Short Stories for Romantics

By Andrew J. Salat

The famous songwriter Cole Porter once asked, What Is This Thing Called Love? His question caused author Andrew J. Salat to wonder: is the condition physical, spiritual, or, as some cynics might describe, a temporary madness of the heart?

Salat believes Mr. Porters question is answered quite well in Short Stories for Romantics. The story High Heels is a haunting tale of love found and lost, told to him by an interesting airline passenger. Adriennes Room takes the reader on an unforgettable roller-coaster ride. For a more spiritual journey, High Level Meeting seeks to bring on second thoughts about the way we live our lives.

These sixteen stories take the reader on an imaginary sojourn we all must take in order to experience true love in our lives.

Mr. Salat is a gifted storyteller with imagination and eloquent style. His stories had me turning pages to the very last. Beverly DeGeorge, literary consultant

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jun 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781489701183

Andrew J. Salat

Andrew J. Salat was born in a two hundred year old oak-log home in a little country of Slovakia. He was the eldest of four boys. He now resides in California with his wife in a wondeful house he himself built.

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Copyright © 2014 Andrew J. Salat.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0119-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0118-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013923051

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 10/30/2014

Contents

Love Defined

Star-struck!

In a Flower Field

Beloved Enemy

Pauline’s Cafe

Strawberry Hill

First Love

Solace in the Children’s Room

Conversation in the Park

High Heels

The Lonely Heart’s Club

High Level Meeting

The Human Factor

Reflections

Adrienne’s Room

Romance: 2220

The Awakening

Dedication

To Veronica Celko-Salat, a dear mother whose love for

Family inspired me to expand on the phenomenon called, Love.

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Love Defined

A s a highly intelligent species, humans are endowed with a sense of self that no other mammal possess. Naturally, mother’s love plays an important role in all species. But as we mature, we find the desire to be loved by the opposite sex is not only essential, but an integral part of our psyche. This fact has been proved by the many matchmaking firms that have sprung up all over Am erica.

The famous lyricist, Cole Porter says it quite well in his song, Night and Day, a hungry yearning inside of me. His best however, may be the line that forces us ask the question, What Is This Thing Called Love? Is the phenomenon physical, spiritual or as some cynics might describe, a temporary madness of the heart?

Biologist would have us believe that our pulse-quickening spells, the swooning, even the miss-wired cranium, are merely nature’s way to getting us to procreate. Interestingly, medical researchers, using MRI brain-scans of people romantically involved, showed increased activity in the Ventral Tegumental area, where dopamine (happiness substance) is produced. Some believe that, people in love not only experience a feeling of well-being, but sleep better, are blessed with enhanced creativity, and see themselves victorious in all of their undertaking.

Other studies show that a loving relationship not only promotes good health, but makes us immune to illness, slows the aging process, even increases life-spans.

This is not to say that those of us passed over by Love are less happy or live shorter lives. At first, the aftermath of lost Love, with its vivid flashbacks can be painful. After a while however, human pride kicks in, causing some of us to reach the pinnacle of success in our careers. In a strange twist of fate, we find that Love did play a role in improved self-awareness and positive changes which helped us achieve our goals.

Romantic Love does not condone class-discrimination. Royalty is hardly spared, since kingdoms have been won or lost over Love. Example: Napoleon and Josephine. Edward VIII, and Wallis Simpson. Neither does one have to be a creative genius to be smitten by Love. From the hardworking janitor, to the modern-day rocket scientist, Romantic Love knows no bounds.

Time we turn to spiritual counsel: From the Corinthians, 13;7, Love knows no limits to its endurance. No end to its trust. No fading of its Hope. It can outlast anything.

Our esteemed clergy tell us that Love is the single unifying force that separates humans from our mammalian cousins.

Another profound truism that makes us humans different: We are the only species who face each other in the act of procreation. If that isn’t astounding enough, should death separates us from the one we love, we continue loving them until we die—actually, forever if we believe in afterlife. The clincher on the Power of Love: How often do we read about couples who die within weeks of each other, after having enjoyed a lifetime of togetherness?

