Love in Greek

Sunlight streamed into the large university lecture hall, illuminating suspended dust particles in the still air. Philosophical Studies Professor Kelly Bloomfield stood with spirited passion. Her striking beauty and youthful energy contrasted sharply with the seasoned wisdom in her words.

Under the glowing vintage chalkboard, her chalk screeched as she wrote the day’s big question: “What is love?” Setting it down, she turned to her students with eager eyes. “Do I have anyone bold enough to answer this universally complex question?” Silence followed as the students glanced at each other with uncertainty.

“Not one,” Bloomfield remarked. Suddenly, an emboldened voice echoed from the back of the room. “Love is dead.” It belonged to John Marcos, a 31-year-old in grey flannel and blue jeans. His presence hinted at a melancholy yet brilliant soul. Holding his steely gaze, the room fell silent, all eyes on him.

“Love is dead?” Bloomfield questioned. “While I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Marcos, that’s not the answer I’m looking for.” After a pause, she challenged, “Is there another brave soul?” John rose, his voice gaining volume as he stood resolute.

“Why dismiss my answer?” he countered. For a moment, they resembled characters from a Clint Eastwood spaghetti Western, teacher and student locking eyes as they squared off in confrontation. “It’s morbid, don’t you think?” Bloomfield ventured after a brief silence. Unyielding, John retorted, “But that doesn’t justify its dismissal, does it?”

Showing a hint of hesitation, Bloomfield retreated to a small cherry wood podium and leaned against it, thriving on such challenges. They seemed to fuel her inner fire; far from being overpowered by John’s defiance, she welcomed this exchange. It was the intellectual battle she relished, fully engaged.

“Alright, Mr. Marcos,” she started, her voice steady, “we have four weeks left this semester. You haven’t chosen your final assignment, so I’ll decide for you. Convince me and your classmates why you believe love is dead. This podium will await your final conclusive arguments.”

As the day drew to a close, John found himself walking alone through the nearly deserted parking lot, his earpods playing melancholic tunes. He approached his black Prius, its smoky grey windows reflecting the fading light.

Opening the trunk, John reached for a lukewarm beer nestled among melted ice in a styrofoam cooler. Sitting on the edge of the trunk, he popped the top, took a thoughtful swig, and pulled a worn book from the passenger seat. It was a favorite of his, Reflections on the Human Condition by the renowned philosopher Adrian Marlowe.

He flipped through the dog-eared pages until he found the passage on his mind lately. As he read, the words resonated deeply with him: “Most of us don’t start out with such a grim outlook on life. It usually takes a series of events—moments—and a touch of bad luck to bring us to this point.”

John took another swig as Marlowe’s words continued to strike a chord. “There was a time when I believed in love. Love was alive—love was tangible. Then, like death, separation sneaked in and snatched it from me.” He closed the book and stared into the distance, the memories of better days flooding back.

***

His mind drifted back, not just to the sunny field where he and his wife Amber shared tender moments, but also to the day they met. An ordinary day in a grocery store parking lot became memorable through a chance encounter. Amber struggled with a flat tire, when John, ever the Good Samaritan, approached to offer his help.

They connected instantly, a spark igniting amidst a mundane chore. While he worked on the tire, they talked and laughed, finding comfort in each other’s presence. In that ordinary moment, something extraordinary began. John often recalled that day with a smile, amazed at how fate brought them together in such a simple yet profound way.

His thoughts shifted to another day, bathed in sunlight, in an open field. Amber lay in his arms, her long, textured brown hair cascading over his chest, her light grey eyes sparkling like jewels under the sun. “Damn, girl. When God made you, He created a masterpiece. I don’t feel lucky enough to deserve someone like you,” he confessed.

Amber blushed at his words, her response resonating with warmth and wisdom. “God’s blessings aren’t about whether we deserve them. He blesses us simply because He loves us.” John could almost hear her voice in the stillness of the evening, a soothing balm to his aching heart. Her words, both then and now, testified to the depth and purity of her spirit, the very qualities that drew him to her from that first encounter by a flat tire.

Amber always had a unique way with words. John was the complete opposite. He often struggled to articulate his thoughts; his words didn’t always come out right. This was one way Amber really balanced him out. She had an uncanny ability to add definition and depth to her words and to his. She knew how to persuade without making him feel manipulated.

Her words didn’t just communicate; they inspired, kindling a fire in the soul. John knew deep down that without Amber’s influence, he might never have returned to college to finish the remaining credits for his law degree. Her encouragement and belief in him were the guiding forces that steered him back to his educational path.

After her insightful “He blesses us because He loves us” response in the field, John released his embrace, taking her by both hands with an expression of admiration. “That’s why I love you. You are the only woman I’ve ever known who can go from being completely goofy to a philosopher in like two seconds flat,” he said. They shared a smile, and a lingering kiss followed.

***

That summer was one of the greatest times of my life," John reminisced, lost in the memory. "We laughed a lot, traveled a lot, and made love a whole lot." The recollection brought a bittersweet smile to his face. Standing at the podium for his final assignment presentation, Bloomfield and his classmates shared a laugh at his “made love a whole lot” confession. John continued to reveal a piece of his past. "She held my whole heart," he admitted

***

He recalled being in their bedroom with Amber, a baby name book closed as she folded a mysterious letter.

“What’s that?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

“A name I’ve chosen,” Amber replied. Despite his attempts to snatch the letter, she swiftly tucked it into an envelope, cautioning him not to open it until she finished writing out the name’s meaning.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom where John and Amber lay, filled with anticipation for the arrival of new life. With a tender smile, John gently rubbed Amber’s swollen belly, whispering sweet nothings. 

“We can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered. His voice was a mixture of excitement and deep, paternal affection.

