WHY DO I LOVE THEE?
By Roy L. Pickering Jr.
I saw them today, my
ex-best friend and ex-girlfriend. Over a
year has passed since it happened, since he so skillfully, callously, and most
important, successfully plotted to steal her away. I ducked into a store to avoid them flaunting
their happiness in my face. That would
be just like them. Or rather, I should
say like Julian. For it was his
duplicity that started the chain of events, and the chain was moved along by my
actions, and mine alone. Caroline didn't
play much of a part in the process. She
merely went along for the ride.
Caroline
is the proverbial one who got away. Not
that she left me, for the truth is, I dumped her, just as I have ended all of my
relationships for one reason or another.
But Julian was the one pulling the strings, guiding me without my
knowledge towards the destination he desired.
You
see, I was in my younger days quite the ladies man. Women were simply playthings. I know what you're thinking. What a pompous braggart I am. But how could I possibly benefit by lying, or
even distorting the truth? You must
believe me, I was, and to a lesser degree still am, exactly what I claim to be. Some collect stamps, some bottles of wine,
others cars. I have spent the greater
part of the four decades of my life collecting women.
Tall
ones, short ones, slender and full bodied have taken turns filling my
arms. Blondes, brunettes and redheads
all have had more fun with me. I've
known women (and when I say know, I mean know
in the best sense of the word) of every race, nationality, and flavor
invented. None of the others were quite
like Caroline.
Upon
first sight, I knew I was in the presence of one of God's most perfect
creations. Her visage exotically
composed, angelically pure, as intoxicating and addictive to the eyes as heroin
to one's bloodstream. Her figure would
have converted Liberace and made Ray Charles drool. In bed, I bet you'd love to know the most
intimate details, but I'm too much of a gentleman to divulge them. Let's just say heaven will have to be damn
good to surpass the moments of ecstasy Caroline and I experienced.
Why
then, you must be asking yourself by now, did I let such a magnificent woman
out of my grasp? And believe you me, she
was as captive as a woman can be. So why
did I push away this woman whose adoration of me was only matched by mine for
her? I will commence to tell you, though
the recollection of events pains me almost physically.
It
was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art that Julian's intricate plot began to
unveil itself. We were admiring a
painting by Botticelli. I favorably
compared Caroline to the woman encased by a frame. Caroline was blessed less amply by the most
hypnotic of curves.
"Will
you cut it out?"
"Cut
what out?" I asked innocently.
"Your
constant mentioning of Caroline. You
can't go five minutes without bringing her up.
It's growing tiresome."
"I
wasn't aware of this," I replied, and indeed I hadn't been. It was quite
subconscious, the way my thoughts of her would leap from my tongue.
"What's
so special about her anyway?"
I
was astounded by Julian's question, for the answer was blatantly obvious. It was like asking if the sun was actually
hot.
"I
would think anyone who has seen her would have no need to ask," I said.
"Okay,
she's attractive. She's very
attractive. But you've been with plenty
of beautiful women. What else is there? What makes her different from the rest?"
Julian's
inquisition was beginning to annoy me.
The audacity of him to categorize her as just one of many beautiful
women. There was much more to Caroline than her physical attributes. I began to list traits for him.
"Well,
for one thing she's ..."
"And
don't say she's great in bed, because we both know plenty of women are great in
bed."
He
had knocked my first two reasons off the list.
No matter, there were plenty of others.
I prepared to recite them.
Problem was, none were springing to mind right at that moment. I told myself there must be so many, I
couldn't decide which to say first. But Julian was waiting smugly. Compatibility came to mind. That seemed like
a good choice.
"Don't
say you get along really well because you know that's bull," said Julian
before I could open my mouth. "How
many times have you complained that the two of you have nothing in
common?"
In
truth, he was right. Caroline and I were
not alike at all. Me with an Ivy league education, she with a high school
diploma. My passion for classical music
and Motown, her’s for pop rock and rap.
How could I, a lover of champagne, caviar, and Baroque art, take
seriously an aficionado of Burger King, wine coolers, and MTV? Much less
profess to love her. I had to admit to
myself that I didn't really know. But I
couldn't confess this to Julian.
The
concept of opposites attracting occurred to me, but this time it was I who
discarded the idea. I couldn't think of
a more ludicrous notion to base a relationship on, and had scoffed at many a
couple who did. Hadn't I broken things
off with women in the past because their attitudes and interests did not
adequately coincide with mine? And
wasn't it true that this was never more the case than it was with
Caroline? So why were we together? Did I truly love her, or had I grown
impatient waiting for the perfect woman and convinced myself to be content with
the one I was currently with? She was beautiful
and sensuous and a great booster of my already inflated ego, but could I
honestly say that she attained the highest of my standards? Wasn't it possible for even a connoisseur to
occasionally be misled by a well disguised, but nonetheless inferior
brand? So many questions that when
honestly responded to, yielded unpleasant answers.
I
wondered if Caroline had pulled the proverbial wool over my bedazzled
eyes. Of course she had not. Such deceitful behavior was not in her nature
- yet another thing we didn't have in common.
And
so, it was in such a manner that the "truth" finally dawned on
me. It was I who had conned me. Caroline was never any more or any less than
herself. The pedestal she stood upon in
my mind, the light that seemed always to illuminate her, had been created
wholly by me. The past three months had
not been spent with Ms. Right, my future bride, my one true love. Caroline was just one in a long line of
lovers. Our time together was meant to
be a fond memory, but nothing more.
