When You Care Enough
John Olson

I discretely studied the man fidgeting nearby.  He paid me no heed while I pretended to read the greeting card I held.  His age looked to be early twenties, as I had been some decades ago, and he still bore the hard, wiry slimness of youth.  The shade of his hair and goatee also reflected his youth in their unrelieved darkness where I showed flecks and streaks of gray.  He dressed down in baggy California casual whereas I, having just come from court, wore one of my good suits, today it was Armani.  It seemed that our only commonality, other than gender, was to have chosen the same card shop filled with the quiet soft aromas of scented candles and tons of paper stock.

He tentatively reached for another card, pulling it halfway out of its slot to read the hook, before making a face and pushing it into oblivion.  His hands belonged to someone who worked outdoors, but didn't look sufficiently toughened and scarred as to suggest he did so exclusively.  He picked the card's neighbor and flipped it open to read the sentiment.  Giving a sigh, he rejected it as well and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he scanned the display of Valentine's Day cards.

I don't know how long he had been searching the rack, but he was already looking when I arrived and  I began to wonder if he'd still be there, gripped by indecision, by the time I was ready to leave.  For no reason that likelihood irked me and I felt an urge to do something about it.  My friends say I can't help myself, they call this my pro bono instinct and when I get like this I offer help whether or not it's been requested.

I closed the card I had been considering and looked over with a smile, "Not easy is it?"

He glanced at me with a touch of impatience in his eyes which showed in his voice as irritation.  "Man, you have no idea."

"Oh, come on, give me a little credit.  Maybe I do," I said tapping the card in my hand against my graying head.

He laughed and I saw him relax a little.  I gave a low chuckle and pressed on.

"Who's it for?  Wife?  Fiancée?  Girlfriend?  Grandmother??"

Again he laughed, unwinding a little more, "No, just my girlfriend."

'Just' his girlfriend.  "Hmm.. from your mood I take she's not a new girlfriend?  I mean, if that were the case, you'd grab the first hot and intense card you saw and be out of here."

He gave me a hard gaze, seeing me for the first time, and took my measure.  His eyes narrowed before he replied, "Man, what's it to you?  I don't need some suit busting my chops for fun on his lunch break."

I took a half step back, just enough to show some deference, but not flight.  "Look, don't misunderstand, I'm not trying to intrude.  It just seems to me that we're both making the same decision but you're a little stuck.  I thought talking it through might help."

He hesitated.  "With you?  I don't even know you and you sure as hell don't know anything about me."

I spread open my hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"That's exactly why.  You don't know me and there's safety in being unknown.  How can you possibly be embarrassed or worried about what you say?  You could tell me she's the best sex you've ever had or she's got the emptiest head and you know I can't judge your words against reality, I can't be tempted or offended.  I don't know her and I don't know you.  We're just two guys talking, and you won't see me again.  This gives you the freedom to say anything and walk away from it."

He considered my words and nodded in comprehension and acceptance of our nonexistent relationship.  Having made that decision, he made another.  His lips squeezed together a bit before he shrugged and answered.  "We've been seeing each other for a couple of years.  And it's not like we have problems, we're doing ok."

"So, what's the problem?  You should know her tastes by now."

"It's not like I don't know what she likes.  I do.  Boy, do I.  But... Valentine's Day... I mean... it's gotta say something from the inside, you know?"

"Yes, I do.  You're right.  This isn't one of the canned card occasions like a birthday or wedding or even Christmas when everyone gets a dozen cards or so.  We all know what those cards are supposed to be like - 'hooray and have a happy' or 'congratulations' or whatever.  This card is special and most of us only get one.  It is supposed to describe how you feel about the person who gets and the relationship.  Unless you're willing to lie, but that's a description too, isn't it?"

He nodded as I spoke, his eyes intent and his agreement rushed out.

"Dude, that's it exactly.  Exactly it.  The card has to fit, y'know?"

"But I still don't see your dilemma.  There are plenty of cards here, surely one of them describes your feelings."

Discomfort stole across his face and he let out a long protracted breath,  "Noooo, it's not that easy."

I laughed, "Hey, now that sounds familiar!"

He didn't return my laugh.

"Man, after two years... it's like.. I dunno, something's missing.  It's not like it was..."

It was my turn to nod.  "What?  As if something leaked out and you just noticed?"

"Pretty much.  Like, we're the same, but it's different.  They got a card for that kind of feeling?"

I could see that he was a decent guy, trying to be honest with his girl, but also skirting the real issue to avoid an argument or worse.  That time might come, but not on this day of lovers.  It would be resolved elsewhere so I stayed with the issue at hand.

"Ahhh, I see.  What you really want is a generic card to get you off the hook, but without committing yourself to some kind of emotional fib.  Something that says "I got you this card because I'm expected to, so enjoy it for what it is, not some kind of promise."

He shuffled his feet and gave a short jerked nod of his head.

I shook my head.  "Brother, I think you're out of luck.  They don't make them like that."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

We stood for a second or two, each pondering.  I broke the silence.  "You don't have to give her a card."

"Are you nuts?  Not give her a Valentine's Day card?  I can think of easier ways of committing suicide."

"Hear me out.  Normally I'd agree with you, the absence of a card is a most grievous sin on Valentine's Day, even if you remember the flowers.  However, if you gave a gift the missing card may not be noticed.  Or, if it is, you can just say you were so excited about the present, the card completely slipped your mind."

He looked dubious.  "I don't know, man."  He frowned.  "Like, what kind of present?"

"Well, once again, this isn't your typical occasion.  The gift has to be something personal, not practical.  Don't even think about bringing home a vacuum cleaner or VCR, no matter how much she complained about the old one."  I tapped my card on my chest, thinking. "No, this is calls  for something basically useless, but pretty.  Something whose whole function is to deliver a message: that you care.  It will remind her of you each time she sees it."

"Sooo.. clothes?  Perfume?"

"No, clothes are too practical unless you know she likes the kinds of things that scream to be taken off, and perfume disappears with time."  I paused, remembering his apparent income bracket, changed my words in the split second and waved at the various statues and knick-knacks surrounding us in the card shop.  "One of these might do, if you choose wisely.  She's probably young enough that 'cute' carries a lot of weight."

He smiled, "Yeah.. and skip the card...  that's perfect.  Yeah, that'll work!"

He looked around at the offerings of the store and shook his head.  "Not this stuff, though.  I know just where to go.  She'll love it."

He thrust his hand out to me, " Thanks, man, I appreciate it."

We clasped hands, mine office soft and his hard-won rough, and pumped once in a short, respectful handshake.

"I hope I helped.  I wish you both the best of luck."

With a final nod, he turned on his heel and was through the door.  I grinned at his retreating back and turned to face the display of cards.  I glanced again at the card I had been holding and slipped it back into its slot under the section marked "WIFE."  Maybe I'd have better luck in a different shop.  I still had a few hours left before dinner.  I walked into the sunshine, only to hear a woman's voice following me.

"Sir!  Sir!"

I faced her, my eyebrows raised in unspoken query. Her plump outstretched hand and knowing smile met me.

"You left this by the rack, sir."

I took the small blue Tiffany's bag and smiled back at her, "Thank you  I would hate to go home tonight empty handed."