Someone special asked me to write a love story, so I decided I would. I do requests if I can, it might only be a short tale, but remember the sentiment is deep.
For Kaci
Jack's story
Jack never expected what might happen in his life. But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. The year was somewhere in the 90s, before the y2k panic but during the clinton era for anyone who is counting. The city was Denver, not the biggest city, or the most romantic, but love can happen anywhere. Jack was an artist, self taught. He painted beautiful pictures, everyone told him someday his work might hang in a museum. For some reason he didn't really know whether to believe them. His work, it still lacked something. For some reason he couldn't put his finger on it. I suppose I shouldn't get too far into his career, you might be thinking now that this isn't a success story, it's a love story. Well, first of all, let me get to it I'm setting the stage. I might also add that love of your work is a beautiful thing in it's own right so stop making such quick judgments. Don't think you know it all, I don't. But I'll stop teasing you because Jack's search for inspiration, whether he knew it or not, would lead him into adventures he never expected.
So our story starts on a morning sometime in winter, it's very cold out, but not so much as to prevent people from going about their daily life. On this morning, like many before it, Jack woke up with the sunrise, got out of bed, and put on his slippers. He fumbled around for some suitable clothing, and attempted to make himself breakfast. But, alas he had forgotten to buy coffee, the curse of an artist is the flighty mind, he was perhaps entranced with some color, or daydreaming about something or other, or maybe he just forgot. We don't really know, but what jack DID know was that he needed coffee, he felt like a train had run over him and he needed to stop feeling that way or how was he supposed to be inspired? And so his foggy brain came up with a plan, to finish getting dressed for a start. Then down the stairs from his loft apartment, to the street. Then his foggy brain managed to remember a coffee shop only two blocks away, where he gladly ordered his normal coffee drink, and didn't have to fix it for himself for once. Like I said, it was winter, and being winter and morning the coffee shop was rather full. Everyone seemed to be craving a quick pick me up. So all the tables were rather full. He contemplated, for a moment, returning to his home and sipping his coffee in peace there, but his dislike for the cold walk alone was just enough to make him settle down in a seat by a fake fireplace, across from a person who seemed to be hidden behind a newspaper. He tried a sip of his coffee, alas still too hot to enjoy. So he attempted to find something to read, maybe get inspired. The magazines were dull, and despite being a normally pretty easy to stimulate person he found himself restless. And so he sat there, he drank in the environment of the coffee shop, and he found himself curious about the person behind the newspaper, what they were reading and what them here on this morning, and perhaps if he could persuade them to lend it to him.
This, among other reasons, was why he struck up a conversation with the young lady when she emerged from behind her curtain of newspaper, folded it up, and saw him looking at her. "Good morning!" said she, in some shock, but interest to strike up a conversation. "And a good morning to you as well.", said he in a generally genial sort of way, at this point he had taken some sips of his coffee and already was feeling much perkier. "I saw you were reading the paper and was wondering what article caught your interest?" he said.
She: Oh I was reading about the new play that opened last night, a friend of mine was in the production.
He: Oh that does sound interesting. By the way my name is Jack.
He extended his hand and she gently shook it, in the way polite women do.
He continued: I'm an artist and I always do enjoy seeing other people's creative efforts.
She replied: My name is Zelma. an artist you say? what sort of art?
He: Painting, generally. I have tried my hand at other art, but I seem to do my best work with paint. What do you do?
She: I'm going back to school. I want to learn more about architecture. I don't really know if I'll apply it but I'm interested to learn, maybe go into real estate. So what do you do with your spare time?
He: Well, daydream alot, look for inspiration, play games every now and then.
She: Do you ever need company on your search for inspiration?
He smiled a knowing smile and said: I could use someone to, shall we say, help me expand my horizons.
She scooted closer, and looked him in the eyes and said: Perhaps I could help you with that.
He returned her gaze, interested, and perhaps telling more with his eyes than his lips he said: Well I'm game for that. When are you free?
She found herself taking a boldness that surprised even her and said: right now actually, I was just passing the time here. Would you like to go for a walk?
He was equally entranced by her boldness, and stood, and offered a hand to her, and said: I'd love to
They talked for hours, sharing stories, asking and telling much more about themselves, it almost seemed like they had known eachother for some time the conversation came so easily. She found herself leaning on him as the day wore on, and he found his arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn't conscious on either of their parts, sometimes these things just have a way of happening on their own. Sadly the days in winter are short, and so after watching the sunset, they decided to part. He walked her home, and taking some initiative he brought her close and kissed her.
He said, with all the warmth in his heart: Goodnight sweet Zelma, I'll be thinking of you.
And she said, feeling bubbly and so happy: Goodnight my Jack, I look forward to seeing you again.
