I don't have any idea why I even started doing it, much less why I have continued. Maybe it has something to do with when I was a small child and we had Valentine's mailboxes and mine was always empty.
It's not that I am not "a man's man" in every other sense of the words, really. I played football and still spar MMA to stay in shape. I don't think I even own a pair of tweezers and I tend to rip my nails while working to below the cuticle more often than even the most fastidious would trim them.
Yet, I enjoy romance novels and what are usually referred to as "chick flicks". I am not ashamed to admit that I teared up watching "The Notebook" or "The Lakehouse". I am absolutely in love with love and romance. And above all, I adore Valentine's Day.
Three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, it is all too easy to take those around us, even the ones we love, for granted. Or perhaps that is too harsh. Perhaps it is not so much that we take them for granted so much as it is too much effort to go beyond what we normally do on a daily basis to show them how we feel.
Yet, we have this one day set aside to splurge and try to squeeze out every bit of the love and adoration that we feel all year long. We, as men, can even do this without being teased and ridiculed by other men on that one day.
If I didn't actually have any one to give the bouquet of a dozen red roses and the box of chocolates to, and no one was going to be hanging on my arm wearing my tailored tuxedo, then that was no one's business save my own. I may be a man, but I enjoy flavored chocolates also. I may be rough and tough and coach keeps asking me why I don't enter the annual tough man competition, but that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy the smell and the beauty of a dozen roses in a bundle.
Even if I had learned the hard lesson at an early age that to admit these things was to court torment and, often, fights as a man.
Every year on Valentine's Day, I picked up my freshly tailored tuxedo, bought a box of chocolates, and bought a dozen red roses. Every year on Valentine's Day, I dressed in my tux, and, carrying my roses and my chocolates, walked to a nearby park to watch the sunset. After the sun was hidden for the night, I would just barely make my solitary reservation for dinner, where I would watch the others around me.
It truly never crossed my mind that any might be paying me more than passing attention. I never really considered what they must think of my situation. I was doing it because I wished to, not because I was being stood up by a date. But, I am getting ahead of myself.
The nights when some nervous Romeo would rise from his seat to, supposedly, pick up some dropped napkin and then offer his Juliet a ring from bended knee were the best. I always applauded longest and loudest when I was privileged to witness such an event. What could possibly be more romantic than combining the romance of Valentine's with the romance of dedicating yourself to sharing your life with that special someone?
I truly never imagined that anyone would notice as I surreptitiously wiped a tear on my napkin or give it a second thought if they did. But, again, I am getting ahead of myself.
So, why had I never done such a thing? One might ask.
Actually, I had. One Valentine's Day when I was twenty, I, too, had gone to one knee and asked the love of my life to be by my side for the rest of our existence on this mortal plane. And she said she would. We never made it to the altar.
At first, I was mourning her. Then, it did not seem fair to measure others against her memory. Then, I was just too old to be more than a second husband and step-father to children that weren't mine. And I did not think I wanted a constant reminder that I was a second chance any more than they would wish to be reminded that they were not my first choice.
No, love and romance is for the young unencumbered by the responsibilities that life heaps upon us. But, that did not mean that I could not enjoy it vicariously on this one night of the year.
Until the year that all changed.
"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?"
I glanced up to see an elegant lady standing beside my table. She was beautiful, with her auburn hair bound up in a sweeping style and her green eyes so warm and smiling. Her evening gown matched her eyes and seemed to whisper against every curve and line of her lush body. The fresh bloom of youth had just started to fade from her, making me estimate her age in her mid twenties.
Belatedly, I remembered my manners and rose from my seat.
"Ah, no." I said. "Please, won't you join me?"
The words were reflexive if the manners were not. I hadn't especially wanted company on this special night. Yet, saying "no" without being harsh had never been in my skill set.
"Thank you." She said.
She and the maître d' exchanged those murmured pleasantries that were common and he left us with a small bow. Left us standing, looking at each other.
Why wasn't she sitting? I wondered. Oh, right.
I stepped around the table to pull out and hold her chair. I tapped the back of her knees as she sat and grimaced. Romance is much easier without another party involved and after eighteen years, I was out of practice.
Once she was seated, however clumsily on my part, I stepped back around to regain my own seat. Her eyes the color of emeralds seemed to sparkle and glow from some inner light. What should I say? I wondered. Should I compliment her eyes? I didn't quite feel up to complimenting her dress and the implied compliment to what lay beneath it. She spoke as I dithered and took the question out of my hands.
"So why is it that such a handsome man would come alone to this place on Valentine's Day?"
I felt foolish having to set out my reasons in words. Particularly to a woman that I did not know. Yet, something about her told me to tell the truth and that she would somehow know if I lied.
"So, this isn't a memory to her," She asked with a raised eyebrow once I had told her the jumbled tale.
"Perhaps at first," I admitted. "That may be how it began, but not anymore."
"So, rather than a woman, your true love is love?" Her smile seemed to dim the room around us it was so very bright. "You are a very unusual man, Thomas."
It took me a moment to realize that she had said my name when I had not told her and she, so far as I knew, hadn't any reason to know it.
"You seem to have the advantage of me." I said. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."
"Call me Dahlia." She said.
Something about the name and the way she said it stirred a distant memory. I had the distinct feeling that there was more to the name, but I could not think of what it might be. Before I could chase down the errant thought, we were interrupted.
"There you are."
I glanced up to find a large man clad in black leather standing next to our table, looking down at my putative date.
"Hello, Martin." Dahlia said, a trifle coolly. "How's Narine?"
It may have been my imagination, but he seemed to stiffen as if he had been struck a physical blow.
"She is well." Martin said. "Come away now, Dahlia. Stop this nonsense."
He made the mistake of reaching for her. Or perhaps it would not have been a mistake if she had not so obviously pulled away.
