Despite its garish ornateness, it seemed perfect to me. Bright red, the size of a Frisbee, frills on the edges and puffy in the middle with embossed golden letters saying—what else? “I Love You.” One could barely imagine the sweet wonders of its insides. It was a beautiful candy heart.
I got it at Jason’s pharmacy for $6.00, a princely sum, especially to my small wallet, back in 1952. But the pain and thinking that went into that purchase was, to me, my 6th grade self, monumental.
The heart (my heart actually) was for Sandy Taylor. I loved her as a 6th grade boy does. I hardly knew her. She was beautiful, and while I whispered amazing things to her in my head, I was afraid to talk to her.
It was Valentines Day, a day that I now loathe as the evil creation of a demented marketing genius, and I had decided it was the perfect time to show her my love—a love she had no idea existed.
My reasoning leading up to this decision was, to be kind, irrational.
Do I? Don’t I? She doesn’t know my feelings. Will she take it? Will she return my feelings? I’ll be devastated if she doesn’t. But who could resist that brilliant package filled with sweetness? Will she know that it’s all just camouflage for the real thing?
This is a terrible idea. It just simply scares me. I don’t have the courage to do it. No. I do. I will, for the first time in my life act on this passion.
“Go ahead. Do it!! Take the risk.”
Much to my own surprise, I listen to that voice. I do it. I take the risk, and, as I recall, without any contemplation of consequences. It took so much to get to the decision, I didn’t think beyond it.
I get on my bike and ride to Jason’s, buy the candy heart. That, by itself took a lot.
But it was only the beginning of this early adventure in love.
With the precious cargo under my arm, I’m off to Sandy’s house. Off to present not just the candy heart, but my own. Not as tasty but just as sweet.
Fortunately, it is a long ride, but I’m not getting calmer. All too soon I approach her house. It sits back off the street, with houses close by on either side. I will be exposed. It seems that the whole world can eavesdrop on this sacred and very private event, should it wish to.
The walkway to the front door seems too long and a bit uphill. Worse, the door itself sits back on a porch that is elevated even further by several steps. It is as if I’ll have to walk up an aisle and climb onto a stage to deliver my offering—while the world watches.
I park my bike right at the intersection of the sidewalk and the walkway. With some awkward difficulty I manage the heart with one hand, hold the handlebars with the other and struggle with one foot to release the kickstand. My bike finally stands on its own but with shaky uncertainty that transfers directly to me.
Struggling with the balance of my own first few steps, I leave my bike, proceed up the walk to the steps leading to Sandy’s front door.
With each step there is an increasing adrenaline rush that is unexpected, confusing and confounding. My heart responds, pounding in my chest. This is way too much for the 6th grade me. There is just too much at stake.
Uncertainty returns. Do I go on with this? It’s not too late. I can turn back. While nothing ventured means nothing gained, it seems to me it can also mean, nothing lost—and rejection avoided.
As far as I can determine no one, most importantly Sandy, has seen me.
If she is there to accept my candy heart, I don’t think I’ll be able to speak given that my throat is fully occluded by my other, racing, heart.
In the midst of this agitation I make my decision. My courage was a mirage. It has disappeared in the reality of the moment, and I realize that I am not ready for love. Not yet.
Trying to determine what is more important now, speed or stealth, I carefully open the storm door guarding the entry. I quietly lay the candy heart inside between the storm and front doors. I slowly swing the storm door shut and latch it hoping that it won’t make it a sound. I retreat, downhill this time, to my bike, to safety, my heart still racing but uninjured.
Quickly I grab the handlebars, kick up the stand, swing my leg over the bar. I am struck by how stable everything seems now without having to juggle the heart. I ride away never looking back. With each pump of the pedals it seems my pulse, instead of rising with the effort of pedaling, subsides. Calm returns.
My encounter with true love will have to wait for another day.