Despite
these revelations, it was with deep sobriety bordering on sadness that I broke
up with Caroline that evening. Not that
I had difficulty coming up with the words.
I issued my standard speech, told Caroline how much I cared for her, how
it would hurt me more than it would hurt her, but that the relationship had run
its course and it would be for the best that we ended it. The moments we had shared would be eternally
cherished by me, and I would always be there if she needed a friend. Beautiful, don't you think? Of course, she was devastated.
"I
don't understand. I thought everything
was going great."
Of
course you did, sweet, simple Caroline.
But how could I explain my sudden realization that she wasn't enough for
me? How could I say after the many times
I had professed love (and love is not a word I toss around lightly), that I had
not been lying? I had sincerely believed
what I now knew to be false. I had no
recourse but to fall back on familiar lines, not because she didn't deserve
better, but because the truth was too complex to divulge.
I
never again spoke to Caroline after that day, and only conversed with Julian
once more. It was a week later, and I
had just discovered that he and Caroline were now seeing each other.
"Believe
me, I didn't plan this in any way," said Julian ludicrously. "It just sort of happened."
"You
tricked me into breaking up with her, you conniving bastard."
"That
couldn't be farther from the truth, you must believe me. I was earnest when I
asked why you loved Caroline. I had no
designs upon her at the time. I know it
seems a bit too coincidental, but coincidence is all it is. I had no idea things would turn out this way,
and to prove it I would break it off in a second. Except, I think I'm starting to fall for
her. There's just something about her,
something indescribable that I simply cannot resist."
The
master had been bested by his pupil. If
I was a man who settled disputes with his fists, that's what I would have
done. But I've always considered myself
above that sort of thing. Instead I walked away, dignity intact, but Caroline
lost.
I
tried my best to get over her with the help of a host of beautiful women. And eventually she ceased to regularly enter
my thoughts. The memory of how my
supposed friend Julian duped me faded in time as well. Until I saw them walking hand in hand today.
Instantly I was transported back to when Caroline
and I were together. I remembered
running my hands through her blondish-brown hair. Or was it brownish-blond? Gazing for hours into her sparkling blue
eyes. Or were they green? Kissing the birthmark on her inner right
thigh. Or the left. No, it was on her shoulder blade. Wait a minute, was that someone else
altogether? Oh, what does it
matter? Frivolous details which can be
altered cosmetically on a whim, so why quibble?
I'm certain now that it was love.
A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. GainesMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
This may be the most heart breaking book it has ever been my sad pleasure to read. A young man is in the wrong place at the wrong time, and due to his poor decision making on this one ill fated occasion, ends up wrongfully accused of murder and condemned to death row. Set during a time when race relations were strained and tilted heavily in favor of privileged whites at the expense of struggling blacks who were looked down upon (in other words, a time much worse and yet insufficiently different from today), the best that his lawyer can think up as a defense is to compare the defendant to a dumb hog. When this fails to prevent Jefferson from being convicted and sentenced to the electric chair, his godmother calls upon local grade school teacher Grant Wiggins. What she asks of Grant is both simple and seemingly impossible. Jefferson cannot escape an unfair verdict in an unjust world. But instead of pitifully accepting designation as a brute animal, maybe he can find a measure of dignity in his final days, allowing him to take his final steps with head held high like a man. Grant is a cynic and less than a true believer in what we're taught about God and an awaiting Heaven. It takes the bullying of his aunt to make him accept the ultimate teaching assignment. He does his best. Jefferson does his best. Readers may do their best in the end not to cry. Many will surely fail.
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NW by Zadie SmithMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Carrying this book around I learned that just about everyone has read and really loved White Teeth, Zadie Smith's debut novel. Some of her faithful devotees may be less enamored with NW. Not that it isn't skillfully written. But the very fragmented style Smith chose to present it in probably will not be everybody's cup of tea. The choppy format did not take away from my ability to again perceive that Smith is an exceptional talent, but this book's flow took some getting accustomed to for me personally. NW chronicles the lives of two women who grew up in the same neighborhood and are friends from childhood. They both go on to get married and keep secrets from their husbands. To say much more about the plot would bring me into spoiler territory, so I'll leave summarizing to others who are better at it. Instead I'll say that I liked if didn't quite love this book, and that I do recommend it, even if you read it only to end up saying that you preferred White Teeth. There is only room for one as your favorite, but plenty of room to fill on the bookshelf of your life.
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Happy Birthday, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle by Betty MacDonaldMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
This is the second Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle book I've read to my daughter. My wife was a fan from childhood but I had never heard of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle before. Apparently the first one I read was written back in the 50's by Betty MacDonald whereas this one is comprised of a previously unpublished story and ideas for others that were found by her daughter. The story outlines were fleshed out into new installments in the franchise. My 8 year old, being way smarter than me, immediately picked up the more contemporary feel of this book. And as it turns out, we both liked this one better (perhaps because of the modernity, perhaps for some other reason that is a credit to Anne MacDonald Canham) than the truly authentic Mrs. Piggle book previously read. There was only one story (the one about a kid too cautious to attempt anything - from something legitimately intimidating like a climbing a tree to merely playing basketball with friends) that we found to be a total dud. Other than that we were charmed throughout. The concept of a woman with magical cures for annoying childhood behavior and vices is a timeless winner, so I can see why these books (originals and new entries) charm multiple generations of readers.
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— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) December 11, 2014
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— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) December 11, 2014
