Emma was slowly rocking back and forth in the old chair. The morning light lay a soft blur on her hair, white as snow. Her hands rested gently on the knitted cover over her legs, a small card tugged underneath them. She smiled peacefully, unafraid. I watched her from behind and wondered, maybe for the thousands time, what she was picturing in her head. She was happy now most of the time.
I remembered the time I first saw her. She was playing at the creek behind our backyards with her little brother Timothy. My family had just moved to this neighborhood and I felt lonely and a bit out of place. My father had come to some money in the last years and this new neighborhood was supposed to be a step up for us. I missed the old street, where I would meet my friends hanging out on the doorsteps of the apartment buildings as soon as we could escape from the table after lunch. I missed climbing the stairs outside and balancing the handrails as a dare. I missed the tarmac getting so hot in the summer that you could take a stick and pull out little lumps. The last summer before we left it got so soft that I managed to press my shoe deep into the ground and it left a mark. My mom was furious when I came home, my new shoes ruined with dried tarmac sticking to them. But I was happy to leave something behind in the place I loved.
My mom thought the fresh air would be good for me, she thought the exhaust fumes of the cars between which we played made me pale and sick too often. For my friends and me the fumes were volcanos exploding, forest fires or other great sources for our imagination.
In the new place everything was soft and green. The children stayed at their parents’ house and played in the garden with their siblings or invited guests. I never got invited to these events. Sometimes I peeked over the fence, jealous, when they gathered because a mom prepared lemonade and little treats. Once I overheard a boy saying that my family was bad company. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
So I played alone on the green soft lawn of our house, bored.
One hot afternoon I heard a girl screaming for joy followed by splashes of water. The sounds came from the creek behind the back yard. I looked over my shoulder towards our house. My father wouldn’t be home for hours and mom had left to go to the shop maybe ten minutes ago.
The laughter grew louder and my fingers got itchy with excitement. I threw another look over my shoulder and then climbed the fence. Not far away Emma was holding a thick rope strapped to a tree. Timothy was sitting on the ground next to her, his feet in the creek rocking back and forth. She went two steps back and then ran towards the water, the rope between her hands. Bursting with laughter she let go and dived into the cold. I swiped drops off my face as she emerged from the water and smiled at me. “Who are you?” I looked at my feet avoiding her gaze. I was afraid that if she knew who I was she wouldn’t want to play with me. “My family just moved here.” I answered shyly. She had a smile so big, the corners of her mouth almost reached her earlobes. “Do you want to join us?” she asked.
And that’s how we became friends. Best friends.
Looking back at it now, I don’t even remember when the tradition started. It must have been during our first years in high school. Emma’s boyfriend had just broken up with her, the day before Valentine’s day. All the other kids were excited. The school had a big secret love letter delivery set up. The girls were sneaking around the boys, trying to find out who might send them a note and the boys were playing cool, trying not to seem interested. I knew I wouldn’t get a letter, nor would I send one. I was small for my age, wore old glasses, that my cousin Stan had grown out of, and usually carried a big stack of books around with me. I didn’t feel especially attractive and it was obvious, as well as my mom tried to hide it, that my school uniform was secondhand and usually too big.
That day I was sitting in the cafeteria sticking my fork in an unidentifiable mash of vegetables as Emma dropped down into the chair next to me.
“Listen,” she said. “I have a brilliant idea. Since we are both single now, why don’t we send each other a card, as a joke!”
I looked at her skeptically. “You are crazy!” Was all I could think of saying.
“Come on!” Emma sighed. “I don’t want us to be the only ones not getting a card tomorrow. It would be fun!”
“I don’t know,” I hesitated, slightly scared by the excitement I felt of Emma being my Valentine. “What would the others think?”
“Don’t worry, it’s a joke and it’s anonymous anyway!” With a goofy smile she looked me in the eyes. “Will you be my Valentine?” And then she burst into laughter, gave me hug and strolled away.