When Jack got home all he could think about was her, his lady, his new muse.
To be fair I must say that it was much the same for her, she thought of how she wanted to fall asleep in his arms. He fell asleep that night hugging a pillow, dreaming it was his sweet loving lady.
They had more wonderful dates, some days him charming and surprising her, sometimes she was the one who seemed to be the charmer. It could really be said that neither one of them was being the leader or being led. They came of their own free will, drawn by the warmth of loves flame in a world of ice and snow. One night, when the moon was shining bright, she led him to her bed chamber following an evening of star gazing, and they made love. I won't intrude on their intimate time with the details, but let me just say that it was everything and more than either of them expected. They wanted that night to last forever, and while it did it felt like it would. Sadly into every life some rain must fall. And with the usual cruelty that life gives the time they had together was cut short. One day six months after they had met her father came to town and told her that he had gotten her into Harvard, and that she must leave immediately. He had pulled all his strings for you see he was a business man, and he wanted her to carry on his legacy. And so for a time Jack had to do without his darling Zelma. I won't sugar coat it for you my dear readers it was pretty brutal. For Jack it felt most painful of all I feel, as an artist he was prone to slumps, and his work didn't bring him as much joy as it might have otherwise. He went through the motions, but his new work seemed to only sing back to him his song of lonelyness.
Halfway across the continent Zelma longed for her Jack, she wanted to send him letters but her father had ways of intercepting them. Her only hope, was to escape her father's grasp. But she seemed unable to find a way to do it. A year passed, achingly slowly.
One day, a friend of Jack's was sitting with him, listening to his troubles. He said: You know Jack, maybe you should do something about this lost love of yours, problems don't just solve themselves. Sometimes you have to be the one that makes change happen.
So Jack realized that was true, and he came up with a daring plan. He had to sell almost everything he owned except the shirt on his back. He gave up the lease on his apartment. And he bought two things, a train ticket to get across the country, and a ring. He decided he would take the bull by the horns, take the risks. After all you're only young and in love once, if you're lucky. He rode all night and all day to get to the city where his love was, and when he got there he had to ask for some time before he found out where she was. She was in a strict sorority, one that forbid them any contact with boys, that put high value on studies and no value on social life. He had to sneak into the campus at night. He happened to make friends with one of the night patrolmen by telling his tale of love. By using this contact he was able to get to and find her window, Zelma's window, his love so close at last. It was a first floor window, rare luck indeed. He inched close to the window, which lie next to her bed, and he whispered as loud as he dared: Zelma, it's your Jack, please open the window.
Zelma thought she was dreaming at first. Jack had to whisper a second time before she believed it was him. Her heart jumped for joy, it pounded so hard it felt like it was going to come out of her chest. She opened the window. In he crept, into her room. She kissed him, wanting to take him now and show him her love, regardless of the surroundings. He stopped her, and told her he had something important to talk to her about. I think her heart skipped a beat. What could be that important? she wondered. He got down on one knee and brought out the ring. His voice sounded braver than he felt, for truly he was as scared as he had ever been in his life. He said: Zelma, I love you. I've traveled hundreds of miles, sold everything I have and risked everything to find you again. Now I have to know, will you come back with me and be my wife?
Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him saying: Yes yes a thousand times yes you wonderful silly man.
They both jumped out the window, and she hired a taxi to take them to her father's house in nearby Boston. She knocked on the door, it was early morning at this point. The butler answered the door, and went to wake her father. Jack came with her into her father's study. Now as Jack faced the man who had taken his love from him, but whom he must respect as the father of the woman he loved, he was a little intimidated. But his love for Zelma pushed him on. He stood up, and spoke strongly saying: Sir, I have asked your daughter to marry me and she has agreed. We would like your blessing. I can take care of her and I love her and I intend to make her my wife.
Her father replied: What of her career? What about her future?
Jack answered: Have you thought to ask her what sort of future she wants?
Her father: Well Zelma? what do you want?
Zelma: I want to be with him, I want to have his children, everything else is secondary.
Her father turned to Jack, and for a moment just looked at him, appraising him you might say.
He spoke: Boy, you have made me see my error today. In the beginning I was furious, but you humbled me. You obviously make my daughter happy, and you showed great cunning in getting here and getting her back. Not many men would risk so much, and there is only one reason. Your love is worthy, welcome to the family, son.
Epilogue
Now it's many years later, their children are just entering their teen years. Sometimes they need reminding of what being young and reckless is like, but I can tell you this, they are just as happy today as they were on their wedding day. And their children know the meaning of love, and doing what it takes to find it, and keep it. They are happy, and who knows, maybe they really will live happily ever after.
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