Billet-Doux: Stronger Than Death

The hearse pulled away from the grave site. One petal from the red rose she was holding fell to the sidewalk. The rose was from the casket spray. His casket.

Gone.

Dead.

"Passed away" they kept saying.

Cindy could not believe it and did not want to believe it.

In the ground.

Covered up.

Cold and dark.

Still wearing his class ring.

The class of 1976.

Silent.

Once so full of life and now lifeless.

So young. Nineteen.

His birthday was twenty-two days away.

He would never be twenty.

His life was just starting.

Then it was snuffed out.

For no reason.

It all happened so suddenly.

So many questions.

No answers.

Gone.

The last cars were pulling out of the cemetery. She would probably never see these people again. So many had come to the service. Many she did not know.

His job had taken him all over the city. He had never lived anywhere else. He knew hundreds of people. He died less than three miles from where he was born.

Cindy headed slowly towards the street. She had walked to his service; she only lived a few blocks away. She could not bear to be around the others, hearing them talk about "how much they loved him" and "how much he will be missed." They never knew him. Not like she did. They never took the time to really get to know him. They pointed out his mistakes. They told him what to do with his life. They nagged him to get his head out of the clouds. But they never understood him.

Now he was gone.

Cindy had never felt so alone in all her life.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day she thought to herself.

She walked up the stairs to her door. He had lived in the other side of duplex with his roommates. He hated living there. He had plans and goals. All they wanted to do was get drunk and party every night. They were arrogant, noisy, and obnoxious. They had no plans or goals. They had no time for him.

It was always late when he came home from work. Several nights each week, he would come to her side of the duplex to hang out. To get away from them. Always polite, always well mannered, always treating her like a lady. Sometimes he brought food. Sometimes she cooked. He was never picky. He was just as happy with a tuna sandwich as he was with a sirloin steak. They would laugh and talk until midnight. He always insisted on doing the dishes. He would even dry them and put them away. Then he would kiss her on the hand and head home.

It was like he was from another era. Chivalrous. Gallant. A gentleman. Strong but sensitive. Protective of her. He would say, "Always be a lady." He had a gleam of mischief in his eye, like he had a secret he should not tell.

Being an only child, she used to dream of having a sibling. She had prayed for a brother or sister. That never happened. Her mother lost four babies before she was born. He was the brother she had never had. She could talk to him about anything or ask him to help her with anything. He never said no. He would just grin and say, "I'm here whenever you need me, kid." He always called her kid even though she was two months older than him.

She dreamed of dating him but he had never asked. She dreamed of being his wife but he had never brought up the topic of marriage. It was like he knew, down deep, that his life was going to be cut short. He always lived in the present and rarely made plans past the next day or two.

Cindy knew no other young man his age that lived life with such joy and purpose.

She stared at the refrigerator. She did not want to see the RC Cola that he loved. Three bottles sat on the top shelf, waiting for his return. He would not return. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. She thought she had no tears left. But more tears fell. It felt like she had been crying forever.

As she walked into the bedroom, she noticed something on her nightstand. "I know that was not there before," she thought to herself, "there's no way. What is it and who put it there?" No one had been to her home in several days.

It was a red, heart shaped box. Maybe it had candy in it. No one had given her any Valentine's candy this year. She could not think of anyone who would.

She picked up the box. It was as very light. Strange. Candy should weigh something. The box looked old, like it had been purchased years before. The top was faded but she could still see a chubby Cupid with his bow and arrow ... and words in silver that said Sweets for the Sweet.

Cindy shivered as a chill ran down her spine. It couldn't be.

She recognized this box.

She gently lifted the top. A piece of notebook paper was folded and laying inside. Nothing else. She noticed a date neatly printed inside the box top. It was written in pencil and looked like the handwriting of a child. It said:

February 14, 1968.

Cindy was so stunned that she gasped and dropped the box top. It hit the nightstand and bounced onto the floor. She leaned over to pick it up. She read the date again:

February 14, 1968.

Ten years ago tomorrow.

"This is impossible!" she thought to herself, "this is my heart shaped candy box from fifth grade! He gave it to me! But I packed it away, many years ago, in an old trunk in the attic, with other things I kept as a kid."

Cindy had not been in her mother's attic in four years.

