One More Second...

From NPR commentator and playwright Kevin Kling:

"In Miss Jensen's fifth grade class, the day before Valentines' Day, I carefully sort through my Valentines cards. 30 cards to a pack, 30 students to a class. Choices have to be made. What does this card say? What should this card say? And what should this card not be saying? Never give a girl a picture of a car, or a boy with a ballerina. And when in doubt, go with a circus motif! The card bearing the words "Be My Valentine" is the most intimate, and therefore the most dangerous. You're stuck with four to a pack, so you send them to one or two girls you trust, and one to your best pal, with the phrase "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN" penciled in the cartoon figure. Then put the card in an envelope with a pastel colored candy heart, worst candy ever invented, with phrases like "Why Not?", "Oh Oh", and "What's That?" phrases that seem to have nothing to do with love. Then drop the envelope into a brightly colored shoebox and walk away. Never look back! Walk. Away. When I dig into my doily, tinfoil, and red crepe paper shoebox, I find 28 circus motifs, and a couple of cars.

Later that day, we assemble in the gym for social dance. With all the girls lined up against one wall and the boys against the other. Miss Jensen steps into the middle of the gym, blows her whistle TWEET! and we all come together to find partners and start dancing. TWEET! Then Miss Jensen puts on a polka record on the metal record player. That record player you could hit with a medicine ball and it wouldn't skip. You could see the vinyl peeling up from behind the needle, TWEET! And I'd run out, looking for a partner, but none of the girls wanted to dance with me! I was tiny and they were so much taller! And their bodies were starting to change and they didn't want some little head down in there! And then, there she was, Joan Quinlavine, Joan Quinlavine. 5'10" since the fifth grade! And I'd come together with Joan and I'd wear my special sweater with the stretchy sleeves and she's pull one sleeve out and then the other and dance with the ends of my sleeves.

Then, Judy Martinez moved to town. Judy Martinez. She was small like me, but she was BEAUTIFUL, oh so beautiful. Judy Martinez, oh Lord I would say her name over and over and over, Martinez. Drawing her name on my notebook, replacing Big Daddy Hot Rod drawings with the name, Martinez. And when she entered the room, I would gobble up every second, using seconds just as fast as they could arrive, and holding them, trying to make time stop. Just another second, just another second, just another second Judy. The cracked cup of love after all is in constant need of filling. And when Judy tells me I look good, man I believe her. When a man is in love, and looks in the mirror, he sees exactly what he is being told. But when a woman looks in the mirror, she glances over and sees who's doing the telling. For when I tell Judy she's beautiful, she looks at me and says "think so?" Oh, yeah, man I know it! I was tore apart in love and rebuilt in her eyes. And like star-crossed Italian lovers, I like Dante would march into Hell's gapping gates for her. And she like Sophia Lauren, throwing out a basin of water and screaming "But Mama, I Love him!" Until we'd ride off on a three wheel Harley and join the circus.

But, in love's game of red rover, red rover, tragedy is often called to come on over. And Judy was transferred that spring to another school. And although we promised to write and stay in touch, our love grew pastel. Time and distance make wonderful in-laws, but poor lovers. But luckily in this life, a person gets his allotment of circus motifs, a few hotrods, a couple of ballerinas, and a precious few Be My Valentine's. These days I am blessed with love anew and I count the seconds with her as treasures.

I recently read an article in the paper about an elderly couple in Chicago. An incident where the woman was crossing train tracks and her heel became lodged in the rail. Her husband rushed to her side, yet despite their attempts, the shoe would not pull free. And as the train approached, her husband kissed his wife and said goodbye, and held her as the train passed through. There was speculation as to the man's reasons for holding on, some said he couldn't bear to live without his wife, some said he wanted to join her in eternity. But I feel he was thinking "One more second., just one more second. One. More. Second." "

I understand...