Since that day we would send each other letters every year for Valentine’s day. I didn’t dare to think that these letters would mean as much to her as they meant to me.
The day I left for college, I knew that I loved her. That I always had.
I was leaving to study medicine. My parents were so proud that I got the grant, they were barely sad about me moving to the other side of the country. Emma dreamed of becoming a dancer and was planning to save up money to move to the city trying to get into one of the good schools. Her parents deeply disapproved. They just wanted her to marry into a respectful family, move to a neighborhood close by and have children.
We both cried when she took me to the bus that took me away. I was scared that she would find a man and settle down as her parents wished. Scared that I would never be able to tell her how I felt. But I would never find the courage to tell her anyway. Picturing Emma and me as lovers was ridiculous.
After I left I tried to find joy in my studies and it was working well for a while, until that February when I got her letter.
‘My sweet Valentine,
I miss you dearly here.
The grass is still soft and green and I work at the shop day in and out.
I met a man, the son of my parents’ friends. He is a kind man, but that is all. Everyone is pushing hard for us to get married.
I am worried if I stay here much longer I’ll gonna break.
But I haven’t given up my dream yet.
Love you always,
Emma’
Overwhelmed, I ran to the phone in the corridor of my dorm and called her number. But nobody was home. I sank to the floor devastated, picturing her married to a man without a face.
As I looked up I couldn’t believe what I saw. She was standing right there, at the end of the corridor a heavy bag in her hands. “I needed to get away from there,” was all she said as I embraced her.
We spent the whole night planning. She could stay with me in my dorm for a while and then maybe she could get a small apartment off campus. She could find a job here to save for school and we wouldn’t be separated by a whole country. “Why have we never thought of this before?” Emma wondered and laughed. I was so happy that night, almost thankful to the strange man that brought her back to me. At night when we were sharing my small dorm mattress I was awkwardly aware of her presence, she was snuggled in against my chest and I felt my heart pounding. We must have slept like this in a thousand sleepovers before but now I felt scared and excited by her closeness at the same time. She was breathing steadily. I stretched out my hand to touch her hair, and inhaled the lavender scent. She opened her eyes slightly and looked at me through her eyelashes.
“I think I am falling in love with you.” she whispered.
That was the first time we kissed each other. We were so happy in our little bubble that for a while we thought it could last forever. Emma started giving dance classes for children to earn money and I kept on studying. We were happy, but secrecy can never last.
Emma’s family was determined to bring her back home. One day somebody knocked at our door and there was Timothy. He came to convince his sister to return home. He thought he could persuade the parents to allow Emma to become a dancer. But instead he had seen us kissing behind the university building and forgot all his good intentions. I never dared to kiss Emma outside of our room but she was more adventurous. When he saw how we lived together, he was furious.
He left her no choice and he took her home, away from me.
She rebelled and ran away a few more times after that and we tried to meet each other at different locations but eventually she got so sad and frustrated that I knew I would have to let her go.
“There is no future for us, is there?” she said once, hoping I could give her another answer than the one she already knew. “No, there is not.” I admitted and my eyes started to fill with tears. “They don’t approve.” She nodded and smiled sadly, “Then let’s enjoy the time we have!”
That day was the last time I saw Emma for a long while.
But we kept on sending each other letters, every February 14th, and I never stopped loving her.
This year she didn’t sent me a letter.
Her white hair rocks back and forth gently at the rhythm of the chair. Who would have thought we would meet again here in all places, almost seventy years later. ‘Maybe,’ I think. ‘In another life, in a different time we could have had these seventy years together.‘
Don’t get me wrong, I had a good life. We both had. We just couldn’t have it together. And now I am happy that I can be there for her, with her, till the end. A girl shouting from behind interrupts my thoughts “Grandma!“ And as I turn around to welcome my granddaughter I see how Emma opens the small card in her lap and peacefully smiles at the words that she cannot read from the love she doesn’t remember.
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