"Sweetheart" Stories from the Robot Store Counter

The morning air was white with the glow of frost.  Like a fog.  I looked over the city of Ann Arbor and saw what looked like mountains, in the distance.  All the trees were covered with frost.  They gave the feeling of a continuous mountain horizon.  

I told myself,  “Get going before the sun comes up completely.  It’s a perfect time to take pictures of this beautiful scenery.”  I didn't answer myself right away.  I was mesmerized by the sparkly look on all the trees I saw by my window.

Then I thought, “It’s not possible.  I'll never capture this cold morning."  With spirals of smoke coming straight up through the neighbor's chimney stacks, in the frigid air.  The image of mountains in the distance, when there weren’t any.  I could take my time with my first cup of coffee and enjoy nature’s slowly, disappearing artwork.  

Later when I walked to the Robot Store, on Liberty, I saw diamonds on the snow.  The type I use to pretend, were precious jewels.  The trees were snowing.  Not from the small clouds.  The snow was coming down from the space between  the trees and me. Not from the sky.  The flakes came from the frost on the branches.  The frost was melting enough to let the wind blow it off, making it fall like snow.

I'm writing this as I sit at the 826 Michigan store counter.  I’ve noticed something else this morning.  A phenomenon a storyteller,  like me,  could make up a story about.  No photo, just my imagination running a little wild.  I’m watching these people through the huge windows at the front of the store.

One was a tall young man.  No hat on and a full head of thick, black, hair. He was wearing a long wool coat with the collar turned up around his neck.  He had black dress pants on and sharp looking boots.   He appeared to be in a hurry.  In his right arm he had a long, slim, white box, clutched to his side.  It had a wide, red ribbon around it,  with an elaborate bow on the top.

I personally think he was going to take his “Sweetheart” a box of long-stem roses.  He wasn’t the type who would trust another person to deliver them.  It was lunch time and he was going to surprise her/him in front of her colleagues.  He expected to hear the culturally appropriate response, “Oh, thank you, Sweetheart!” 

Why deliver them on Wednesday? Valentine’s Day is Friday.  My story is he wanted to secure the love, from his love, a few days ahead of time.  If it wasn’t as secure as he assumed, he still had time to work on it before he spent another thirty or forty dollars on a romantic dinner.  Or on a cover charge at a fancy club sponsoring a Valentine’s Day event.

The second man I saw go by the store, was heading the opposite way.  From the direction of Kilwin’s Chocolate Store.  This young man had on a Carhartt jacket, unzipped.  Jeans, no hat, and was almost running down the slippery sidewalk.  He had a squareish box, about as big as a piece of computer paper.  It was tied with a thin, red ribbon, with a simple bow on the top.  The wrapping paper was white, covered in small red hearts.

I believe he was going to take the box of chocolate to his mother.  Being Wednesday, he wasn’t going to miss giving her something on Valentine’s Day, this year.  He heard enough flack from his relatives about forgetting last year, it wasn't going to happen again.  “You are all your mother has left.  Be a gentleman and get your sweet mother something for Valentine’s Day.”

He knew he had a special date with his wife on Valentine's Day.  An excuse to go to his mother’s house before they headed out for the night, (babysitter in place) was not going to sit well with her.  He’d bring the chocolates by his mom's on his way home tonight. 

The third man I spotted was sitting in his Mercedes.  Parked in an expensive parking spot in front of the store.  He was on the phone, acting like he was directing an orchestra.  He was wearing a black coat. I saw his shaved head and his reflective sunglasses, sitting on his nose.

The morning sun is keeping his car warm, so he has plenty of time to make some phone calls.  He doesn’t seem bothered, in the least, when the meter-cop walks slowly by with the little “Ticket” machine in her gloved hand.

I’m sure this Valentine story is simple.  This guy is taking time to do his ordering for Valentine's Day on the phone.  He’s calling his secretary (or wife) to remind them to send a bouquet of flowers to his mother-in-law, his mother and his only daughter, who works at IBM in D.C.

He doesn't have to remember to send a bouquet to his wife and secretary.  He feels his manly obligations have been taken care of for this holiday.  He’ll deal with his wife and secretary on Valentine’s Day.  He can come up with some sort of appropriate gift for them.  Friday is soon enough.  His office is right next to Tom Thompson’s Flowers, on Main Street.  They’ll throw something nicely together for him.  He finishes and gets out of his car and walks away.  Surely heading for lunch before he goes back to work.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

  

• May your loved one give you a promise to help you with something. 
• May they ask you whether you want 5,000 calories, or if you’d prefer a certificate for a massage.
• May they hug you and hold you tight and tell you, “I love you.”
• May they skip the flowers and bring home pizza for you and the kids. (calling ahead and telling you to take a nap instead of making dinner)
• And if you only have your dog to walk, a book to read, or a letter to write, may you be content in your Non-Valentine-ness.  
• Hug yourself, eat a sweet piece of chocolate or a heart-shaped sugar cookie.  (I saw some with chocolate stripes on them at Elixir Vitae Coffee and Tea)

And what if you and your love want to wait for St. Patrick’s Day to celebrate? 

May the luck of the Irish be with you.

And may Valentine's Day pass without any altercations.

REVISED on FEb. 14th