And lastly, what do the modern-day spiritual gurus say about Love? They define Love as a metaphysical occurrence that unites souls on a higher evolutionary plane. They too maintain that its power can make mind and body immune to sickness, cure disease, and even prevent death. Love, they say, is the single stabilizing human phenomenon in our universe.

Those of us who have been beguiled by Love choose to lean toward the poets and romantics of our world. We believe that Love is a mystic spell, cast by troublesome Angels, who enjoy watching our torment.

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Star-struck!

E ric Newly window-shopped from one end of the mall to the other with no idea what to get a friend for her birthday. A half-grin formed his handsome face as he passed a music store. Why am I fussing about a special gift, when all I ever got from Lisa was a classic CD album, or a book I haven’t had time to read?

About to give up, Eric paused by an antique shop, thinking, Lisa’s home is full of this kind of stuff. The last she probably needs, is an antique clock or a jewelry box.

Noting the proprietress motioned for him to come in, he entered the shop.

How are you, Mrs. Chambers?

I’m fine. You came all the way from Stanford to shop at our fair city?

Yes, and I’m about to give up on finding a birthday gift.

Maybe I can help. I must however, warn you that my first customers get discounts and always buy.

Am I your first? Thanks, but I’m already late for a luncheon meeting.

She ignored is excuse, and asked, A gift for a Miss or Mister?

For a girl, but we’re only friends.

Stella Chambers’ still youthful face turned serious. Young man, a platonic relationship between man and a woman usually outlasts any other kind.

Eric paused to examine the workings of a music box. You’re probably right, he said without looking, I’ve known Lisa since we were kids. Had we been intimate, I’m sure by now we’d want to forget each other.

Stella sadly shook her head. What is your first name?

Eric!

Well, Eric, good or bad, we women seldom forget an intimate relationship. But, to be friends with a man who respects us, is something we’d always cherish.

The direction of their talk to his liking, Eric reached for his cell-phone. Will you please excuse me while I make a call?

Please, do! Stella liked good manners in men more than looks. She saw Eric put away the phone and asked, A lady friend?

Yes! We go way back… Eric paused to point at a music box. Can I hear this one play?

His smoke-gray eyes widened, he exclaimed, One-hundred and seventy-five dollars?

And worth every cent. What you have there, is a Rosewood disk-playing music box. Here! Let me demonstrate?

Stella gave the crank a couple of turns, and smiled. When you hear this play, you’ll forget the price-tag.

Though intrigued by the mechanical movement, what fascinated Eric was the melody. Beautiful! What is the name of the song?

"I see you have a taste for classics. It’s a love song by Beethoven, called, Fur Elise."

But, I thought he stayed single.

Stella stopped the music to look him in the eye. Yes! A bachelor hopelessly in love. She paused to offer a side-wise glance. You say, Lisa is only a friend?

We’ve known each other since we were kids. Eric grinned to ad, Actually, Lisa has been like a kid-sister to me. Why do you ask?

I don’t want to lose this sale, but the world’s greatest composer wrote a haunting melody for a love never consummated. Would you want this for Lisa if she were your sweetheart?

Eric smiled coyly. Have you ever heard of a superstitious astrophysicist? Give me the discount you promised, and wrap it up.

Stella unrolled a piece of colorful wrapping paper, smiling, That’s right! You’re in astronomy. Is it true that your profession builds character, but is also humbling?

Yes, I’ve heard that said. Sometimes I even turn spiritual. But the humility I experience while scanning the heavens is the exhilarating kind.

The package wrapped, Stella stuck a pink bow on top. Her smile appeared genuine. Eric, you sound like your Dad, a guy I graduated with. I have to be honest and tell you that music boxes like this, usually come with many disks. Yours has only two.

What’s the name of the song on the other disk?

Waltz of the Vienna Woods, by Johan Straus.

He took the package. Nice wrapping job. How much?

Stella pressed several keys on the antique cash register. Soon, the noisy device spewed out a printed tape. With twenty-percent discount, comes to one-hundred-forty-four dollars and sixty-five cents, including tax.

