Half Hearted

Lionel Bricker, or Brickbat, as his friends called him, came home one day and saw the need for a change.

‘Decluttering’ had become all the rage to his coworkers. Lionel became aware of it overhearing his workmates during lunch. That grown men should waste valuable time discussing cleaning strategies struck him as odd. His staff explained that ‘Swedish Death Cleaning’ was about ‘intentional decluttering.’

Relieved, Lionel said, “Oh, I thought it was a bizarre Viking burial ritual.”

He said, “I’m not going anywhere. To ensure loved ones are not burdened, I’d better dispose of them. Who’s to say my loved ones don’t deserve more burdens?”

They always laughed at his silliness.

On arriving home Lionel saw their point. He couldn’t cross a room without bumping into furniture or crinkling papers under foot. In every room, clutter dominated, followed by refuse and waste.

He thought, ‘What am I doing with all this crap? Get a life. Decluttering may be ambitious, but cleaning up once in a while wouldn’t kill you.’

Lionel suspected his disordered life barely obscured a larger problem. He was lonely. Not that a partner would clean for him. But it would be healthy to have someone to think about besides himself.

Sitting amidst his personal chaos, he considered decluttering strategies he’d heard. One item a day? ‘Too slow. I want it out now.’

Torching the whole thing would be impractical since his mortgage was almost paid off. Need a place to live, after all.

Marie Kondo struck him as simplistic. ‘Does it bring me joy? When was the last time anything brought me joy?’

Gaining joy seemed impractical for anything important. But for cleaning? Nothing joyful about it.

Unanswered questions hovered. ‘Should I feel guilty if I want to keep an object I like? How do I decide?’

He printed a list of test questions to keep him honest. ‘Do I love it? Have I used it? Will I miss it? Would I replace it?’ He wanted unshakable resolve. No squish. Any weakness could undermine the whole effort.

Doing one room per day made sense. Top down. Attic first. He needed intentionality.

Climbing the ladder, he poked his head up and surveyed the attic. It was a textbook example of early-stage hoarding. ‘Hoarding is not a hobby, Lionel… Sentiment be damned!’

The attic would be used to gain momentum. Everything must go.

How to start? He’d forgotten most of what lay up there in piles, unused for years. Faded clothing, unread magazines, and boxes of random stuff jammed the cramped space. Not needed. Never again.

‘How many old, unread magazines does anyone need? Not even collector’s items. ‘Just in case?’ ‘When I have time?’’ He swore never again to use those phrases.

The physical effort of getting it all down and out was the hard part. Though physically fit, hauling trash down a ladder tested him. By noon, Lionel had filled two trash bins with refuse.  

He made great progress until a faltered step caused a near fall from the ladder. A shoe box toppled and strewed ancient letters and a shiny object across the floor.

Lionel picked up the unfamiliar pendant and chain. As it rested in his palm, nostalgic memories welled up. The silver pendant was the right half a broken heart with a zig zag where the two halves had split. At the bottom, his initials were inscribed, L. B.

‘Why my initials? Shouldn’t my side have hers?’

Then he remembered his senior year girlfriend, Laurel Bateman. She sat beside him in all their classes. Their shared initials became a running joke.  

‘She was great. What happened to her?’

He’d lost contact after leaving for college back east.

‘Why didn’t I…? So busy with school… work… life… I forgot to live. Let her slip away.’

Conscious of his high decluttering standard he weighed keeping it. ‘I wouldn’t buy another. This has history, emotional weight. It’s not replaceable.’

But it also lacked purpose. Laurel was gone. He hadn’t seen this, or her, in decades. ‘Why keep it?’

He put it in a donation box for Goodwill. ‘Someone might want it. Can’t imagine why…’

But once found, Lionel couldn’t stop thinking about the pendant, and Laurel.

At eighteen, he was clueless. The idea of pendants meshing together seemed cheesy. His romantic gesture thrilled Laurel. Their shopping trip replayed in Lionel’s head like an ear worm.

The jewelry store offered a pendant with two jigsaw pieces fitting together.

Pointing, Laurel said, “What about that?”

“Looks cumbersome, Lor. Okay, that’s us, but what about all the other, implied missing pieces?”

“You mean, like our families…?”

“Attach all those and we’ll need a wheelbarrow to haul it around. How ‘bout something specific to us?”

Smiling, she said, “How about that one? With the key…”

Lionel shook his head. “True… Lor, you hold the key to my heart. But I wouldn’t want to cage you, or…”

Laurel nodded, “Get it…”

At last, they agreed on the simple heart, split in the middle, demonstrating how they belonged together. One heart.

They laughed at the jeweler’s reaction to inscribing the initials, L. B. on each side.

Their riff began then. “Wait… You stole my half. That’s mine.”

“No… you did.”

Sometimes they playfully switched pendants.

Before Lionel’s departure, they settled with Laurel keeping the pendant’s left side. He never saw her after that. Like a missing puzzle piece, this was his only memento of their affection.

~

Lionel held to his high standards. ‘Who wants half a heart, anyway?’

He loaded his car and drove to the donation center. Stopped at a light, a heart shaped balloon bobbed overhead. Its string had tangled in a wire. He pulled into the lot and rummaged through boxes until he found the pendant.

He put off his guilt. ‘No big deal. It’s small. Minimal clutter…’

He decided he was curious. Just a casual interest. Once home, he called his high school alumni association for any current info on Laurel. They knew nothing.

The woman he spoke with said, “Could’ve married. Changed her name. Moved…”

Lionel muttered, “Damned traditions. How do you find anyone if they change their name?”

‘What’s in a name? Everything if you’re trying to find someone.’

