Valentine: A Love Story

Sean's heart broke a little bit everytime he saw Becca. The young librarian with green eyes and honey-colored hair was always polite. She seemed to recognize Sean, who came to the library at least once a week, and she'd wish him a nice day. Not much more than that, but it was enough, just enough.

She's busy, Sean thinks, while pretending to browse the periodicals. Prior to arriving he had worked up all the nerve and courage he could to decide that today would be the day he'd ask her out. Not that he'd rehearsed a speech or anything. Spontaneity was definitely the way to go. The last thing he needed was for her to go off the script and leave him scrambling for a response. Of course, the moment he saw her every wisp of determination had fled in the face of self-doubt. I'm just going to get my books and get out of here. After a few more moments of standing by the magazines, shuffling his too large feet and nervously running his hand through the mop of red hair that hung down over the tops of his eyes, Sean finally found himself in line.

"Next, please," said the gravely voice of the gray-haired matriarch of the library. Sean stood rooted in place, as his brain tried to send his body in two directions at once. In that instant he couldn't think of a single legitimate reason to have Becca check him out instead. Surprisingly, his mouth rescued him from the predicament.

"I, uh, need..um..wanted..to talk to Becca about something," he heard himself say. With a roll of her eyes and shrug of her shoulders the older woman dismissed him utterly.

"I can help you down hear Se..sir." For a moment Sean imagined Becca had been about to call him by name, something she had yet to do. The "sir" was a cutting reminder of the five year age difference between the grad student and freshman. With the practiced ease of the experienced, Sean came to his senses and pushed from his mind any thoughts of asking Becca out

"Have a good weekend, " Becca says as the tall Irishman nodded and walked away. She shakes her head, muttering angrily at herself as she files the checkout slips. Stealing a glance at Sean as he walks out the front entrance, Becca feels her heart stop at the sight of him backlit by the afternoon sun, his hair framing his face like a golden halo. She imagines he's looking back at her, as he goes. Maybe next week she'll actually be able to call him by his name, she thinks. Grabbing a stack of returned books, she begins to daydream about how much that simple accomplishment could change everything.

The End


Comments and criticism are welcome.

You know, Knut Hamsun took many many many more pages in Victoria to make this same point.

Sounds like a tale that's happened too often.

Bumped for timeliness.

This is a terrific piece.
Do you find that that forcing yourself to stay short helps you as a writer? As an editor, I tend to have to much through a bit of rambling from young writers. But when I tell them to give me something short, it's usually right on target.
I think it's all about learning to self-edit.
John

Absolutely helps. I've made one serious attempt at writing a novel, and I just don't have the planning skills or organizational ability to pull that off at the moment.

I also like to stick with first drafts (I hate revising stuff), and the shorter stories allow me to do that. They also let me write off the cuff.

I started doing these as a writing exercise, and realized that they worked much better than my longer stuff did.

And thanks!

Bumping once again.

Good stuff, Matt.