She gently unfolded the piece of paper. A large heart, drawn with a pink crayon, was on it. Inside the heart were these words, written with a red crayon:

Will you be my girlfriend?

Will you marry me one day?

I love you Cindy.

George.

Don't tell anyone yet.

George. That sweet ten year old boy from 1968. He had dark blond hair with a cowlick right in the middle of his forehead. Freckles were scattered across his nose and cheeks. His eyes were blue and always had a gleam of mischief in them. He loved hot rod cars, building model airplanes, and his green Spyder bike with the banana seat. He carried Matchbox cars and marbles in his pockets. He could run faster than any other boy in the fifth grade. He was learning to play the drums. He hated the meatloaf and gravy that the cafeteria lady served every Wednesday. He wanted to be a pilot. He taught me how to whistle.

Cindy's thoughts took her back to that old school building.

George. We had been together for six grades. We were both missing two front teeth on the first day of first grade. We were best friends from the beginning. Each year, even if we were in different classrooms, he would look for me at recess and save me a seat at the lunch table. He would chase me around the playground or push me on the swing. I beat him in the spelling bee. One morning, he punched that bully, Howard, in the nose for teasing me about my new glasses and making me cry. I was nine years old and hated those glasses. George told me, "But they make you look like a really smart lady scientist. You could work in the space program!"

He always knew how to make me feel better.

Valentine's Day 1968. Each child brought a cardboard shoe box from home and decorated it for the class party. Cindy had used a box from a pair of her father's shoes. She wanted room for lots of valentines. She covered her box in pink tissue paper and glued construction paper hearts all over it. She put silver glitter on some of the hearts. She cut a paper doily into strips and glued them around the edges like lace. She cut an opening in the box top so cards could be dropped in. She had used her allowance to buy a box of Peanuts valentines at the drugstore near her home. Snoopy and Woodstock were her favorites.

During the party, they sang, played games, colored pictures, and ate cupcakes and cookies that the room mothers brought. When it was time to pass out out the Valentine's cards, everyone placed their decorated boxes on the desks. While music played, they walked around the room dropping the cards into the boxes. She had saved her best one for George. It had Snoopy hugging Woodstock on the front and it said:

Happiness is being valentines with you!

On the back, she had written in red ink:

Your my best friend.

Love, Cindy

XOXO

Cindy laughed for the first time in days. After ten years, she realized that she had written your instead of you're. George surely had noticed that spelling error but he had never said anything about it. Ever since she had known him, he was very careful to never embarrass her.

After the party, Cindy dug frantically through her box. She had received a card from almost every classmate. Howard, the big bully, did not give her one. He was still mad about being punched in the nose and that he got sent to the school office instead of George. Snooty Valerie did not give her a card either. She never did. She always brought just a few fancy cards from the department store to give to her very best friends. Cindy put a card in their boxes anyway.

She counted only twenty four cards in her box. Minus herself, Howard, and Valerie, there should have been twenty five. There was no card from George.

She could not believe it. He had given her a Valentine's card every year since first grade but there was no card from him this year. Cindy was crushed.

She looked across the room. He was finishing a cupcake, looking at her. He grinned with that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he had a secret he should not tell. He never said a word.

When the bell rang, he walked her home after school. He asked her how many cards she had gotten. "Twenty four ... but I kinda thought I would get twenty five." All he said was, "It sure was a great party. I love chocolate cupcakes with white icing. Well, I gotta get home. See ya later, alligator!" Then he ran towards his house.

Cindy went into her bedroom, put her box on her dresser and her book bag on the bed. Her mother was outside, taking the laundry off the clothesline. Her father was at work. She did not feel like watching TV or playing. She decided to go ahead and do her homework so she could watch TV with her dad later. She opened her book bag and could not believe her eyes. Wedged between two books was a heart shaped box wrapped in cellophane. Taped to it was an envelope. She carefully opened them. On the front of the valentine was a blue cartoon airplane that was smiling and it said:

I'm "PLANE" crazy about you! Be mine!

On the back, these words were written in blue ink:

You're my best friend.

Love,

George.

He always put a period behind his name. She was not sure why.

As Cindy sat in the duplex, looking at the heart shaped box, she thought about the day he had given it to her. She never saw him sneak it into her book bag. He must have done that while the girls were at the water fountain. She never asked him.

