"If I never met you, I wouldn't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't love you.
If I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you.
But I did, I do, and I will."
I saw that two months ago, on a sign in the post office. It was directly beneath a poster for the fat lady running for state representative. I remember smiling at the quote, and immediately loving it, and wondering if the fat lady had anyone she could say that to. Love comes in strange ways, I suppose.
That was the day I met Jack, ironically. What an average name. Jack. I walked out of the post office and he was there, holding the door for me. I was in a happy mood after reading that quote, and I remember smiling breezily at him and saying, "Thanks, Jimmy."
I called all the boys I knew "Jimmy." It was a boring, equally suited name that any boy could call his own. Jack just grinned at me, stuck out his hand, and said, "No problem, Sally."
My name was Silvadon, thanks to my helplessly romantic mother. Everyone called me Donny, though, even if it was a boy's name.
I shook Jack's hand — but I didn't know he was Jack yet.
"I'm called Donny," I said cheerily.
"Jack," he replied, and grinned again. "See you around, squirt."
* * *
I read that one on a Dove chocolate wrapper. I laughed when I read it, and pinned it up on my wall. When Jack called me that night, I told him about it.
"Oh, really?" he said. "Gosh darn it, Donny. Mine said the same thing."
* * *
Jack sent me that one in a tiny green envelope that was hardly big enough to write my name on. He wasn't poetic, so I knew he stole it. I found the biggest envelope I could find, and the bluest sheet of paper available, and in white crayon, I wrote huge letters across it.
YOU STOLE THAT. IT'S CORNY. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME.
I've never seen a mailman look so infernally irritated.
* * *
The fat lady was elected state representative, and Jack and I discussed whether or not she had someone to miss. We decided that yes, she probably did, and he was a tiny, scrawny shrimp of a man who wore baggy pin-striped suits and a bowler hat.
"I'll bet he wears 80-year-old cologne," Jack said seriously, as he studied the fat lady's picture. "He got it from his grandfather, who could never be bothered to wear it. He had 23 wives and only the 23rd had no sense of smell. And she had a giant tattoo on her nose, Donny, it was a picture of a skunk. And her mother, now, she was the rebel of the family..."
"Jack, you look like an owl when you're thinking, did you know that?"
"Naturally, Donny darling, only the stupid look like anything else."
"I look like a grasshopper when I think."
Jack looked at me gravely. "No, you look more like a pigeon or something. Ow, that's my shoulder, dang it, Donny..."
That night, I called and left a message on his phone.
"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
* * *
My friend Beckie was in a car accident and she died. I couldn't think for three days straight, and I think Jack understood, because he didn't call me. The fourth day he did, though, and he asked me my favorite flower.
"I don't want flowers, Jack," I said, dully.
"I won't give them to you then, Donny."
I was quiet. I had started to cry.
Jack began to talk to me. I didn't hear the words, and I had no idea what he was saying to me. But I listened to his voice and his tone, and for awhile, I didn't feel so lonely.
I wrote him a note later that day, and sent it to him snail-mail. Like the post office. Like the first day ever.
"There are so many things I'm not sure of in life, but with all certainty at this very minute, all I know is that I miss you."
* * *
"Donny."
"Yes, Jack."
We were sitting in the sun, on top of a hill. It overlooked the chemical plants of the city, all the garbage that no one knew was there. I didn't care. Jack had his arm around my shoulders, and I had my eyes closed tightly enough that no tears would squeeze out.
"Donny, what's that you've got in your hand?"
I looked down. In between my fingers was the smallest blue flower I had ever seen. I hadn't even noticed I'd picked it.
"It's tiny," was all I said. My voice cracked and I couldn't go on.
"Wait here," Jack said, and suddenly ran down the hill. I pulled my knees up to my chin and a tear trickled down my cheek.
Jack appeared at my side exactly 4 minutes and 14 seconds later. He was carrying the most enormous sunflower I had ever seen. He smiled, somewhat apologetically, and placed it in my hands.
A note was attached, a note that said, "I don't miss you and you alone, I miss you and me together."
And then he leaned down, and for the first time ever, kissed me.
* * *
"Sometimes it's better to put love into hugs than to put it into words."
I smiled when Jack looked shy. I was standing on a bridge, with him next to me, and the moon was bright and full. He had his arm around me, in a protective sort of way. I could feel his heart pounding against my shoulder.
"Love you, Jack," I said briskly.
I swear I could feel him get taller.
He leaned down so he could whisper in my ear.
"Do you think the fat lady with her bowler hat boyfriend ever said this to him?"
And he kissed me, and said, "If a hug represented how much I loved you, I would hold you in my arms forever."
"You stole that," I whispered back.
"Answer the question."
I smiled dreamily — or at least it felt dreamy.
"I bet she did."
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