Saint Valentine 2013 (A Christmas Story)

I’ve received a few confused comments about why a Christmas story is posted with this title. It’s simple, really. I entered a writing contest in which the submission guidelines were to send in “the most romantic story you know, can think up or write.” And the submission title had to be what you see as the title of this post.  After writing it, I sent it to my good friend Yoopersmith, so that I could get some feedback, in case I didn’t win. [I didn’t] He’s the one that decided it was “Too good to hang out in my email.” and posted it here, for me. and I thank him for providing the bravery that I lacked.

Many years ago, my girlfriend and I were out, in early November, shopping for the Christmas season. She was a delightful combination of mature sensibilities and childlike enthusiasm.  I believed I knew her better than she knew herself, as much as any man can know a woman.  And I loved that girl enough to lose her over something trivial, as it turns out.  If that makes no sense, then let me explain.

As we walked the halls of the local mall, we passed one of the seasonal-only shops, and looking inside, we saw special toys: Christmas themed, romance themed, plush toys, and all manner of items from international cultures. On one shelf was a whole collection of Matryoshka dolls.  The Nesting dolls of Russian persuasion.  Shawna was immediately delighted by this discovery and promptly ran in to look at each and every one that they had.  She pulled each apart, and was delighted anew at each doll, smaller than the last, till she got to the tiniest one in the middle.  She did this with all 7 sets they had on the shelf.  She continued to look at them, and weigh the merits of each, trying to determine her favorite, because she knew she had to have at least one set.

It finally came down to two sets. One with black-painted head scarves, and one with red-painted head scarves, and she had an animated debate with herself, with me, and with any passers-by handy to try and figure out which was the most deserving of her affection.

Now, I had thought of something that she hadn’t, yet. She had forgotten her checkbook at home.  This was something she did often enough, but it was rarely of issue because we were both frugal college students, and didn’t spend more than the cash on hand, usually.  Plus, I was the boyfriend, so I was always there with my wallet.  But Shawna never thought of that as she looked longingly on the dolls, and she wouldn’t until she made her decision.  As I said, though, I knew this, and so I formed a plan.

I sidled away from her and her debate, and pretended I wanted to look at the other displays, in what I hoped look like stereotypical-bored-boyfriend fashion. I steadily made my way to the service desk, and spoke to the lady there.  I told her, “Soon, she’ll make a decision about her favorite one, but she won’t be able to pay for it, now, and will instead come back tomorrow to get it, and will ask you to hold it for her. I would like you to, instead, hold it for me, and I’ll give you a deposit for it.  As soon as she makes her choice, please take it off the shelf, and I’ll pick it up in a couple days.”  You see, they did have a prominent sign that said no holds were possible without a deposit, and even though my Shawna was almost impossible to resist when she tried to convince someone to do her a favor, I implored on the shop girl to stand fast with the policy, which should be easy, since I had already left a deposit.

I figured this would be the best Christmas gift I could possibly get for her. I knew she’d love it, and if I could keep the surprise from her for the next month.  This was a girl that LOVED a surprise, more than just about anything, but it was in her nature to learn all secrets around her, so pulling off a surprise was next to impossible.  But if I could carry it off, it had the potential to be the best gift, ever.  I also knew I would not be able to do this alone. I had already recruited the shop girl, and I would need help to pull it off.  But first, I had to do a bit of fibbing to her.

Shawna finally pronounced her love for the red-scarved dolls, and even started to name each one.  Then she started looking for her checkbook, and realizing she lacked it, turned to me to ask if I had mine, and would I loan her the deposit amount.  I deferred, saying I failed to bring mine along, and lacked more than 10 dollars in cash.  I reminded her that she could come back and get it later, and reminded of her own personal maxim.  She never buys anything when she first sees it, and instead comes back later, and if it’s still there, then it is meant to be, and if it is not, then it was not, and to accept the fate, either way.  She looked frustrated, but admitted that it was her policy, and would live by it. With a longing look at her chosen favorite, we left the shop and went about the rest of our outing. Truthfully, it didn’t last much longer, a stop at Orange Julius and a trip home. Both of us had homework to do, as it was the middle of the week.

As I dropped her off at her home, I pulled her grandmother aside to tell her of my plan.  Shawna lived with her Grandmother, for various reasons, and she was a strict lady, and didn’t entirely approve of me.  I was 8 years older than Shawna, having served in the military before going to college, and I believed more in personal freedom, whereas Patty was more on the strict do-as-you’re-told school of thought.  I thought that adding Patty to the gift conspiracy might help us bridge that difficulty, and even if it didn’t, if it was for Shawna, Patty would help.  Then I headed home, myself.

As soon as I got home, I started firming up the plans.  I thought I had at least a day to make things happen, but I wanted to hurry and put things in place.  I called the Shop to make sure the doll had been pulled, and it had been, I told them I’d be by to pick it up in two days.  I told my mother, who I lived with, the plan as well.  She was notoriously bad at keeping a secret if she stumbled onto it, but wonderful at keeping one if told from the start, so it was just safer to include her.  I also called Shawna’s mother, who was in her life, and visited often with Shawna’s little brother. And she told the brother. He was only 7, but wily in secrets, as it turns out.

