Lovisa: A Sweet Sappy “Philosophical”- Tender Novella

By J. Kirby Smith

This novella, which may seem but a too-flowery romance to some, tries to go deeply into something far more. It has two people who arent in love with one another in some conditional or even sadomasochistic way as is so often the case. Rather, they have a total empathic love that is supportive, thoughtful, tender, and vastsomething so unique today, if not, indeed, nonexistent in this world we live in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524671747

J. Kirby Smith

J. Kirby Smith was born in Waterloo, IA in 1948 and now lives in Des Moines with his wife, Cheryl. He worked at many blue collar jobs before retiring in late 2015 and attended U.N.I. College in the 1970’s. He loves playing cards for diversion and escapism and still has to have that occasional glass of wine. One motive for writing this novella, he says, is having to live in a world where people stampede one another while constantly texting and, yet, never bother to speak in complete sentences or have any type of meaningful, thoughtful, vis-a-vis conversation. It irks him so badly, having to continuously suffer vacuous impersonal terms like, later, I’m like, you know what I’m sayin’, or, “have a good one”, in public; he’d almost rather stay home! This is why he finds “Lovisa” and “Derrick” so refreshing, by way of comparison, and exhilarating!

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© 2017 J. Kirby Smith. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/21/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7175-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7174-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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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.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Lovisa, A Sweet Sappy Philosophical- Tender Novella

Prologue

A lright, yes, although I’m happy with a lot o’ my little labor of love, here, I also know that there are some stretches of it that may be considered too cloyingly saccharine sweet and even repetitious, at times, to many pragmatic people; this is obvious.

Yet, my partial excuse is that two people who truly get one another, instantaneously, while being deeply in love, would ideally interact this way in a more perfect world, and to me, that is wonderful. This is why they were depicted in this manner and I am in love with these characters, as such, because the fantasy stirs me deeply of a much better universe where people constantly express admiration for one another!

Movies often depict two people as at one another’s throats before they fall in love which is okay. It’s way more wondrous, though, I feel, the concept of them getting one another, very soon, and building their lives on that! Now, for a more dramatic take on this from a less than brilliant writer who is writing his last less than perfect book but believes, very deeply, in the idealism of it!

Is happiness, and indeed, life itself, a mere random assortment of happenings, contingent upon nothing more than winning or losing, success or failure, glamour or non-glamour - being popular or not? Or is there something more?

This novella, which may seem but a too flowery romance to some, tries to go deeply into something far more. Two people who aren’t but in love with one another in some conditional or even sado masochistic way as is so often the case. Rather, they have a total empathic love; supportive, thoughtful, tender, vast; something so unique, today, if not, indeed, non-existent in this world we live in. Two expressive and, yet, quietly introspective, incredibly understanding people, who, with exquisitely timed thoughts and silences, truly see and acknowledge all the large and subtle integrity in one another and vividly and with lusty abandon help build on this, increasing one another’s esteem and well being, constantly, along those lines, while sharing so much, whether or not the other is going good or bad because they see it’s all incidental to these positive qualities of the other person. And they have the courage and emotional stamina to lift one another with articulate passion, continually, with always the right words of wisdom and insight for the other if even he or she is in a down cycle. They haven’t merely fallen in love–- but have grown into it very, very profoundly with wisdom and humor as well as passion and imagination, while being very fair minded with everyone.

And they are not the least afraid to express and listen to one another with other worldly detail and concern; the pain they have experienced from people, past and present, because of having utmost faith and belief in their bond through incredible empathy and affinity, if you will.

Nor are they at all timid in voicing their many well thought out opinions and philosophies on life and much of this is about deep philosophical feelings, soulfully uttered, while very positively and consistently acknowledging someone who is worthy of it. What makes life, as I see it, worth living.

Their romance expresses how life should be, in an idealistic sense, to this writer, but so seldom, if ever, is, and so seldom, if ever, even comes close.

YOUR ONE TRUE LOVE

The eternal night seems not eternal

And all the many flowers of the forests

That are piquant now all seem converged on you

While snuggled on the heaven of her breasts

(Your spirit rests)

All the struggles of your heart are lessened

Eternity is now to grasp and hold

You are not a nameless fragment with no end

Your future has a purpose to unfold

(You feel bold)

You are centered and your organized now

All meaning has been given to your life

And the phobias that plague have run afoul

Those murky thoughts that cut you like a knife

(And worsened strife)

For her penetrating mind is grasping yours

And just to know that someone understands

It’s like walking miles, peaceful, on the shore

Or one but not alone through many lands

(You’re in her hands)

Even if your life should pass tomorrow

It troubles not, you know you’re understood

Yes, your mind’s been known; this eases any sorrow

For her you’d block a bullet if you could

(Oh yes, you would)

Yes, she understands your mind and likes it!

