person’s love is not something God can give to you. But just know that you are still worthy of love."
Pausing for a moment, she looked at my eyes and said, "Now remember, love is a choice. You don't have to have the answer to these questions, but just think hard about them: will you open your heart to love? And not just to love or be loved by others, but will you choose to love yourself?"
:::spoiler Part 4 (final): Sitting there in silence, I was trying to take in the words this kind woman had just shared with me. A clock chimed from somewhere in the church.
The priest cleared his throat as if he were commanding that all the attention in the church to be on him. He seemed to have taken notice of us, perhaps asking us to be mindful while attending the service. He simply nodded his thanks and turned back towards the women in front of the urn. They placed a bouquet of flowers beside it and stepped back to their place beside the altar. There was a disconcerting silence that followed. Finally, the priest began to speak.
“As the family of the deceased would like a short, informal service, I will be saying a few words in his memory. I would ask that you pray along with us."
He waited a moment for whispers to stop and continued, "In life, we oftentimes do not seem to realise just how deeply we are affected by a person’s absence until much later. We do, however, eventually come to realise after time has passed and the pain has began to dull that they are never truly gone. We know in our heart of hearts that they are forever with us, and with God. God gives his love to all his creatures from the moment they are conceived and even after they join him in heaven. God’s love is irrevocable. God’s love is unconditional. God’s love is eternal. We should all remember to pay heed to the words that God has left us.”
Trying to give some privacy as the family wept together I turned to look at the woman beside me. She was holding her handkerchief against her face and slowly nodded in agreement with what had been said.
The priest, with a resounding voice, began to read from the Bible:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
The verse reverberated off the stone walls, echoing with each word. Even though we were all separated in the church, it felt as if my soul was being penetrated with this overwhelming sentiment of closeness and solidarity.
I began to examine my life and what was truly considered to be love. Was it more than just juggling multiple women to satisfy your constant loneliness? And even then, was love more than just finding someone to enjoy having sex? A small hand covered mine once again and gave me the reassurance I needed.
I got up and smiled at the woman before I left, thanking her for understanding my situation and for her guidance. I walked a few more blocks before I had finally returned to my apartment. All the while I was thinking about what I needed to change: I needed to have faith in myself and make my own future with it. Standing inside my apartment I fished the love letter out of my pocket, tearing it up and throwing it into the trash bin. Walking into the bedroom I lay down on my bed. Drifting off to sleep, I felt a peaceful sensation; for the first time since… I don’t know when, I felt fulfilled. I felt like I had a path forward, and I wasn’t going to lose sight of it.
#
I’d returned to that church on Sunday. And the next two after that. However, I hadn’t seen that woman again since the night I met her. Occasionally, I’d still stop in and sit in that church when I needed to think about important things going on in my life.
She must have been my wake-up call; my beacon, my paddle, pointing me in the right direction when I had very much gotten myself lost. She didn’t throw me into the river of faith. She guided me to the shores and told me to dip my toes in. She let me figure it out for myself where I needed to go.
I will never forget what it was that she taught me:
Love is not something easy. You can’t demand it. You can search all you want, but when you’re looking in all the wrong places you won’t find it. If you don't give up, love will find you.
Love is a freely given gift.
And it comes from the heart.
Eh. The story is fine, but it kinda takes too long to get to the point and doesn't describe it efficiently. It could have gone more in depth in much less space.
Also, years you say!? Not to sound harsh, but that's way too long for such a short story, even if writing it on the side. You should focus on one thing at a time and finish it quick.
Could you go into a bit more detail about what specifically doesn’t work? I want to take notes and see what I can do to make it better.
Haha, yes years. As in it started as a micro-story assignment in college. It sat on my google drive for 4 years so I decided to flesh it out. It’s not necessarily something I normally like to write. But for some reason I just can’t stop nudging it, come back to it to edit or add/remove every so often. It’s not a constant 4 years of working on one small short story! That’s nuts lol.