The first bout of bad news came mere hours after I returned home.  I received a call from Patty, who had never called me previously, “Rick, I can’t speak long, Shawna is still outside, but will be in, soon..  She couldn’t wait till tomorrow, and made me drive her to the mall.  When she saw her favorite gone, she lost it, and hasn’t stopped crying since, except to curse you for convincing her to wait. I have to go.” And hung up. Not even a minute later, Shawna called me, and told me how the red-scarved doll was gone.  How she felt betrayed by me, how I’d ruined things, and how mad she was.  She should have never listened to me, and how she doesn’t think she can ever trust what I have to say again. I didn’t ask about the Black-scarved one.  I knew that though she had a difficult time choosing between them, as soon as she made her choice, it was all or nothing.  The second-best was just that, and she never settled for second. Besides, if she DID go after the second choice, my gift would be meaningless.

It was a tough conversation.  I very nearly broke down and told her right then, that she hadn’t lost it after all. But two things kept me from spilling. First, I’m stubborn, and once I set my mind to something, I don’t back down.  But even more importantly, I couldn’t figure out how to tell her and not confirm that I had been lying the whole time.  I seemed like a losing proposition, no matter what I did.  So I listened to, and accepted, all the recriminations, accusations, and vilifications coming from the woman I loved, for quite a bit longer than you might expect.  She came very close to breaking up with me, over the phone, because of this, and still ended the conversation with, “I’ll never trust you, ever again.” Man, did that hurt. But I stuck it out, and was grateful to have made it through my first Hurricane Shawna.

It had been daylight still, when she called, but as I hung up the phone, spent emotionally, it was long after dark.  I spent the night restlessly trying to sleep. The next few days and weeks were spent alternately enjoying myself with, and hating, the present. There was finding the right wrapping paper, and the materials to wrap it in.  I had decided to make a nesting doll of the wrappings, as well.  Sort of an inside joke, or meta gift.  I found some green colored bubble wrap to put around the doll, and a beautiful blue Lucite box with a fitted lid, that the doll, with bubble wrap, could fit inside.  Then I wrapped that in butcher paper, and placed that inside a shoe box from a ballet supply company (Shawna was a Ballet teacher), and that inside another box, and filled the empty space with lots of foam peanuts, which I found a supply of in many colors.  Then I wrapped it as beautifully as I could and tied my own bow, using instructions I got from a book in the library. (This was in the early days of the internet, and long before YouTube, so books were still the primary resource to most.)  Then I took it over to place under the tree as Shawna’s house.

On the other hand was my girlfriend’s continuing smoldering resentment of my perceived betrayal.  Small things would cause arguments now, and I was as unhappy as I’d ever been.  I got regular updates from Patty about how Shawna still spoke badly about me to her. (I think a little joyfully, Patty would love having Shawna back to herself, alone, I thought.)  Shawn’s little brother would gleefully inform me that he had not broken, things were still secret, completely unaware of the clouds this present were causing.  (I wished I were as innocent as he was, all the time, then.)  Shawna’s mother would give me sympathetic nods on occasion, seeming to say, “I know what it’s like, living with her anger. Good luck.” It was just rough.

Christmas came, and I remember waking up that morning thinking this stubborn streak of mine was probably going to kill me someday, perhaps in just a few hours.  What if she didn’t get that I did it for love, that I knew she loves surprises more than just about anything, and that the only reason I’d ever lie to her was to make the surprise possible.  If she just focused on the lies, I was in for a very bad day.  If she just felt betrayed, and that she had been put through the emotional wringer for just a doll, of all things, she might never forgive me. I didn’t chicken out, though.  I drove over to her house, sat through the brunch, and then sat in my spot, across the room from Shawna, as we’d done, a lot, lately.  Little bro was playing Santa, and handed out the gifts, loudly announcing who they were from as he handed them to the recipient.

He knew which was mine, and saved it for last.  In my mind, I was thinking he was just being vicious, as the wait was killing me, but in retrospect, I know it was just he wanted the fun factor at its highest when she opened it.  The kid had an innate sense of suspense.

Shawna politely commented on the pretty wrapping job, even saved the ribbon to the side, for one of her scrap books, I think.  Then she wondered why I’d get her a toaster oven, before opening that and finding the next box.  Then she seemed mildly intrigued that I got her new ballet slippers, but on opening that, found the blue Lucite container. She marveled at how pretty it was and that she could use it for any number of knickknacks.  Then she noticed there was something darker inside that box, and opening that, saw the green bubble wrap around something distinctly roundish. And her eyes started getting quite large, and her breath came in very short, sharp bursts, and she ripped that bubble wrap off the doll so fast, it could hardly be believed.  And there was a single gasp from her, and suddenly, from 8 feet away, she vaulted into my arms, and hugged me so hard my ribs creaked. The room gave a collective sigh as all the tension just melted away, and there was open weeping from all the adults in the room as all was forgiven, in that instant. Best, scariest, Christmas ever.