Nearly sundown, yet Eric still hadn’t given Lisa her gift. Not because he didn’t want to part with the music box, but after he unwrapped it, and again heard the melody unfold, his perception of Lisa Grant changed dramatically . . .

He was twelve again, a time when he thought summer would never end, spending wonderful days at the beach where he and his older brother Robert surfed until sunset. Then one rainy day, everything changed, when a drunken driver ran down Ellen, their kid-sister.

If they thought the next three days were a bad dream, the day of the funeral turned out to be a nightmare for them. A girl they had taken for granted, one who always tagged along, was about to be lowered into a yawning grave, and there was nothing they could do to stop the process.

The funeral rites over, they were about to be ushered into the family limo when the neighbors down the street stopped by. You have our heartfelt sympathy, Eric recalled Mrs. Grant saying, Your Ellen and our Lisa were best friends… She paused to look down on a scrawny girl. Lisa, will you tell Mr. and Mrs. Newly what you told us?

The nine-year-old’s emotions high, she stammered, I… I really liked Ellen… I hope you won’t mind if I visit her doll-house where we used to play.

Of course you can, said Dad.

Devastated by his sister’s death, Eric thought the girl was too pushy. Her tearful face however, caused Robert to speak up, It’s OK, he said, As long a you don’t hit us with all the questions our sister used to ask. That… would be hard to take

Eric recalled the tragic smiles on both parents’ faces as they parted. Oddly, for the first time in his life, he felt an emptiness, which stayed, and stayed.

Nothing seemed the same or them after Ellen’s death. How could it be when the sister they used to resent, no longer had to be escorted to her dancing class, nor scolded for wearing their favorite T-shirts. More than anything, they missed Ellen’s daring freckled smiles when told to behave herself.

Eric recalled how the passing days remained painful for him and Robert. Unable to get Ellen from their thoughts, a month later they raided their mother’s flower garden, and biked the three miles to the cemetery. While passing through the cemetery gate, neither was surprised to see Lisa on a bike coming toward them, and stopped to greet them.

Hi! Isn’t it a beautiful day to visit Ellen?

You’re kind of far from home, Robert said. Why don’t you come, and ride back with us?

Eric recalled how renewed grief filled them as they laid the flowers at Ellen’s headstone. After saying a silent prayer, Robert noticed the familiar irises, and asked, Are these yours, Lisa?

She paused to rearrange the blossoms. I’m sure Ellen won’t mind if I picked them in your yard. Mom’s garden has mostly daffodils, but the blooms were all gone.

They didn’t say much on the way back until Lisa stopped by their home. Eyes near tears, words seemed to come hard for her. I… I didn’t visit Ellen’s doll-house, because, you know? It… would hurt too much.

The usually indifferent Robert found his voice, It’s OK! he said. We understand!

Eric remembered that Dad must have felt the same, because, a few days later, he had the Salvation Army truck pick up the tragic reminder of his little girl, and haul the doll house away.

They didn’t see much of Lisa until Dad gave them permission to build a tree-house. He and Robert didn’t really mind their tomboy in the faded coveralls, except for her perpetual questions.

"Why are you putting the window on this side?

Because, Robert replied impatiently, This will give Eric a clear view of the North sky for his telescope… He paused with a hard look. Why don’t you climb down and get us more nails? Better yet, go practice on your cello!

With her baseball cap with a jaunty tilt, Lisa mumbled on descending the ladder, I practiced this morning. What a grouch . . .

Caught reminiscing about the old days, Eric changed the disk on the music box, and rewound the crank. His thoughts back on the past, what came to him as the Straus waltzes played, was his arrogance when Lisa asked about the roof-angle. Not sure of himself, he checked the plan his Dad had drawn, only to find she was right.

Compared to some girls I know, he humbly volunteered, you’re pretty sharp.

They were about to start on the roof, when Robert deserted them the minute his girlfriend showed up.

I promised Patty to go surfing. Can you two finish the roof?

Eric recalled how tough it was scampering up and down the ladder for the shingles. He saw Lisa’s eyes light up, and asked, What is it?

