How many times do I have to fall in adore with her before she loves me back? This lonely mind of mine still wonders sometimes…
It was only last Friday that Enchanted returned following the passing of her father. As she entered the warmth of my home from the freezing winter cold, I watched and heard my parents console her. I always seem to regret the things I’ve no control over, and in those moments, I was sad that I couldn’t reach out to embrace her too.
Though I had already written her an e-mail message on the day I found out what had occurred, all I could say was a meaningless sorry. I was just afraid she didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to break her precious heart all over again, and avoided the topic throughout the shift.
But then, for some reason, I was shown otherwise when she revealed her heart during pillow talk. Perhaps she read mine? Who knows… but when she finally spoke of Dad, as she called him in my presence, her beautiful face glistened with the most enchanting diamond droplets. She gave me the privilege of comfort through words, like holding me as if I was holding her.
She spoke of her divorcee mother first, who was being insensitive, which is understandable since pain can often blind a person. (This sentence is for brownie points in case she becomes my mother-in-law… one can dream, right?)
“You’re a good woman, Enchanted,” I smiled at her. “You’re going to be a great Mom.”
With tears rolling down her pretty cheeks after the Dad moment, it was my chance to tell her the truth of the day of the sad news. I wasn’t myself that afternoon and evening while I was getting her Christmas gift made at the mall. I was so worried about my girl who wasn’t mine.
“These neuropathic painkillers I’ve been taking make me kind of depressed,” I started. “They give me suicidal thoughts.”
“While I was at Sears, I wanted to throw myself down the escalator,” I continued. “But I couldn’t.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I couldn’t do that to you after the loss of your father,” I said. “You’re too important to me.”
“Well, thank you for not throwing yourself down the escalator,” she smiled.
“I’m too scared to do that anyway,” I laughed. “I scared Dad.”
An excerpt of a message I wrote: “Your sadness, even though it breaks my heart, inspires me to find happiness again so I might set an example for you that possibility is always possible and cheer your heart. Didn’t you know that your smiles and giggles mean a lot to me? You’re my friend.”
When she was here for Christmas week, I told her it was to be a good one…
“Because I’m here for two days?” she grinned, cheekily.
“Am I THAT predictable?”
You wouldn’t guess it, but that became all a part of my evil plan. Except, on the second day, she said something with regards to an engagement while brushing my teeth, to which I silently freaked. As it turned out, she was talking about a friend. She ended up making some joke that implied she would never be asked. Um, hello!
Predictable? Actually, unpredictable gave the best Christmas ever. That night when I gave Enchanted her gifts, including an unofficial ‘Breaking Bad’ T-shirt that I made with the logo “Awesome Nurse”, crystal meth candies that were supposed to be blue but turned out like Kryptonite, a Sudoku book, and CD with a custom music compilation (laced with subliminal messages of course).
“Let me take off your tray so I can give you a hug!” she exclaimed, while dismantling my robot exterior to get closer.
Now, you’d think that was the most awesome part of all, but noo! I’m not much of a card person, so I wrote her a letter. Right before leaving her shift, I saw the darling creature standing in front of me, teary-eyed.
“I read your letter, Ricky,” she cried. It was beautiful.”
This year, I didn’t care about gifts or material things. All I wanted for Christmas was her happiness. I promised myself that I’d try and get her happy again, somehow, and inside the envelope were a picture and the note, which wrote of separating the comforter in her and the one hurting. I wrote of how she needed to find that little girl from within and be there for her as her father did. I also talked about the day of her accident and how I took a photo of a sunset that shined so much more beautifully at the time:
“You were right when you said that someone was looking out for you from up above. Your lovely existence shined through when the angels saved you.”
Indeed. Her presents took quite a bit of effort, but girls know when you take the time to understand them. She, after all the hard work, SMILED, and I couldn’t have asked for more. I know she’ll probably never love me in return (that way anyway), but when you really care about someone, all that really matters is her.