The Magnolias Still Bloom – Chapter V

Wooing her was tough! Harder than anyone I wooed before. It was not because I had doubts or fears, or I couldn’t forget my past tribulations. It was tough, because she was stubborn as a mule. In fact, probably more so. A beautiful, enchanting mule who never ceased to amaze and delight me. A mule who made me forget rationality. I went to ridiculous lengths to try and please her.

 

I spent a fortune to hire a plane and write her name across the sky on Valentine’s Day while I stood outside her window singing, “The Shadow of Your Smile”. (Yes, I can sing. Almost!)

 

Laughing, she had thrown a rather heavy book towards me, catching me square on the forehead, as I tried to duck. It had left me with a nasty blue welt for quite a few days, leading to interested stares from passers-by and my staff. However, optimist that I am, I took it as an omen that she had thrown “The Collected Poems of William Wordsworth” at me. And I proceeded to read out some random page from good old Willy,

 

“What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,

through my very heart they shine,

And, if my brow gives back their light,

Do thou look gladly at the sight.”

 

Of course, I did this with the necessary theatrics – kneeling on one knee, and a hand clasped at my heart, just the way I’d seen in some ragged old mushy movie. (Thankfully, I’d seen it when an ex-flame had dragged a kicking and screaming me with her.)

 

However, unlike in the movie, Old Willy’s lines did not seem to be working. At first, I thought she had an attack of stomach cramps, but then realised that she was merely doubled up with laughter. (HMPH!) Thankfully, because she was laughing so hard, she was off-target, and only managed to catch me a glancing blow on the side of my left ear, with the next book that she threw.

 

All these missiles were making me edgy, and so I took shelter under her window sill, right in her flower bed.

 

“GET OUT OF THE FLOWER BED! I DON’T CARE IF YOU CATCH PNEUMONIA. I’LL TURN THE SPRINKLERS ON.”

 

I paid no heed to her warning and actually managed to recite,

 

“I saw the figure of a lovely maid,

seated alone beneath a darksome tree,

whose fondly overhanging cano---PY”

 

…before I was doused with water. The water did drench my body (and my new suit too) but my spirit lacked no enthusiasm. A couple of well-directed magazines and countless threats and abuses could not prevent me from completing the rendition of them poem. (After all, I owed this much to Willy Wordsworth.)

 

After four hours, I still sat shivering and whimpering like a wet dog, draped in blankets and with feet soaked in hot water. She was still having a hard time controlling her laughter. But, undaunted even after being soaked to the bone, I carried on regaling her with my customised versions of Old Willy’s poems. (Originality is one of my virtues, you see.) Over my umpteenth cup of tea, I marvelled at the fact that this petite, attractive woman could make me act like a fool, making me disregard my dignity.

 

I was intoxicated by Love.

 

But then, how long could I do this? I grabbed her arm as she got up to get me more tea, “Give me one good reason why our relationship needs to be only platonic.”

 

She set down the kettle with a bang on the table and glared at me. “A good reason? Is it good enough for you to be told that this girl does not want courtship? She does not want anyone to pine for her. She is more than happy to occupy a corner of your mind and be happy for you, when you do find your true love. This girl wants you to have the best, and she knows that she’s not the one. She’ll break your heart one day, and leave to never come back…”

 

She looked at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “…and you’ll never ever forgive me.”

 

Her little body shook with huge, racking sobs as she wept uncontrollably. I hugged her tight, and tried to console her. I rubbed her hand, caressed her cheek, and wiped her tears away. “Why can’t you see that you are the one I need?” I whispered.

 

And then, I told her something that I had always kept a secret from her. I handed her a paper scroll. She gazed at it in silence for a few minutes, and then her tears came in a torrent.

 

Have I?

 

Have I told you?
If I sit still and ponder,
I can hear your voice,
whispering in my ear.

Have I told you?
Often, I have waited,
in anticipation, wanting,
to be close to you.

Have I told you?
The first time we talked,
I sat up all night,
playing the conversation over and over.

Have I told you?
There are times,
when I have ached for you,
and cried with emotion.

Have I told you?
Often, I dream of you,
I dream of reaching out,
and finding you.

Have I told you?
That I’d give up everything,
just to touch you once,
just to know you’re real.

Have I told you ever?
Do I still need to tell you,
that I love you?

 

I felt my own eyes grow moist, as she said through her tears, “You very well know the answer to that.”

 

Hiding my own tears, I asked her, “What do you reckon old Willy would’ve thought of this?”

 

She gave me another one of those million dollar smiles and said, “He’d have given you a standing ovation for sure!”