Why don’t we get a rope? You tie on the shingles and I’ll pull them up?

Annoyed by her brevity, he recalled muttering, I’m much stronger! Why don’t you stay below and I’ll haul them up.

Tired and hungry after the roof was done, they went to the house for peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches, washed down with glasses of cold milk.

Through eating, they climbed to the tree-house for a look at their project. Later on, embarrassed would hardly describe what Eric felt when Dad climbed up to check on their progress, only to find him asleep with Lisa snuggled in his arms.

Great job! Dad the diplomat remarked. You two must have worked without stopping.

As Eric pondered on that embarrassing moment, another came, one that occurred on a warm summer day. A time when most kids headed for the beach, while all he wanted was to work in the garage to grind a delicate curve into his telescope mirror.

He had just begun to use the finest grit, when Lisa overplaying her role of kid-sister, showed up.

Looks like fun, she said, Can I try walking around the barrel?

He stroked the mirror a couple more time, and wiping the sweat from his brow, noticed her diminutive size.

Takes muscle to polish mirrors, he said, And besides, you’re too short for this barrel. So, why don’t you go home and practice on your cello?

I’ve already practiced, she replied angrily, And I’m not short. Your silly mirror is set up too high.

Lisa was about to leave when Mother came in with cold drinks. What a pleasant surprise, Lisa. I was about offer Eric some Kool-Aid. Would you like a glass?

I would like that, but I’m not sure Eric wants me here.

Of course he does, Mom said, pouring another glass. That was some performance you gave Saturday night. Your parents must be so proud of their gifted Cellist. Why, during some passages, my husband and I thought you and your cello were one.

You mean inseparable, like Eric and his mirror? she asked making a face. Heaven forbid.

About to leave, Mother smiled at Lisa. My son is going through a phase. Last year, it was electronic experimenting. Now, telescope-making… She paused with another sweet smile. Don’t you give up on Eric. Someday, he’ll appreciate you artistry as a cellist, and find to his sorrow, someone beat him to you.

Eric paused to rewind the music box, wondering then what his Mother meant. Now he understood. A grin crossed his face on recalling the afternoon he prepared Dad’s pickup for a trip. As usual, Lisa stopped by to ask, Where are you going this late in the day?

To the desert to watch the meteor showers.

He remembered her green eyes light up. Can I come?

I… don’t think so. I’ve already invited Amy Sherman.

Lisa turned away sadly. Maybe, to get invited, I should start wearing skimpy shorts.

A glance at the scrawny teen reminded him of Ellen, a sister whose death still haunted him. OK! Maybe we can squeeze you in the front seat, he said, But bring your own stuff.

He recalled how Lisa turning her long brown hair flew to kiss her eager face. What kind of stuff? she asked.

You know? Water, food and wide-angled binoculars if you have them.

Eric never forgot how the high desert enhanced the viewing of the Milky Way, especially the breath-taking sight of meteors streaking across the sky.

Look, there! shouted a delighted Amy. I just saw two at the same time.

Awestruck though they were, youthful hunger pangs caused them to take a break from their viewing. Barely finished with their snacks, he caught Lisa with binoculars pointed to the North star.

See anything interesting?

Yea! she said nonchalantly, A double star.

Amy had enough. Our little Miss know-it-all makes a discovery.

Not a double star, Lisa, he recalled correcting her. What you probably see, is Polaris and its twin. The two stars are a whole degree apart.

Lisa offered the binoculars. Look for yourself!

Taking the instrument, Eric pointed to the polar star. His heart skipped a beat on seeing a feint glow of another object nearly touching the Polaris-twin.

Heart racing, he said, Can’t tell with low-power binoculars. When we get home, I’ll check it out with my big scope.

Home before midnight, Eric couldn’t wait to roll out his eight-inch Cassegrainian. Minutes later he found the faint object had a tail, and was suddenly faced with quandary: Should he call in his discovery, or wait until tomorrow night to confirm his findings? So sure was he of himself, he chanced it and placed a call to Stanford University.