He drove by her old house. A grizzled old man sat on the porch.

Lionel said, “Hi, maybe you remember me? Lionel Brickman… You know a girl named Laurel Bateman? We were in high school together…”

The man shook his head. “You should forget her, young man. Don’t waste your time on her. She’s not the same. Ran off to New York. Haven’t heard from her in… been years.”

New York. Lionel had a clue. He found an online site called ‘Lost n Found.com.’ Placing an ad for the pendant’s left half, he hoped to find Laurel. The next day, he received four emails from men seeking information on women they’d known. Each of them had their pendant’s right half.

But nothing from Laurel. The level of his frustration should have flagged him that curiosity had now become obsession.

A few days later, Lionel answered his phone.

A woman’s voice said, “Hi. You wanted information about a heart pendant?”

Lionel’s heart leaped. “Yes. I’m looking for the left side, inscribed with the initials ‘L. B.’ I’m Lionel Brickman.”

“Yes. Mine has L. B. on it. Hi… My friends call me Lor.”

Lionel began to sweat. He felt dizzy.

He said, “So you have my heart.”

“No, you have mine.”

They laughed.

“That’s what you used to say.”

Lor said, “I never said that in my life.”

“Only every day. All the time…”

Thus, began what became a daily phone call from Lionel to Lor. They spoke for hours about their lives. Their lively sharing of memories and dreams never lagged. Warm laughter came easily. They grew closer. Lionel realized how much he’d missed this connection.

He ignored obvious signs that Lor was not his Laurel. Was it willful blindness? Or not important? What he found was the most happiness he’d ever felt. Nothing else mattered.

Lionel focused all his free time on Lor. His decluttering project languished. He wanted and needed this newfound connection.

She told him she had divorced years ago. Her work kept her close to home. She didn’t travel. After a month of devoting hours to Lor, by phone, Lionel announced his plans to visit her.

“I’ll buy you a ticket home. To see people you’ve lost track of.”

“No point, Lionel. That’s not my home. Nothing for me there.”

“Then I’ll visit you. I won’t impose on you. I’ll get a hotel.”

“Sure. Okay. That will be great.”

“We need to step this up, Lor. Been too long. Need to see you.”

After buying his ticket he told her when to expect him. His hotel was nearby. He called her when he arrived and walked to her building.  

When she opened the door, he didn’t recognize her. Pretty, as remembered, but different. Darker hair. A nice smile. Well dressed. But not his Laurel.

‘Twenty years will do that.’

“Hi… You’re not Lor. Is she here?”

“Lionel. I am Lor. Laurie Bransen.”

She held out the missing half of the heart pendant. Lionel took it and stepped into the corridor light. He held the halves together. Both had the L. B. initials. They matched.

She said, “What’s wrong?”

“You played me.”

“I what?”

“You’re not Laurel.”

“Who’s Laurel?”

“The girl I gave this to.”

“You thought I was her? I never claimed…”

“What happened to her?”

Laurie paused to wrap her head around this turn of events.

“Ah… If that’s important, don’t wait twenty years to ask.”

He looked around. “I wanted the owner.”

“I’m the owner.”

“The original owner. The one I gave it to…”

“You mean the one who left it in a thrift store?”

He moved closer. She stepped back over the threshold.

“I gave this to Laurel. How did you get it?”

She laughed. “Cash on the barrelhead. Three dollars and change at the thrift store on 23rd.”

“No… Who would do that?”

“My guess…? Laurel. Ever meet her?”

Mumbling incoherently, he moved away. She followed at a distance.

“Lionel, I’m who you called. We talked every night for weeks. You’re here because of me. For me…”

“You lied. You let me think…”

Lor had to laugh. “How often had you thought of your high school sweetheart before calling me? I’ve been here for you.”

He let her take the pendant.

Holding it up, she said, “I bought this. She gave it up. I waited. You called. We laughed. You came to me.”

She saw him watching the pendant.

“You want this? That’s what’s real? I bought it believing its promise. I never treated it like an afterthought.”

“You lied…”

“I’ve been married. I’m done borrowing an identity.”                                  

Lionel sighed. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Lionel, you want to lecture me about honesty? Did I abandon my memories in a drawer for decades?”

He turned away.

She continued. “No. I’m who you called, investing hundreds of hours to know. I kinda thought we had a connection, L. B… I didn’t pretend anything.”

Hearing his initials struck a chord.

“You called every day, Lionel. Me. You know me better than you knew anything twenty years ago. A month ago, we were strangers. You pursued this. Your calls brought us together.”

He relaxed a little.

Laurie said, “I like the pendant. It connected us. But it’s us I care about.”

He looked at her.

“Surprised? Think I need a phone friend? You flew here only to match these?”

He said nothing.

She couldn’t understand. “You crossed the country to argue about a hunk of metal? Fine. Here. Yours… Keep them both.”

Frustrated and disappointed, she thrust it toward him.

He took her hands and drew her close. They kissed and clung together. Parting and smiling, the chains drooped from clasped hands.

“I never held her like that.”

“I hope not.”

They laughed. She realized they still stood over the threshold, neither in nor out of the apartment.

“I’m sorry… Want to come in? Thirsty?”

Again, he pulled her to him. “You forgot this.”

Lionel placed her chain over her head and kissed her. They’d both imagined this.             

Looking at it and smiling, she said, “You took mine.”

Bursting into laughter, they collapsed into each other’s arms and sank to their knees. Tears flowed, mixed with kisses, sobs and more laughter. Then they fell silent.

He whispered, “I’m done with the past…”

She pumped the air. “To the future!”

Lionel took Laurie’s hand and said, “Let’s go out.”

They stood, she locked up and off they went, together.