Appointment With Love

"Appointment With Love" by S.I. Kishor is one helluva love story that tickles our young hearts when our literature teacher back then in high school required us to read this one. Read on to enjoy.

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Six minutes to six, said the great round clock over the information booth in Grand Central Station. The tall young Army lieutenant who had just come from the direction of the tracks lifted his sunburned face, and his eyes narrowed to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him because he could not control it. In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and sustained him unfailingly.

He placed himself as close as he could to the information booth, just beyond the ring of people besieging the clerks...

Lieutenant Blandford remembered one night in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of Zeros. He had seen the grinning face of one of the enemy pilots.

In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: "Of course you fear...all brave men do.

Didn't King David know fear? That's why he wrote the 23rd Psalm. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.'" And he had remembered; he had heard her imagined voice, and it had renewed his strength and skill.

Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to
six. His face grew sharp.

Under the immense, starred roof, people were walking fast, like threads of color being woven into a gray web. A girl passed close to him, and Lieutenant Blandford started. She was wearing a red flower in her suit lapel, but it was a crimson sweet pea, not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30. "Well, what of it?" he had answered. "I'm 32." He was 29.

His mind went back to that book - the book the Lord Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Army library books sent to the Florida training camp. Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman's writing. He had always hated that writing-in-habit, but these remarks were different. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the bookplate: Hollis Meynell. He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written, she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

For 13 months, she had faithfully replied, and more than replied. When his letters did not arrive she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him. But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. That seemed rather bad, of course. But she had explained: "If your feeling for me has any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain (and you must admit that this is more likely). Then I'd always fear that you were going on writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your decision. Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after that - whichever we choose..."

One minute to six - he pulled hard on a cigarette. Then Lieutenant Blandford's heart leaped higher than his plane had ever done. A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

"Going my way, soldier?" she murmured.

Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose in the rumpled lapel of her brown coat.

The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

Blandford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own; and there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; he could see that now. Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.

Lieutenant Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the small worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even rarer than love – a friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful.

He squared his broad shoulders, saluted and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke he felt shocked by the bitterness of his disappointment.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blandford, and you - you are miss Meynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May...may I take you to dinner?"

The woman's face broadened in a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. "That young lady in the green suit - the one who just went by - begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you asked me to go out
with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in that big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of a test. I've got two boys with Uncle Sam myself, so I didn't mind to oblige you."

Late Again

“Wer r u?” read the text message from Amy. I am supposed to meet my best friend tonight at 7pm at a restro in Mandaue.

However, I stayed glued to my seat and continued checking the cash disbursements book. I had to finish this one because my senior is going to review my work tomorrow. I kept saying “Just fifteen minutes more and my field work will be done”. Four times I repeated the phrase. Next week will be the tax payment deadline for this client using the fiscal year. I need to rush things. I even planned to continue working in the office after meeting Amy.

I could not refuse her. But I must admit that there are times I tried to avoid her. But everytime I do that, my conscience squeezed my stomach. I owed her nothing and she was not indebted to me too. But she is very persistent. It must be it - persistence. This time was no exception.

She said she had this problem and she wanted to talk to me. The last time it was about her parents. We talked on the phone, met in some café and she just cried on my shoulders. A colleague, who saw us from another corner in the café, thought she was my girlfriend and that we had some LQ moments. No, we’re not an item, not even before. Some thought it weird, but for me, she’s just my friend, and nothing else.

She said it’s about her love life. She has this boyfriend for the first time. She told me of her crushes and suitors before but this one escaped me. She claimed he is a very good man and a good husband material. She’s 23, and none of her sisters and female cousins got married beyond 25. Strange! She might have felt the pressure, albeit done by her alone.

I haven’t met the guy though. I was too busy with my audit work that I was not able to attend barkada outings for the past three months. They said he worked in a large bank, got a car, and smells good on a Hugo Boss. My axe cologne is probably no match for it. And she probably thought that I was too busy, that's why she failed to introduce him to me. Honestly, I don't care about him.