A few days later, an astronomy director confirmed the finding of what he named, "Comet Newly’.

Eric would never forget the day the headlines in the local paper made his parents proud and his head spin: Eric Newly, Local High School Senior Discovers Comet.

Eric stopped the music box with a discerning look. Not long after that, three universities offered him scholarships. The trouble was, he earned a scholarship for a discovery he should have rightly shared with Lisa. Had it not been for her youthful curiosity, someone else would have surely seen the comet and claimed the discovery.

Loathing himself for what he did, Eric went to part the curtain to gaze at the giant maple tree. How dishonest and insensitive he must have appeared to Lisa, he thought, and yet, at a party thrown in his honor, he recalled, she had turned out to be his biggest booster.

What came to Eric as he pondered his missing tree-house, was his second year at Stanford—the day he received a letter from his Mother.

Dear Eric;—it read, We didn’t realize when your Dad and I married, that our anniversary would fall in the middle of the school semester. Since it has, would you and Robert please find a way to come home and help us celebrate our twenty-fifth.

Love, Mom and Dad.

Eric remembered he wasn’t home twenty minutes when the phone rang, and he heard Lisa’s bubbly voice, Isn’t it great your parents anniversary falls on a day before my birthday? What do you think I should wear?

I didn’t know kids were invited, he recalled teasing.

What do you mean, kids! I’ll be sixteen this Sunday.

Impatient with her, he blurted, Lisa, I have no idea what you should wear. Why don’t you ask your mother?

First a pause, then Lisa let him have it: For a supposedly big brother, you’re not very nice.

Sorry! Guess I’m tired after a long drive. Tell you what? Why don’t you surprise us.

And surprised he was when Lisa showed up in a low cut gown, looking like a teen fashion-model. Odd, how he shied away from her that night. He was hardly surprised when the girl he tried to avoid, caught up with him on the patio, voice gushing, There you are! How do you like my new dress?

Not bad! I hardly recognized you.

Astronomers are like that, she said, sadly. Instead of wearing a strapless gown, to get your attention,. I should have had a star named after me.

Even knowing she was only teasing, he flinched at her remark. A second look at her youthful face said much: Except for the freckles barely hidden with make up, Lisa had grown, but not enough to consume alcoholic drinks. He dared to take away her glass. Spiked punch is not for minors.

Is that what I had? For shame… Lisa paused to give him another come-on look. And speaking of shame, why haven’t you invited your shameless old flame? Knowing Amy, she’d be here in her skimpy gown, showing off her bare midriff.

Amy is cramming for midterm exams, he remembered saying. Turning serious, he then added, Sorry I forgot your birthday. Robert and I have been busy trying to make this a memorable day for our parents.

Yes, I’ve noticed, she said, and smiling sweetly, added, I love you in an ivory tux. You look so debonair. The color actually matches my dress.

Sometimes, he said, grinning, we astronomers have eyes for Earthly entities.

Lisa hooked her arm with his. Come! This Earthling likes to dance.

Though his chatterbox danced well, she continued to talk, So, do you see Amy often, or are you too busy gazing at stars to see the ones in her eyes?

Never too busy to date, he replied smugly. What about you? Have you started going out, or are you too preoccupied with your cello recitals?

The look on Lisa’s face should have warned him. I don’t go out with kids. She then smiled sweetly to add, But I’d cancel my next recital in a flash for a date with you.

A long look at her demure face and he had to tease, Does your mother know what an incorrigible flirt you’ve become?

She does not! What my Mom does know, is her daughter can separate herself from her music… Lisa stopped to look him in the eye. Eric, be honest with me: Have you and Amy had… sex?

Shocked, he remembered shouting, None of your business. I hope you Dad never finds out how you talk to guys?

Looking apologetic, she pleaded, Please, don’t tell him? I don’t know what made me say that. Daddy thinks a lot of me.

Eric recalled changing the subject. I like your father too. Did he ever land that big grading contract with the city?

Daddy withdrew his bid. He said, he disliked dealing with committees who never seem to agree on anything.

