It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. The sky was a metallic gray, the clouds maturing for a torrential rain later in the evening. The wind blew calmly providing a peaceful break from an otherwise hectic day. Four o'clock – the best hour, he thought, to run errands. School busses were scarce and most people were still at work, twiddling their thumbs and watching the hands of the clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It would take a total of about twenty minutes for him to reach town. He was a man on a mission – and his mission was one of love. It was their anniversary, you see, and he was determined to do something special for his significant other. He wasn't rich, and neither was she, but they were happy. Happiness is easier to achieve when you're poor. You simply have nothing else to cling onto. He was a man, but he was hopelessly romantic. He held in his mind a mental movie of exactly how his night would go. Of course, he also knew nothing ever worked the way it was intended. Still, somehow, things always seemed to work out for the better.
A fine mist traveled in the air, the ash-colored, pothole-ridden pavement becoming damp and turning black. The road wound as if one were using a steering wheel to trace the curves of a snake, being careful to adhere tightly to the crevices of its spine. He was sure by the time he finished he would be soaked from top to bottom.
He parked at the end of the lot, near the outdoor section. He always parked there because the register in the back of the store was usually open for checkout. Easy in, easy out. He wondered if he was the only one to do that and decided he wasn't, but still felt proud of his genius. A swift walk inside, straight to the candy aisle first. He knew what he needed: a bag of chocolates and a dozen roses. He had a flower vase and a hand-written note with selected poetry already waiting in the car.
Flowers and chocolate - how could any woman resist?
He knew she had never received something quite like it from any of her former lovers. He knew he was different. He felt it inside, from the heart. That was enough to make it different. It was enough to set him apart and show his affection toward her.
Chocolate - the silky, always smooth texture that melts slowly on your tongue. Sweet and delicate, an indulgence humans have come to know all too well. But not just any chocolate would do. Only caramel-filled Dove chocolate would do because inside the foil wrapper of each one a short "promise" message was printed. There were dozens of messages: some about friendship or life, anecdotes about happiness or little inspirations.
He was looking for one such message in particular and he bought an entire bag in hopes of finding that foil wrapper – and then not tearing it in half by accident like he had done before. She had seen the message before, but this would be a definite surprise. He had planned it this way and was intent on making sure it happened. He was pressed for time. He grabbed the bag of chocolates and headed to the flower stand.
The roses were half wilted, sold in tens rather than dozens, but were reasonably priced. His plan changed, he had to improvise. Instead of an entire dozen, he would leave a single rose. Thus he began looking at each one, inspecting the petals to make sure they were open just enough.
He called a friend who was keeping tabs on her for him. She was still not at home – perfect. He purchased the roses and the chocolate, went out the back entrance to the parking lot and started his car. It was going to storm soon—he had to hurry before she got there so there would be no trace of his visit.
It began raining in town so he opted to stay on the back roads instead of racing against time on the interstate. The stoplights were not kind to him. He glanced over at the passenger seat – the bag of chocolates poking out from the plastic shopping bag. He ripped it open and pulled out two chocolates.
The first one he opened carefully, diligently. If he found one, he needed to make sure it was opened perfectly and then resealed so she would never know the difference. It wasn't that he didn't believe in fate, but sometimes even fate needs a guided push by the individual. He read the message inside:
"Take a deep breath," he read the message aloud. The car behind him started honking their horn. The light had turned green and he needed to be moving before the weather got worse. He took a deep breath, inhaled it, and cherished the taste of the chocolate. It was a moment of bliss in a panicked state. He had to get home, go through forty chocolates hoping he got the one foil wrapper he was looking for, and then have the manual dexterity to not rip it in half.
Another red light.
He opened the second chocolate and, remembering what the last message had said, took a deep breath.
True love is a bond that lasts forever.
Amazed and bewildered, he couldn't believe he had found the wrapper so easily. It wasn't the first one, but it wasn't a disappointment, either. He was thrilled for the wrapper, or rather the message, held sentimental value to the both of them. It made him think of the first time he had seen the message. It was a wrapper, just like the one he now held, which she had found one afternoon while he was at work. She took a picture with her phone and sent it to him. The picture was blurry and grainy, but the message came across clear.
He was there now. He pulled into the driveway and made his way inside with his bag of goodies. The second phase of his plan was to get the vase, get the note, and leave them where she would find them. It was the perfect setup. He made the bed and pulled the sheets back on her side. It was a quarter after five and she would be home at any minute. He had to hurry.
He pruned the roses in the kitchen, picked the best one, and placed it on top of the envelope next to the chocolate. On the front of the folded note, he left directions for her:
Open me.
And all he had to do was take a deep breath.
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