Three Valentine’s Days
The tone of my love life was set when I was in 3rd grade. A month before the big day, my class was presented with a new student, Tamaralis Walker, better known as Tammy. And when I first laid gaze on her, my world changed.
Tammy had gray eyes, long brown hair, and a face bound to stay the same until her dying day. As our teacher led Tammy to her new seat, I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for all the other lads in class to go blind. Alas, when I opened my eyes, every other boy had the same frozen gaze on Tammy as I did.
I wasn’t the biggest or most popular kid in 3rd grade, so sorting out an angle for her attention took priority over math lessons and G.I. Joes. Within days, I’d convinced my mom to transfer me to Tammy’s after-school sitter. This wasn’t a hard sell. However, it was the first lesson in being careful what one wishes for, a lesson I haven’t learned to this day.
To sour my clever ploy over the other boys, Tammy taunted and teased me most days after school, bragging that she could have her pick of anyone in class. And us sharing a sitter was no reason for her to choose me. But some days we’d hold hands while watching cartoons. Other times, when our parents were late picking us up, Tammy and I experimented with kissing.
This back-and-forth continued up until Valentine’s Day. I had two Smurfs Valentine’s cards and four pieces of candy for Tammy. As class made the rounds, placing candy and cards on desks, I waited at my desk for Tammy to appear. Instead, I was confronted by the four biggest and most popular boys.
“Tammy doesn’t want your cheapskate cards,” the biggest and most popular of the lot said, slapping the crinkled cards on my desk.
The other three laughed, chomping on the candy I’d given her. Across the room, Tammy laughed and chatted with other popular girls in class, counting their Valentine cards.
But two days later, when the teacher asked the class who had money for the book fair taking place in the gymnasium, I was the only kid to raise a hand. When I stood from my desk, Tammy also raised her hand.
I’ll never forget. She was wearing purple corduroys and a striped sweater that day. Tammy dug her hands deep inside her pockets, and with a frowning face, she nearly sobbed,
“I don’t really have money for the book fair. Will you buy a book for me?”
I didn’t agree to until reaching the gymnasium after Tammy apologized and gave a bunch of 3rd grade excuses for the incident on Valentine’s Day. And then holding hands, we browsed the books. I can’t recall what I chose for myself. But I bought Tammy a pop-up book, The Fox and the Hound.
Sure, she broke my heart a few days later. I’d go on to break hers a few days after that. And so it went until my family moved to the suburbs the following autumn.
When Valentine’s Day fell in the middle of my second year of grad school, I didn’t even notice. Successfully single at the time, my mind was on the thesis meeting I had with my advisor that afternoon.
Because I’d spent the past year and a half living on student loans, there was nothing for me to do but sharpen my skills at writing poems. It wasn’t long before I was one of the best in my class. And for my thesis manuscript, reAmerica, I had supreme vision.
That was until the meeting with my thesis advisor. There were at least 30 poems in it at the time, each with red marks all over them. I left that meeting gutted. Heartbroken. I went straight home to begin rewriting everything, but was still in shock. My creativity was frozen in the snow between the college in the South Loop and my doorstep in Bucktown.
So off to the bar, I went. Not to just any bar, but Danny’s my favorite pub in the world, that just happened to be a few blocks from my apartment. Blubbering over my drinks, the cozy couples filling the bar was lost on me. I searched at the bottom of shots of whiskey and pints of beer for the poet I thought I was.
And then in walked three women, sassy with singleness. They danced over to me and Laura took the stool next to mine.
“You know how sad you look sitting all alone at the bar on Valentine’s Day?” she asked.
“It’s Valentine’s Day?” I replied.
The three of them laughed and we ordered a round of shots. Laura and I got on pretty well that night, making out in cabs as we went from bar to bar. By the time I finished running down my grad school woes, her friends had gone.
The next thing I remember is waking up as Laura exited my bed. I laid there listening to her put on her clothes, then to the sound of her heels clicking and clacking across the floor.
A few minutes after she left my apartment, I got up and found her phone number written down on paper at my desk. After making coffee and lighting a cigarette, I pushed the phone number aside and began writing.
A couple of years after grad school, I moved into a three-story building on the border of Wicker Park. All nine apartments in the building were occupied by artists. It was quite the scene, so much so, it was embarrassing having the only TV in the place.
On the first floor of the building there was a coffee shop, also owned by our landlord, who left it up to us to give the place a ‘hipster’ vibe. So every Thursday, my roommate, Aaron, hosted an open mic.
From the moment I moved into that space, there was little time to watch TV with so many impromptu social gatherings happening at any moment. Especially on Thursdays. This was when I met Robin.
She worked at a vegan restaurant with Aaron, along with about a dozen others who frequented our space for open mics or parties in our apartment. Robin and I hit it off right away, but due to our fluid social structure, I felt it best not to make any sudden moves.
Dating was a game of musical chairs in that scene back then. One was either a chair or hovering over one waiting for the music to stop. Rarely did it stop long enough for anyone to only date one person at a time.
So Robin and I made out a couple times, but it never led to dating. This was also partly due to my meeting Alice. Alice was the roommate of Aaron’s girlfriend, Jessica. Robin wasn’t reserved by any stretch, but Alice was dangerous. So as exciting as it was to spend time with her, to pursue a relationship would’ve led to heartbreak.
Valentine’s day that year happened to fall on a Thursday. For the occasion, Aaron planned a red and white themed open mic that night. By this point, my favor toward Robin had grown. I spent two days in my apartment writing her a poem to be read at the event.
On the night of, emotions through the coffee shop were both high and low. Everyone had a story to tell. Everyone was drunk. Everyone was there. I took to the dais and read my poem, A Letter to January. Only when I was halfway through it did I notice Robin and Alice were sitting next to each other.
As the crowd rang out in applause at poem’s end, Alice hopped up on the stage and planted a kiss on my lips, believing those words were written for her. I’m not sure if Robin knew they were for her, as the grip of winter drew Alice and I into a relationship.
Alice would eventually break my heart, but it was a fun ride. And Robin and I are still very good friends.
