St. Valentine's Curse

I’m not good at Valentine’s Day. Not a strong Valentine. I wish I could say I’ve learned from my mistakes, showed some progress over the years, but I’m not sure I’ve learned a thing since 6th grade. The middle of it. Right after Christmas break. That’s when Susan Schweers joined our class, full time. It wasn’t the first time she’d graced our walls. She’d been coming in for years, as a Religious Ed kid. Which means once a week she’d arrive, with a bunch of other part-timers, get a little dose of Jesus, and then she’d get back on the bus and go back to doing God knows what, at the public school. This only added to her allure. One morning in January, Sister Helen announced our new arrival and put her in the desk two rows over from me, one row up. Technically, that seat belonged to Pat Reed, but for the foreseeable future, we all knew he’d be facing the wall in the Time-Out chair, so there was no need to hang onto his spot.

When this all went down, I had a girlfriend. Lisa Roark. She was awesome. We had a great relationship. Didn’t speak much during the day, really. But every weeknight, five o’ clock... We were on the phone. That’s when Little House came on. We loved that show. And I’m not embarrassed to tell you, watching it with her (…albeit from our respective houses) made it even better. She was always so insightful. I remember one day, way before they came out and said it on the show, she was like, “Ohmygod… Mary’s going blind! That’s why she can’t see it, Half-Pint! She’s going blind!” And I knew she was right. I could hear her headgear knocking into the phone as she tried to contain herself. That’s the kind of connection we had. Yet the moment Susan Schweers walked into my life, I knew I would easily throw it all away. Sure, I convinced myself it couldn’t go on like that forever. Times were changing. Nellie’s family had lost the store. And let’s face it, Pa pretty much jumped the shark when they adopted that kid... Willie, or whatever his name was. That’s what I told myself, anyway. To justify my heartless actions.

It didn’t happen right off the bat. The first month or so, Susan didn’t say a word to me. Which was just fine. She scared the daylights outta' me. Everything about her was glamorous. And Worldly. She’d been on the outside. She could teach me things I knew I’d never learn on the prairie. And then, the day before Valentine’s Day… she walks up, stops at my desk, and says right out loud, “You got a Valentine?” Okay, first off… and I don’t mean to paint myself as the victim here, but… at the end of the day, we all put our boots on in the same place, okay? ‘Did I have a Valentine?!’ She knew I did. She knew I did. Besides, who does that? Everyone knows how it works; You start with a calculated leak. “Mark likes you… Don’t tell him I told you.” Then, there needs to be at least three or four notes back and forth. Then you have a face to face. Maybe. You don’t just walk up and throw it out there! But that’s what I mean… she completely disregarded the rules. And I liked it. Did I wish to want to be her Valentine? Yes, I did.

On Valentine’s Day, we arrived and Sister Helen told us to put our desks in a circle. Susan came over and informed me I needed to drag my desk over next to hers. I did as I was told. I’m not going to lie to you, it was exciting at first. She was beautiful. But it soon became clear we didn’t have much in common. I kept feeling like something was missing. (And not just Karen Blumer’s retainer, either. That went missing every time we had cake.) Something just wasn’t right. At one point, Lisa was asked to get up and sing a Valentine song in the middle of the circle. She was electric in a pink headband that matched her sneaks. She nailed it. Not showing off… but like she’d been there before, y’know?

Later in the afternoon, Sister Helen had us go around the room and say the name of someone we were grateful for… someone that loved us. There was lots of “Moms”, a few “Grandma and Grandpas”. The usual stuff. All I could think of was who used to love me. There she was, sitting across the room, giving a Valentine to Pat Reed. I don’t think she was drawn to the “bad-boy”, really, but what could I say? It was my own fault I was sitting across the circle, holding hands with Olivia Newton John from Grease (The last scene).

I learned a valuable lesson that day. I haven’t paid much attention to it since, but… What I learned is that I’ve you’ve got something good, and you’ve found someone you can share things with, don’t screw it up for something that seems more exciting. Life is not always greener on the other side of the Prairie.