Best Possible Valentine's Day Gift

Admittedly, I was rather late getting into the "dating game." It was just after Christmas Break of my senior year of high school when I had finally fallen in love with someone – a tall, glamorous beauty with a silky voice, eyes as deep as the oceans, and skin as white as virgin snow: Claire Mangelson.

Suddenly, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I would need to buy a present for a girl who was not a blood relative I had known for years. The scary thing was that I had no idea what to get for Claire, and only one week to try to find something suitable.

Naturally, I went to my twin brother first, "the ever-flowing fountain of advice" as I tended to call him. "What do you get for a girl for Valentine's Day when she already seems to have everything?" I asked him that night as we drove home from his basketball game. "What would be the perfect Valentine's Day gift for a girl like that?"

"For Claire? I don't know... Whenever I see her, she's on the cell phone or blaring music from her Eclipse or decked out in gobs of sparkling jewelry... She's always got a lot of people paying her attention and usually has you on her arm."

"I know all that! But what should I get for her for Valentine's Day? It's only a week away!"

"Well, you've been to her house several times. What did younotsee there that you think she should have?"

That quieted me for a while as I wracked my brain. I knew that she had plenty of perfume and body wash and shampoo and anything else scent-related. I knew that she had enough music and films on CD and DVD and even on Blu-Ray to open up her own store if she chose to sell it all. She collected dolls, but she already had so many that one more would not likely mean anything to her. Her favorite color was pink, the stereotypical girly color, but she had so much in pink already – clothes, accessories, even her car's exteriorandinterior – that buying something pink for her would simply sicken me. Item after item came to mind, and was rejected for one reason or another, and by the time my brother and I arrived at the house, I was feeling rather dejected.

Thursday night, as we were preparing for jazz band rehearsal, I went over to Todd and pulled him aside, briefly outlining the situation. "What about taking her out to dinner?" he suggested. "As they say, 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' Perhaps that works for girls as well."

Clearly, Todd was no help, and I simply walked away.

When Aunt Shirley called Friday night about her trip to see us the following weekend, I asked for her opinion. After all, having been divorced three times and currently engaged to someone else, plus who knows how many boyfriends who never bothered to propose, she would have been courted by so many guys that she would certainly have an idea or two that I could use.

"I've had guys try to wow me with their muscles, their wit, their charm, and plenty of other things as well," she replied, "but none of that really mattered to me. They tried to buy me jewelry, lingerie, flowers, scented things, girly things, but none of that really mattered at all... especially not the lingerie!"

She had a point about the lingerie, but Aunt Shirley really was not much help.

Saturday afternoon, I went to two area malls, trying to find the perfect Valentine's Day gift for Claire. Every store had Valentine's Day sales, even the gaming store, yet nothing seemed appropriate. I could not justify buying her a pound of coffee, or binoculars, orSonic the Hedgehog, or a sheer bra, or more perfume, or platform boots, or overly-expensive southwestern art, or jewelry, or a giant poster, or more accessories for her iPod, or more candles, or...

Saturday night, as we strolled hand-in-hand alongside the icy lake, I tried to ask Claire – without asking – what she would want for Valentine's Day. "Is there anything you wish you had?"

"Sure," she replied. "I wish I had a clue what to do with my life. I'm glad Daddy's willing to pay for me to travel wherever and whenever I want to for a year after high school, but I still have no clue what to do with my life. After graduation, what's out there for me?"

That was something, I suppose, but how could I possibly give Claire a clue... especially for Valentine's Day, just four days away?

Sunday, I went to church with my family as usual. I have never truly been religious at all, but that day, I actually prayed to God several times to give me a clue for a fitting Valentine's Day gift for Claire. The sermon that day was about love, but specifically about loving God first and foremost and giving Him your heart, for Valentine's Day and every day.

That still did not help me with my issue.

Back at school on Monday, I was certainly feeling down. I desperately wanted to give Claire the perfect Valentine's Day gift, yet I had no ideas. I asked my close friends what they thought, yet they were no help at all. Tuesday was even more of the same, which was rather depressing given that it was the day before Valentine's Day.

It was just before jazz band rehearsal Tuesday evening when an idea hit me, completely out of the blue: quotes about love. I could likely find a book of quotes to give to Claire, but that would be impersonal, almost meaningless. I needed towrite quotes about love for her, even if they were just clichés everyone's heard a thousand times.

I could barely wait for rehearsal to end. As soon as we were done, I hopped in my Civic and sped toward the nearest mall, praying that I would make it there before the stores closed.

I arrived with only five minutes to spare. I hurried, trying hard not to run, toward the nearest store which sold blank books. It was one of the many southwestern stores in the mall, so there was not too much of a selection, but I found one which captivated me immediately, and I knew that Claire would like it. I had just barely enough money on me to buy it, but it was worth every penny.

That night, I was awake until about 4:30AM, finding quotes about love on the Internet and preparing the gift for Claire. By the time I was done, I was so exhausted that I could not even attempt to wrap it.

Ninety minutes of sleep passed in the blink of an eye, and I definitely did not feel refreshed and ready to begin the day. But, somehow, I was able to force myself out of bed and get ready for school, my twin brother practically needing to carry me to his car.

Before the first class began, I hunted the hallways, searching for Claire. She was not at her locker, and she was not in the cafeteria getting muffins and juice for her usual breakfast. I asked around, but no one had seen her yet. By lunchtime, I still had not seen nor heard about Claire, and was starting to get concerned.

When my brother and I returned home, dejected at not having seen Claire that day to give her the gift, Mom awaited us at the door. Specifically, she awaited me. She gave me the news, and drove me to the hospital.

I joined Claire's parents at her bedside, barely able to look at her severely broken form yet unable to pull my eyes away from the heart-wrenching sight. She was fortunately in a coma, unable to feel the pain resulting from having been hit by a drunk driver as she crossed the street in front of her own house, but that did not lessen the pain I felt at seeing her like that, broken, filled with needles and tubes, bandages and casts covering most of her visible body.

When my tears finally slowed to a mere trickle, I reached into the backpack and brought out the unwrapped gift. Claire's parents stepped away, giving me time alone with their unconscious daughter.

I held the gift in my hands, gazing upon its earth-tone cover, a tear falling upon the pressed flowers held to the cover by what was supposed to be natural hardened sap. I thought of the two hundred natural-pulp pages of quotes of love, written by my own loving hand during the long, long night.

"I wanted to give this to you, Claire," I whispered, my tired voice breaking with emotion. "I wanted you to have this. I was up all night making this for you, because I realized that you have things, not really possessions made from the heart."

As more tears fell, I opened to a random page and read the quote there: "'The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.' So says G. K. Chesterton." I paused, closing the book and placing it beside my girlfriend.

I took Claire's hand in mine. "I don't wanna lose you, Claire. You mean too much to me!"

I lost it, crying uncontrollably again as her parents returned, her father trying to comfort me. Soon my mother appeared, and I knew that it was time to go.

I stood, looking upon Claire one more, the beautiful Amazon with the silky voice and the oceans-deep eyes, her skin so white that she seemed undead.

"Helen," Claire whispered, her voice cracking from dryness and disuse and pain.

A cracking voice was the best possible Valentine's Day gift Claire could have ever given me.