“Happy Valentine’s Day Gift…A Love Story”

While browsing through a secondhand bookstore, John Blanchard, a college student in Florida, bought a book of poetry. Back in his dorm, he soon became intrigued not by the poems, but by notes someone had penciled in the margins. The notes suggested a thoughtful person, an insightful person.  

 

In the front of the book, he found, in the same handwriting, the name and New York City address of a Holly Maynell, apparently the book's previous owner. On a whim, he wrote to her, introducing himself, telling how he came upon the book, and commenting on some of her notes. Rather to his surprise, she replied. They began corresponding.  

 

In time, John felt they were becoming more than pen pals. He set his sights on a trip to New York. But World War II was at its peak, and John soon suddenly found himself wearing an Army uniform and shipped overseas.  

Still, for the next two years, their letters continued. Each one seemed to bring them closer. John was falling in love. But when he asked Holly to send a photograph, she refused to do so. "If you really care about me," she wrote, "it doesn't matter what I look like."  

 

The war ended. John came home and arranged, at last, to meet Holly at 7 o'clock on a Friday evening in New York's Grand Central Station. But how would he know her? "You'll recognize me," she wrote. "I'll be wearing a coat with a rose in the lapel." At 7, he was in the station, looking for a woman whose heart he loved but whose face he had never seen. At this point, he picks up the story:  

 

As I looked, I saw a woman walking toward me, a beautiful woman in a pale green suit. She was lovely, like springtime come alive. As she passed, she smiled, and in a sort of whisper, said, "Going my way, soldier?"  

 

At that very moment, I saw another woman in a coat with a rose in the lapel. It was, obviously, Holly Maynell. I was taken aback. She was well past 40, with graying hair tucked under a well-worn hat. And she was...well, more than plump.  

 

"The other woman, the attractive woman, was walking away. And I was torn between wanting to follow her and wanting to stay with the woman who, by mail, had captured my heart. Holly was standing before me, having identified me by the poetry book I was carrying. Instantly, I knew this would not be love, but that it would be precious; a friendship for which I had been and would forever be grateful.  

 

Doing my best to hold back my disappointment, I squared my shoulders and said, "I'm John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"  

 

She gave me a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son", she answered. “But a lovely young woman in a green suit just stopped me and asked if I would wear this rose. She said that if you were to ask me to dinner, I should tell you that she is waiting in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."