With understanding empathy so keen

But there’s something even better (quite a bit)

It’s the tenderness and love that you have seen

(So like a dream)

For the stuff within her heart is greater

Than even all her empathy you’ve known

It’s a breathless thing inside so deep and tender

It’s the little girl side of her she’s shown

(You’re not alone)

LOVISA

Chapter 1

M oonlight serenaded the limber, albeit forlorn form of one, Derrick Andrew Lake, that fogbound August night of the year 1969. He of the svelte though muscular personage and well developed sense of proportion and humor; Derrick Lake had, yet, a touching quality of melancholia and sense of irony that, at times, permeated the whole of his psyche.

Lake!

Langley….

Lake, look at you. You still grievin’ over that dumb broad, left ya high tide-that stupid dear John letter she wrote you when you was a serviceman. Man, you better get out and start lookin’, again. For Christ sakes, what’s the matter with ya? A man, foreman no less, just gettin’ outta work, Friday night, what’s he do? Go home and pout. Come on Lake, let’s go sky it up; have a high time, baby.

The factory whistle blew; a shrill, high pitched, unpleasant sound that accentuated the icy night, much too cold for late August. There were no clouds. The faint stars seemed to echo every sound in stark clarity from the vast darkness above the two men.

Appreciate the offer, Lester, but it still does hurt and I’m so cynical about women of late. I’ll get it together, after a time. Give me one more month. How ‘bout it?

You ‘ol fool! Derrick, I don’t understand you at all but, okay, if you don’t wanna be my drinkin’ buddy no more, how ‘bout goin’ to the damn ballgame with me, next Tuesday, free night! But I’ll buy ya enough beer to make the attendants happy and maybe even drown your damn misguided sorrows!

Les, it’s like this. I know you’re tired of my complaints. But this situation was way different than with any other woman. Between the two of us, she was the first to actually talk of being in love, that she absolutely could not live without me. I absorbed that. I felt it and fell far too hard, damn hard. Then, in an unbelievably inexplicable way, she wrote that utterly callous letter and I crashed. When I confronted her with the thoughtless insanity of it all, she got angry with me." I had to quickly and forever remove myself from her because I was so blinded by pain; I was afraid of the person you see standing in front of you, Les.

Since this ugliness, I still keep thinking of all the intimate times we had together and that she very much seemed to be in to me as much or more than I was in to her. I’m even haunted by the memory of all the scenarios around us when we were intimate.

I feel totally blind sided and I’m deeply deeply hurting. I don’t know if I can ever trust my feelings, again, I’m sorry. But I’ll go! I’ll even gladly buy the beer. But I’d like ya ta understand, Les, that though I am withdrawin’, temporarily, from women, I still do appreciate your friendship and I’m not foreclosin’ on that or puttin’ on the dog in all respects, only regardin’ women, for now. But if you can’t accept my little mourning period or the fact that it’s no reflection on you; I’m gonna get agitated. And, you don’t hafta patronize me with drinks to get me to come, for cryin’ out loud. I’m still gonna gratefully hold up my end in regard to us because I dig our goddamn friendship irrespective of anything else. And, if you don’t understand that, Les, you can take a lovely little walk-off the dock."

Wow, okay already! What a lecture, man. I know where you’re at, Lake. But suppose I tell you I’m buying the drinks, anyhow, ‘cause I want to, good buddy. Don’t think I’m patronizing.

Aw, sorry Lester. Take me out to the ballgame, Tuesday….

Chapter 2

H is dream was a fever dream, a fervid melancholia of sweat soaked subconsciousness, it battered his senses, swathing him in uncut emotion. He thought himself floating, in his minds eye, yet, it was the physical motion of crawling that seemed to float and sustain his spirit barely above a wind swept desert against his inconsolable will; unable to cease the motion of his dream form though his dream senses cried out to halt the unremitting movement of his psyche because of some shadowy, shrieking foreboding.

There, in the immediate foreground of his dream scape, loomed a tower. His dream instincts told him a woman dwelt within, mysterious and alone, and waiting, waiting for him. Of a sudden he became paralyzed with an unaccountable and astonishing fear. The tower door loomed in front of him. A woman vaguely appeared from a window high in the tower, gurgling with laughter. The gurgle of her laughter seemed to produce many rivulets of water, narrow streams that flowed straight and true down the tower walls.

A thought, a dream sensation.

These are my bodily fluids, I somehow know, but what bodily fluids?

Imperceptibly almost, the woman’s form shimmered away and totally vanished from the tower window. A horrible feeling swept over his dream consciousness. He could smell, very starkly, the warm saltiness of the still vivid rivulets of water that now began to cascade in tremulous sheets, tremendously, from the tower, filling the sand all about him. It was his own tears! The revelation scalded upon his senses. The cascading tears became a sickeningly warm and morose stench, nearly gagging his subconscious.

A sound, voices; a sound like the interwoven murmers of angel voices whining in a very melancholy and haunting melody upon the wind. Now, the voices became like the rush of a loud wind in a clamor upon his oppressed and tortured senses as he, yet, imbibed the eerie fragrance of his tears.

And in his dream, the heart within him began to ache, a heavy, pulverizing, riveting ache that gnawed at him and numbed him. He could barely breathe, it hurt so bad as he awoke,