LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

Source: Unknown

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library.

Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell.

With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.

During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.

"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.

As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat.. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.

This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"

The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"

It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

TRUE LOVE

Photo: Leanne Alessi

On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to the supermarket to buy the rest of the gifts I hadn’t managed to buy earlier.

When I saw all the people there, I started to complain to myself: “It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go. Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year. How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep, and only wake up after it was over.”

Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to decry the prices, wondering if kids really play with such expensive toys.

I noticed a small boy about five years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the doll, and he looked so sad. I wondered whom this doll was for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him and asked, “Granny, are you sure I don’t have enough money?” The old lady replied, “You know that you don’t have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.”

Then she asked him to stay there for five minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hands.

Finally, I walked over to him and asked him to whom he wanted to give this doll.

“This is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.”

I replied that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry. But he said sadly, “No, Santa Claus can not bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there.” His eyes were so sad while saying this. “My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy will also go to see God very soon, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.”

My heart nearly stopped.

The little boy looked up at me and said, “I told Daddy to tell Mummy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the supermarket.” Then he showed me a very nice photo of himself where he was laughing.

He told me, “I also want Mummy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me. I love my mummy and I wish she didn’t have to leave me, but Daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.”

Then he looked again at the doll with his sad eyes. I quickly reached for my wallet and took out a few dollars and said to the boy, “What if we checked again, just in case, to see if you have enough money?”

“Okay,” he said. “I hope that I have enough.” I added some of my money to his without him seeing, and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll, and even some to spare. The little boy said, “Thank you, God, for giving me enough money.”

Then he looked at me and added, “I asked yesterday before I slept for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that Mummy can give it to my sister. He heard me. I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn’t dare to ask God for too much. But he gave me enough to buy the doll and the white rose. Mummy loves white roses.”

A few minutes later, the old lady returned, and I left with my cart. I finished my shopping in a totally different state of mind from when I started. I couldn’t get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days before, about an accident involving a drunk driver in a truck and a young mother and child in a car. The little girl died at the scene, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life support system, because the young lady would not be able to recover from the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away. I impulsively bought a bunch of white roses and went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was on display for visitors to pay their final respects.

She lay there in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand, with the doll and the photo of the little boy placed over her chest.

I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever.

The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine.

And in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken it all away from him.