Valentines

Valentines

The build up to Valentines had been phenomenal. Come January and the wreaths gave way to candy boxes. Aisles upon aisles laden with heart shaped merchandise. Advertisements on television coaxing men to buy diamonds for their special lady, singing greeting cards and talking stuffed toys, everyone seemed to be overcome with pink fever and it made me nauseatingly restless and irritable. It was February 13th, and I found myself with a whole 24 hours and nothing to do.

The weather outside was blonde. Indecisive. Almost like it was having an internal conflict, the air pregnant with impending change. The stubborn snow, beautiful at a distance but cold and unforgiving up-close, not yet willing to relinquish its throne to the ambitious spring shoots jutting their way through her cold bosom.

I decided to go for a walk, take in the cool crisp air hoping to clear my head and perhaps have an epiphany, something to do with all this time. Tracks, Nikes and my Ipod. I was ready to hit the streets. I walked a few blocks, taking in the sights around me, a silent observer watching a silent movie, my ipod blocking out all other sounds.

I passed by the new development of town houses, all cookie cutter perfect. Some had shiny cars in the driveways. The playground silent and most desolate looking, the kids were at school. No inspirations yet. I walked a few more blocks. Found myself downtown. Tall shiny buildings, traffic, people rushing about, their neck ties fluttering away with the wind, over coats bellowing. The urgency in their step was familiar and relatable, but not today. No inspiration yet. I walked on.

A few more blocks and I ended up in the chintzy part of town, graffiti on the walls, large dumpsters overflowing with garbage. Truant youth stood around in clusters, smoking their lives away. Dreary grey blocks of concrete with their rusty fire escapes. Narrow alleys and wet puddles on the streets. And then I saw it. I turned towards the end alley it was in. With each step the idea grew larger and clearer. I had had an epiphany.

The couch was old and a little crotched, one of its legs bent, making it unbalanced. However other than the busted leg and a patch of fabric missing from one of the arms it was in good shape. I tried moving it but it was a little too heavy for me. I called out to the teenagers. "Can you help me move this to Main street?" They looked at me with an expression that read "are you trippin?" until they saw the greens I pulled out of my pocket.

Six pair of hands, a couple of left feet, a few nudges some near slips and generously ingenious expletives later the couch was carefully positioned on the sidewalk, right between the coffee shop and the curb.

I went into the coffee shop and noticed the serpentine queue, perhaps more mocha-holics exist than I thought. I sized up the people standing in line, the suit in the front, with his shiny cuff links and belt adorned with a cell phone and a pager. He kept looking at the clock, there was an air of impatience about him. He was most definitely a surgeon. He won't do. Next in line was a pleasantly plump young girl, she had earphones in her ears , her friend just came out of the ladies room. She signals to the benches by the window. Maybe her, although not both of them. This has to be a one on one.

I mentally cross out numbers 3, 4 and 5 as well. Next in line is a 30 something year old African American woman. She has a very maternal disposition, small kind eyes and a calm yet exhausted expression on her face. She is perfect. I take a deep breath, gather all my new found American- ness and plaster the toothiest smile my facial muscles would allow. "Hi there, can I steal a moment of your time? "

Internally I thank the gods for American friendliness, can't imagine doing this back home.

"I was wondering if I can buy you some coffee in exchange for a friendly conversation. I have a couch outside.

"Honey whatever it is you're selling, I have two of them. Not interested."

"You misunderstand. I'm not selling anything." As I explained to her what my intentions were, her expression changed from irritation, to suspicion to mild bemusement.

"I have half an hour to myself."