After packing my things, I rushed to the MEPZ 2 gate, which is about a hundred meter away. Taxis were scarce in this part. It took me 15 minutes to be on board one. I sent a text message saying I was already on my way and blamed it on the difficulty in finding a taxi. It was already 830pm.

Every time I arrive late at our appointed time, I always blame the traffic. She won’t usually ask questions and seems pleased that I arrived. Better late than never! This time was no different. I got stuck at traffic at the Mactan Bridge. The driver turned on his radio to some AM stations. News. He was listening to evening updates.

“A woman in his mid 20’s jumped over the bridge” says the reporter on radio.

Suicide. Who on her right mind would do it? “Why can’t she just take 10 sleeping pills?” I murmured. “It’s less painful.”

“Or drink muriatic acid” the driver butted in.

”Another crazy man” I thought, referring to the driver. I continued to listen to the news. The woman was battling for life and rescuers rushed her body to VSMMC (Vicente Sotto Memorial Medical Center). But she was declared dead on arrival. The traffic began to ease but we’re still moving slowly.

My mind couldn’t stop thinking about the woman. Who is she? What could be her reason for committing such deed? Could it be love? I had a classmate before who hanged himself with his belt. He had this beautifully written goodbye poem on the floor. His parents had no idea what his problem were. The poem talked about his beautiful life on earth. Ironic, isn’t it?

I almost forgot about Amy. I tried to call her cellphone but it was out of reach. Impossible! She’s a woman who can’t live without her phone. I sent a message again saying that I’ll be arriving in 5 minutes. It’s quarter past nine. I hoped she would understand. With my line of work, she should understand.

I finally arrived. It was a dimly lit café with only ten wooden tables. We really liked the ambience here. From the outside window I could not see the table where we’d usually meet. She must have left. I was two-and-a-half hours late, but am still unapologetic about it. I surveyed the room and there were only two other occupied tables.

“Did some lady come in here and sit on that table?” I asked the waiter and at the same time pointing at our usual table.

“Ah, sir! She was here an hour or two ago. She left this letter and told us to give it to you.”

I immediately took it. It obviously was hurriedly and nervously written. My phone rang, signaling that a text message had arrived. But I was too excited to read the letter first.

“Dear Larry,

You’re late again. As usual, I waited for you for an hour or more. But there was no sign of you nor your shadow. My phone died so I can’t call or send you any message. I really have this terrible problem that I felt like jumping over the Mactan Bridge. By the time you read this, my lifeless body might be floating in the Mactan Channel. I even wished I’d be swallowed by sharks…”

I stopped reading and my heart was beating faster. I tucked the letter in my pocket and immediately ran outside to hail a cab. That dead woman could be Amy. Why? Did her boyfriend cheat on her? Is he married, or is he gay? A lot of things floated in my mind, as I commanded the driver to go straight to VSMMC.

Amy, the sweet girl that I often took for granted, and now my heart says that I miss her. She the only girl that I can call a "close friend". In fact, she's whom I consider my best friend. The smiles, the round eyes, and the nicely kept short hair, were pictured in my mind right now.

I somewhat regretted that I arrived late. I could have stopped her. Tears began flowing from my eyes. But I held my tears. “Should I call her parents and our other friends?” that is my other dilemma. But I reserved those after I’ll see the body and confirm it myself.

The emergency room was filled with people so I asked around about the woman who jumped over the bridge a couple of hours earlier. I was led to the morgue and there I saw her. She looked sad and lonely. I continued to survey her. I felt like a heavy object was unloaded from my shoulders. It was not Amy.

I slowly walked outside and thought about the good and bad times Amy and I shared. I felt terrible for not immediately coming to her. What if I actually did lose her that night because of my being late? I took out the letter from my pocket and continued reading.

“…But I love life. Call me later. I will be recharging my phone battery.”

I could not help but grin at myself. I should have completely read the whole thing earlier. Then I remembered about the text message. I read it and the message came from Amy. I dialed her number and we talked. It was a relief to hear her voice again. She asked me why my voice was rough and I seemed like trembling. I completely ran out of reasons and instead, proposed that we should meet later that nnight. But I never mentioned to her that I was at the provincial hospital gazing at some dead body who I initially thought was her.