A Candy Man’s Bittersweet Memories of Requited Love

With little prodding, Donald would tell the story in his later years, inviting a visitor to pull up a chair in the tiny 8-by-10 room at the sanitarium that had become his home. It was where he taught himself Portuguese and frequently read aloud to his goldfish in the dead of night.

“It all started with a box of chocolates,” Donald would say.

As he spoke, he reached for the framed picture of a young woman that rested on the night stand near his bed. He caressed the picture as if it were the Silver Chalice itself. “This is Lorna,” he said.

“She’s a beauty,” the visitor said.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Donald said. “Listen to this.”

“It was February the 14th. Had to be 50, 60 years ago. You lose track of time in here. Do they still call it Valentine’s Day? Back then, they did, and it was a day when love was in the air.

“I had only known Lorna a few weeks when Valentine’s rolled around. I almost decided to let the day pass by just giving her a nice card with a heart on it.”

“But you got her some chocolates instead?” the visitor said, warily.

“Yes, I did. Right away, she started looking at me differently--as if I were the greatest guy in the world. God, I still remember how she scarfed those chocolates.”

“Must have been an interesting assortment. Then what?”

“Later that night, she cooked the juiciest pot roast I’d ever had and set the table to candlelight. She put soft music on the stereo, slow-danced with me in her bare feet and we told each other our life stories. The next thing I knew, her finger was in my ear. That’s when I said it.”

“Said what?”

“Let’s get married.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Oh. You proposed to her? Right then and there?”

“I had to. It was the most romantic moment of my life.”

“What a great story. That’s the sweetest, most touching--”

“I’m not finished. We got married three weeks later in the back yard of a friend of hers. It was another month before I realized she was still dating him at the time.”

“Holy cow, what a shocker, huh?”

“That was just for openers. Every Thursday night, she went bowling.”

“What’s wrong with that? Lots of women like to bowl.”

“In a men’s league?”

“Ouch. I assume she tried to conceal it from you.”

“Sure she did, but I got wise the night she came home with her hair mussed and wearing a bowling shirt with “Alex” embroidered on it. I felt awful until I pictured Alex getting home and his wife greeting him at the door.

“Sounds like you two got off to a rocky start.”

“It never really improved. I asked her early on if she wanted to have children. She said, ‘ Of our own ?’ Then she laughed. I never brought it up again.”

“How do you explain it? Everything seemed so perfect with you two. How’d you go from a romantic night with candles to total estrangement?”

“Who knows, but we did seem to grow apart. We’d car-pool to work and she’d forget to pick me up at night. Then, from about the third week on, she’d call me Paul although she knew perfectly well my name was Donald.”

“I hope you didn’t hold that against her. Lots of spouses call out other people’s names in their sleep.”

“She wasn’t asleep.”

“You’re not going to tell me you two lived a long, happy life together, are you?”

Donald half-smiled. “No, we both knew we were doomed early on. How would you feel if your wife had a garage sale and included your wedding album? Within three months, we both knew the magic was gone.”

“I hate to ask, but how’d it end?”

“Uneventfully. She packed a couple suitcases, emptied our petty cash drawer and said she was going down to the drugstore for some throat lozenges. Call it intuition, but I had a feeling I’d never see her or the car again.”

“When was that?”

“1939.”

“She’s not coming back, you know.”

“I know.”

“If it’s so painful, why do you keep her picture so close by?”

“Who said it was painful?”

“I guess I was just assuming. It sounds painful just hearing about it. I’m also assuming you must hate Valentine’s Day, especially thinking back to that first one with Lorna.”

“Hate it? Are you kidding? It was the best day of my life. And to show you how wrong you are, guess what?”

“What?”

“If I had to do it over again, I’d still buy her the chocolates.”