I don’t blame him. Must be frustrating dealing with bureaucrats.

Though the music stopped, Lisa kept talking, Daddy wanted to throw a big bash for their Silver Wedding Anniversary, but Mom refused!

That’s unusual. Mine insisted on having this one.

I thought so too, and asked Daddy why. You won’t believe the reason… Lisa stopped. I forgot! He swore me to secrecy.

Seeing her impish look, he shook a finger. You’re doing it again, Lisa. What did I tell you about keeping me hanging?

You promise not to tell a soul.

I promise!

Lisa went on her toes to whisper, While Mom attended her Twentieth Class Reunion, she found out that Daddy named me after Lisa Anderson, his high school crush. Mom still hasn’t forgiven him.

You’re kidding, aren’t you?

Cross my heart and hope to die.

The music began, giving Lisa the momentum to quickly kiss him. How’s that for keeping you hanging?

Somewhat stunned, he asked, What was that for?

Since you won’t come to my party, that was my sweet-sixteen kiss.

Nice girl shouldn’t go around kissing guys.

You’re not just any guy. Lisa hooked an arm with his and led him to the garden. We’ve known each other since I was in fourth grade. She paused with a stern look. You know, you’re still doing it.

Doing what?

Bossing me around. Lisa glanced up at the large maple tree, and remarked,. When I pass by your home, my heart skips a beat to see the tree-house we built, is no longer there.

Yes! I miss it too Eric recalled how Lisa’s eyes looked more beautiful in the moonlight, especially when they crinkled into a smile. Her mouth forming words didn’t surprise him. I suppose my being younger, you saw me as a perpetual pest who always hung around?

He was about to agree, when from behind, Lisa’s mother’s voice interrupted, We wondered what had happened to you two.

That was five years ago. This time, mother’s invitation read differently: "After all the parties I threw for you boys, it is time you gave us one for our Thirtieth Anniversary."

Though this time, Eric remembered to buy Lisa’s birthday gift, he put off giving it to her. Mesmerized by the haunting melody, he stopped the music and went to gaze out the window. Why is it I can easily calculate the trajectory of a comet within a fraction of a degree, but am too blind to see that a girl I’ve known as a nuisance, has now grown into a dazzling young woman?

Like good sons, Eric and Robert first ordered the formal invitations printed for their parents big day, then made the necessary arrangements with caterers.

The day before the party, a nagging question kept creeping into the back of Eric’s mind: He’s been home for days, yet Lisa hasn’t called. Maybe it’s time to quit playing with her gift and go visit her.

The music box carefully wrapped, Eric reattached the large pink bow. Pleased with the results, he put on a sweater and decided to walk the two blocks to Lisa’s home.

Where are you going? his mother asked before he got to the door.

Be right back as soon as I deliver Lisa’s gift.

She smiled sweetly. I see, you’re not going to tell me what’s inside?

An antique music box. I’d show it to you, but it’s hard to wrap again.

Nancy Newly looked curiously at her grownup whiz-kid. That’s a large package for a music box, she said… Lisa usually calls when you come home. You two haven’t had a fight?

Mother, what are you a cop… Eric covered up with a broad grin, and saluted. Inspector, Newly, I promise to make out a report as soon as I get back.

The puzzled mother watched her youngest nearly run to see a girl he had known a lifetime. A question came up, clouding her comely face. Why can’t he be like Robert, she whispered, More lighthearted, less moody.

Nancy closed the drapes, smiling at a new thought. I wonder how a young Albert Einstein made out with girls?

Eric nearly ran up the steps of the Grants house, and knocked on the door. Response lacking, he was about knock again when it opened. Hi, Mrs. Grant. Is Lisa home?

You just missed her. Is that a wedding gift? she asked, surprised. But, we only sent out the invitation this morning.

Wedding… invitations? The words tumbled from his mouth.

She took the package. Yes! You should get yours tomorrow. She smiled and added, What a lovely coincidence? A week after your parent’s party, we’re also having one. Lisa went to get fitted for her wedding gown.