As they prepared to leave for one of their now frequent doctor’s appointments, John’s attention was fully on Amber, ensuring she was comfortable and at ease. He handed her a glass of water, watching as she took slow sips, and then gently helped her into her coat. Amber smiled at him, her hand resting briefly on her belly.

They walked toward the door, John’s hand on the small of her back, guiding her carefully. Amber paused for a moment, one hand on the wall, her breathing slightly labored. John frowned with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, taking another step forward. Suddenly, her face contorted with pain, and her legs gave out beneath her. In a heart-stopping moment, Amber’s body faltered, and she collapsed to floor. Panic surged through John as he caught her, calling her name frantically. He dialed for an ambulance with shaking hands.

At the hospital, the waiting room became a purgatory for John and their family. The sterile white walls and the monotonous ticking of the clock did little to ease the tension. John sat with his head in his hands, his thoughts spiraling into dark places. “Please be okay,” he pleaded silently, over and over. His heart was a drumbeat of dread, each second stretching into an eternity. He thought of their plans, the nursery they decorated, the future they envisioned. Now, all that seemed to hang by a thread.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the doctor emerged. His somber and sympathetic expression was a prelude to the words that followed.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor began, and with those words, John’s world shattered. Amber and their unborn child, the doctor explained, had succumbed to complications from a severe placental abruption. The sudden detachment had caused catastrophic bleeding that couldn't be controlled in time. John’s heart sank into an abyss of grief and disbelief. The doctor’s words blurred into a distant echo as John tried to comprehend the magnitude of his loss.

The harsh hospital lights seemed to dim as John processed the devastating news. Amber, his beloved wife, and their child, whom they had yet to meet, were gone. The future they painted together was now a canvas of heartache and empty spaces. John grappled with a reality where every dream they shared was cruelly snatched away, leaving him to navigate a world that suddenly felt cold and uninviting.

Returning to the home he shared with Amber felt like stepping into a different universe, one drained of its color and warmth. The walls, once filled with laughter and dreams, now stood silent and oppressive. Each step was heavy, burdened with grief so profound it threatened to overtake him. He moved through the house like a ghost, his eyes hollow, his heart an aching void.

In their bedroom, he found the envelope Amber left for him. His hands trembled as he held it, a tangible piece of Amber, a whisper from a world that no longer existed. With a deep breath that felt like his first in hours, John opened the envelope. Inside, he found a piece of paper with a single word in Amber’s delicate handwriting: ‘Love’. Below it, her explanation unfolded, detailing the six different meanings of love in Greek.

John’s eyes traced each word, a reflection of Amber’s thoughtfulness, her depth, and the way she found meaning in everything. Most strikingly, she chose the word ‘Agape’ – unconditional love – as the primary reason for their daughter’s name.

It symbolized the endless love they would give their daughter. John's heart tightened at the thought, tears welling in his eyes.

This wasn’t just a name; it was Amber’s dream, her hope for their child. This was a beacon of the love that defined their family.

John sat there, the envelope clutched in his hands, as memories flooded him—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and tender touches. Among these memories, one stood out vividly: their gender reveal party. It was a day filled with the warmth of family and friends.

Their backyard transformed into a celebration space, adorned with neutral-toned decorations. Amber’s eyes sparkled with uncontained joy, her hand resting gently on her belly. The guests gathered around, their guesses and predictions adding to the lively chatter.

Then came the moment. John and Amber stood together with a large balloon between them. With a countdown from the crowd, they pricked the balloon. A burst of pink confetti showered down, floating gently to the ground. “It’s a girl!” someone shouted, and the backyard erupted in cheers and laughter.

Amber’s laughter, the most beautiful sound John had ever heard, rang through the crowd. The joy on her face was a sight he knew he would never forget. They embraced. It was a perfect picture of happiness and anticipation for the life they were about to welcome.

Each memory reminded him of the future they planned. The word 'Agape' lingered in his mind, a painful yet beautiful reminder of their lost love. It represented the unconditional love that bound them, and now, the deep sorrow that overwhelmed him.

***

In the stillness of the room, surrounded by remnants of a life that once was, John allowed himself to grieve—for Amber, for their child, for the love that remained, and for the dreams that dissipated like ashes in the wind.

He sat with the same book he had been reading by Marlowe, turning to the final chapter. The philosopher concluded with a reference to Psalm 144:4: “For they are like a breath of air; their days are like a passing shadow.” John closed the book and reflected on the fleeting nature of life and the impermanence of all things.

***

“Love was the child I never got to hold. Love was the child I never got to kiss. Love was the child I never got to hear laugh or cry. Now—‘Love is dead.’”

John’s words resonated through the classroom. Each syllable was heavy with grief and loss. The room was filled with stunned silence, his classmates and Professor Bloomfield rendered speechless by the raw emotion and powerful truth in his testimony.

 John, standing not just as a student but as the future lawyer he would become, having just rested his case, looked around the room. His gaze was steady, his stance resolute, much like in a courtroom where he had learned to command attention and respect.

He laid bare his most profound sorrow, not for sympathy, but to fulfill the challenge laid before him, to prove his belief that love, in its purest form, could be lost to the merciless hands of life.

Without waiting for feedback from Professor Bloomfield or any of his classmates, John stepped away from the podium. His exit was not just the end of a presentation; it was a statement, leaving behind a powerful testimony of his lost love.

As he walked out of the classroom, he left behind an audience that was not just stunned but deeply moved, a jury of his peers and mentor who now understood the depths of his conviction. In that moment, John was not merely a student fulfilling an assignment; he was a man who had bravely laid bare a piece of his soul, changing the very atmosphere of the room he left behind.

END