She remembered sitting on her bed and opening the little box. There were nine pieces of chocolate candy inside it. There should have been ten. One piece was missing. In its place was a piece of folded pink paper. She remembered that his mother always kept a notepad of pink paper and a ballpoint pen by their telephone. Cindy read the note which said:

I guessed which piece has the gooey white center and took it out. White nougat is gross. George.

For the second time today, Cindy laughed. To this day, she still hated white nougat.

After sixth grade, Cindy's family moved to the east side of the city. She would not be in the same school with him again. She graduated from East High School; he graduated from Central High School. He always kept up with her. He would show up at basketball games at her school, to watch her cheer. He would show up at the burger joint, where she worked after school, to buy a cheeseburger and RC cola. He called her every week.

"Just checkin' in to see how you're doin', kid," is what he always said when she answered the phone. They would talk for hours.

She dated some during high school but her heart was never in it. It was the same for him. He would say, “She's just not the girl for me."

Cindy wanted her own place. It was time to start her second year at the university. She begged her parents to let her move out.

"I turn twenty in January. I am old enough to be on my own!" Cindy told her father.

Her parents reluctantly agreed. They were over-protective since she was their only child.

She had been at the duplex for three months. One morning, while sitting on the front steps, she saw George coming down the sidewalk.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I live here. Some friends of mine live on that side. I’m moving in today. I got a raise at work so I can finally afford to move out of my parents' house. I have to share a bedroom with one of the guys. But, hey, it's a start!" he said.

"Why didn't you tell me they lived over there? You helped me move but you've never said a word, you dork!" said Cindy.

"I am full of surprises. A man of mystery," is all he would say.

She stared at the little heart shaped box on her nightstand. The words written on the notebook paper haunted her:

Will you be my girlfriend?

Will you marry me one day?

I love you Cindy.

George.

Don't tell anyone yet.

Funny, this note was not in the box of candy or the envelope when he gave them to her ten years ago. How could there be a note be in the empty box now? Who put it there? And who put the box on her nightstand while she was at his funeral?

Suddenly, Cindy remembered. February 7th. Four days before he died, George was in her side of the duplex after work. They were eating bologna sandwiches. Mustard and pickles on his. Mayonnaise and tomatoes on hers. He hated mayonnaise. She hated mustard. She laughed, thinking back on how they always argued about which one tasted better. She distinctly remembered something else from that night.

"Valentine's Day is next week. It is going to be extra special this year," he said.

"Are we going somewhere fancy to eat?" Cindy asked.

"Nope, but it will be a Valentine's Day that you will never forget," he replied.

He refused to give any more clues. She acted like she was mad at him but he knew better. She could never stay mad for long.

After the dishes were washed, dried, and back in the cupboard, he was getting ready to head back to his side of the duplex. He reached for her hand to kiss it.

She asked him one more time to tell her what he had planned for Valentine's Day.

"Wait and see, kid, wait and see," he said.

Cindy never found out. Or so she thought.

He died on February 11th.

Shot. In cold blood. While lying on the sofa in his side of the duplex.

She was at work when it happened. She came home to police cars, lights, sirens, detectives, and an ambulance. The police had no clue who had killed him or why.

Gone.

Dead.

Once so full of life and now lifeless.

So young. Nineteen.

His birthday was only twenty-two days away.

He would never see twenty.

His life was just starting.

Then it was snuffed out.

For no reason.

She now knew the old note in the old heart shaped box was from him. Somehow, he had gotten it to her from the other side. It all made sense now.

Had he lived, he was going to ask her to date him...then marry him one day. That is why he said Valentine's Day was going to be extra special this year. That had to be it.

He had loved her since they first met. By fifth grade. he was brave enough to almost let her know...when he hid the Valentine's card and the heart shaped box of candy in her book bag.

Maybe he meant to hide this note in her book bag on the day after the party. But he never did.

So he gave it to her today. On the day of his funeral. The day before Valentine’s Day.

Although he was gone, she felt his presence stronger than ever. Staring at the note and the box, she knew she would never love anyone as much as she loved him.

A billet-doux, a love letter, from beyond the grave, told her the one truth that she would never forget:

Love is stronger than death.