Mouth agape, Eric found his voice. I… suppose you will be too busy with… wedding preparations to attend our affair.

And, miss your folk’s thirtieth anniversary? Eric! With today’s divorce rate, never! Thank you, for the gift. I’ll put this away for Lisa and John.

John, who? he asked, with a blank stare.

Why, John Mansfield. You know? The Mansfield Pharmacy?

Groping for words, he stammered, Please… tell Lisa, I wish her and John… all the luck in the world.

You’re not coming to the wedding? But, Eric, you’ve known each other since you were kids.

About to leave, Eric dared to face her with a lie. I… I promised the project director I’d return as soon as possible. Goodbye, Mrs. Grant.

Thoughts in disarray, Eric wanted to get as far away from Lisa’s home as possible. Yes, being isolated on a mountain has caused me to forget the need to be loved is not only essential, but something built into the human psyche? And, no! I can’t blame Lisa for my stupidity . . .

Car-brakes squealed as the driver narrowly missed a dazed Eric. It will take a while," his thoughts ran on, for the neuron-paths of a science-whiz, living on the fringe of reality to realign enough to function properly.

About to enter his home, the ache in Eric’s heart unbearable, he didn’t want to see anyone. Heading to the rear of the house, he flopped on a patio lounge, eyes smarting. Barely able to make out the giant maple tree, his thoughts ran on. Yes, a tree that will forever connect me to Lisa. But, how can I blame her, when I seldom answered her letters—ones that would reflect her innermost thoughts—some funny, others nearly hilarious. Scribbled notes which not only connected me with the outside world, but reminded me of the carefree days of our youth. Absorbed in my research—actually too blind to recognize love—I’ve lost the only girl I ever cared about.

Eric stopped musing to look down on his hands. Was Mrs. Chambers right about the music box melody about lost love being unlucky? She couldn’t possibly be; superstition, I was taught, defies logic.

The anniversary party Eric and Robert held for their folks went surprisingly well. How could it miss with a live orchestra playing, while red-vested caterers served exotic foods to the guests.

All seemed to go smoothly for Eric until Lisa’s parents showed up. The couple appeared cordial enough. Their daughter however, the girl he grew up with, he hardly recognized. If before he saw Lisa as a pesky teen, his perception of her has made a hundred-eighty-degree turn. Was it her snug flapper-style dress, accentuating her shapely figure that had him spellbound? Or the layers upon layers of stranded white beads that jiggled with each move she made?

Eric grinned ironically on seeing what completed Lisa’s costume: The little gold scull-cap she wore, reminded him of the Roaring Twenties.

Devastated by her upcoming marriage, Eric paused to refill his champagne glass, and again glanced in Lisa’s direction. One thing for sure, tonight she is the most desirable woman I‘ve ever seen, and the only one who could get away with wearing such an outfit.

Half way through the party, Eric regretted losing his toss of a coin to see who’d act as the master of ceremonies. Shoulders back, he nodded to the musicians and bravely took the microphone.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? His voice booming, he lowered it. To honor our wonderful parents, my brother Robert and I, decided to have all of you join us in a sing-along. You will find the printed lyrics on the library table.

Eric paused to nod to older brother. Robert, will you please bring Mom and Dad to where everyone can see them?

Robert obediently hooked an arm with both parents and brought them to the center of the room. Is this OK, Boss?

Yes! Thank you! Looking pleased, Eric began his spiel, "Honored guests, the song we first came up with was, Silver Thread Among the Gold. We however, realized that Dad would disown us, and quickly changed our minds."

Eric waited for the laughter to stop. For the sake of our dear Mother, we also decided against a song called, The Old Gray Mare.’"

More laughter and applause from the guests. Eric saw his Mom wag her finger at him. Smiling back, he turned to the audience. "You will find the lyrics to three songs: The first, Meet me in St Louis, Louis, is where our Mom met Dad. "My Wild Irish Rose’ reflects Mothers ancestry. Robert and I chose, "You are my Sunshine’ a song we sang on our many cross-country trips to visit our grandparents."

As the orchestra struck up the first song, the brothers were