Feb. 14, 2008. Valentine’s Day. Maybe next year.
I wore black today, as has been my tradition since my freshman year of college. In college, I usually wore my black hooded Ball State sweatshirt and jeans, so most people didn’t even pick up that I was wearing black in honor of St. Valentine. But I knew. This year, I couldn’t cling to my trusty black sweatshirt, which I had done the four previous holidays. This year I had to go to work on Valentine’s Day. So, I wore my black polo layered over a purple tank top and white thermal shirt that was paired with my super cute purple plaid faux Chucks. So, no one at work picked up that I was wearing black as a silent protest to the day. But I knew. And that was enough.
The reason I don’t like this particular holiday of love – and you should know that I love holidays and I love love – is because of a card.
I was a junior in high school when I receive this card. He was a senior. He give it to me on Feb. 15 when I was standing at my locker. I was sick on Valentine’s Day and didn’t go to school, so he gave it to me the following day. Weird the things you remember. When it was given to me, it meant nothing to me but has picked up value over the years.
A simple Hallmark card with a whimsical city-like scene in vibrant blues, greens and purples on the front. There is a road that does a couple loops, which makes the shape of a heart. On the road is a red car with red hearts that trail after it. At the top of the card it reads: It’s Valentine’s Day! Opening it reveals the contents inside: Spread a little love everywhere you go. Underneath that in slowly-written-but-still-a-little-sloppy cursive handwriting is
“Happy Valentine’s Day
Love always,
Chris”
I use his real name because the chances of him reading this are rarer than me voting Republican. He’s the first boy I’ve ever loved, but I didn’t realize this fact until it was about 4½ years too late. He and I were masters of the cat and mouse game. We played for about three years, trading roles back and forth. The game ended when he was the cat and I was the mouse. I was too mean, too inconsiderate and too fickle. I hurt him. He stopped chasing. At the time, I didn’t care that he stopped chasing. About a year and a half later, I grew up. I realized I wasn’t perfect. I realized I didn’t deserve to be on a pedestal if I wasn’t willing to return the favor. And, I realized that I wanted him back in my life, so I tried to fix what I had done and the pain that I had caused, but it didn’t work.
Now, he and I don’t even talk. And really, I don’t even know him anymore.
But what I want to say to him is “You wrote ‘love always.’ Did you really mean it? You shouldn’t have written it if you didn’t mean it.”
It’s been six years, and I still have that card. I keep that card on my bulletin board. It’s a reminder that sometimes I might not get that second or 22nd chance I expect. It reminds me that sometimes when you keep pushing at something it eventually breaks. I am reminded that some things just can’t be fixed.
I wish I had realized what was right in front of me. And I wish I wasn’t too afraid, too scare and too selfish to see what would have happened. Now, I am left with the pesky “what-ifs.” But, they don’t bother me too much. Just on one particular holiday.
