My Valentine From the Past

Valentine's Day used to be really exciting for me. When I was six, I gave a valentine to my next door neighbor, Jane, and was thrilled when she said she liked it. When I was sixteen, I gave a valentine to Marsha, and was trilled when she kissed me on the cheek. When I was twenty-six, I gave a valentine to Erica, and was thrilled when she smiled, pulled her sweater over her head and said, "Show me".

When I was thirty-six, I was divorced and hating everything about Valentine's Day. All it was, was a holiday commercialized to the point every jeweler's TV ad basically promised any man who gave his wife or girlfriend gold and diamonds would get laid every night until he was too old to get his cock to stand up. They always showed this gorgeous woman smiling when she opened the box, and then throwing her arms around the guy's neck.

By the time I was forty-six, I'd given up on any woman throwing her arms around my neck for any reason. I'd been looking since a year after my divorce was final, but I wasn't finding anything. Forty-six is kind of a rough age if you're looking for a woman. There are a lot of women out there, but they seemed to fall into one of three categories.

There were women who still looked great and were fun to be with. They were also married because they looked great and were fun to be with. Yeah, I met a few married women who wouldn't have minded playing around, but that didn't work for me.

There were women who were single and looked great but weren't fun to be with. Those were the women who'd decided on careers, and they'd become pretty hard to approach unless you were on their professional level. They didn't need a man to take care of them financially, but they wanted a man who'd fit into the circle of their other professional friends. I was never very big on cocktail parties and the like. They just seemed to me to be a bunch of people pretending they were better than everybody else.

Then there were the women who were divorced and actively looking for a husband. Usually, I met them in bars, and they weren't all that subtle about what they wanted or what they'd be willing to do to make that happen. After the second one put her hand on my thigh and asked if we wouldn't be more comfortable someplace else, I decided I didn't want one of them either. It wasn't that it wouldn't have been great. I'd spent a lot of years without a woman, and the thought was appealing. It was just that I wanted her to think of me as something besides a hard cock.

That's sort of what happened with me and my ex. She'd been fantastic in the sack, not so great the rest of the time. I'd let myself get carried away by the way she rode my cock every night, and didn't see how she really was until we got married. It lasted five years before I'd had enough of her bitching at me about everything all day long and then still wanting me to have sex with her that night. I later found out she was suffering from multiple personality disorder, or at least that's what she told me when she said she was on medication and wanted to get back together.

I guess there was a fourth category of women too. They were the women I worked with. About half were of the happily married variety and there were three professional women I didn't care to associate with because they didn't seem to care to associate with me either. The rest were a mix of really young women, girls really, and women who were working because they were single and had to work to support themselves. Most of those women worked on the manufacturing floor. I didn't try to get close to any of the latter because I figured they'd be the same as the women in the bars -- looking for a husband to support them.

Yeah, I know. I'm talking about women like I was shopping for a new fishing rod and reel. That's not how I really felt about women. It's just that after putting up with Cheryl for five years and then getting divorced, I didn't want to end up with a woman who wanted me either for my money or because she didn't think she could do any better. That last part worried me the most. I didn't look like a movie star or a body builder. I was just a forty-six year old guy with a balding head and a few extra pounds around the middle who liked fishing, old movies, and big band music.

It was Tuesday, the fourth of February, when it started, and at first, I thought it was somebody's idea of a joke. I'd walked up to my desk that morning and found a little envelope propped on my keyboard. When I opened it, there was a little kid's Valentine's card inside, one of those like I'd given Jane when I was six. It was a drawing of a little blonde girl holding a heart, and all it said was "Be My Valentine".

I looked for a name, but there wasn't one on the card or on the envelope. I looked around the office then, but nobody was looking at me. I tossed the card in the trash and went back to work on the design for the assembly station I'd been assigned to build.

The next morning there was another envelope on my desk. It was the same size, and inside was the same type kid's valentine card. This one was a drawing of an obviously female lion with hearts above her head, and said, "I'm just wild about you. Be my valentine".

Again, I looked around the office, but all I saw were people talking to each other and other people with their eyes focused on their computer screens. Nobody was looking at me and smiling. I didn't even see anybody look at me and then quickly turn away like they were working.

One card could have been a joke. Two were carrying the joke too far. I didn't even know what the joke might have been unless it was a rumor I'd overheard on the manufacturing floor. The rumor was that I must be gay because I wasn't married and didn't appear to be looking for a woman. When I thought about that though, I couldn't figure out how somebody leaving Valentines on my desk would be funny to anybody.

Like the day before, I tossed that card in the trash. I did do some thinking about it though.

Because my company is part of the military and aerospace industrial complex, a lot of what we do falls under the government's system for classified document control. As a result, not only does the entire facility have tight security, but my office area is locked up tight at six every night and stays locked until six the next morning. An employee can access the office with the digital chip in their badge, but other than that, the only way to get in is to contact security, convince them your reason for being in the office is valid, and let them accompany you while you do what you need to do.

The only employees with access via a badge are the people who work in the office daily, so whoever was leaving the cards on my desk had to be one of them. I had no idea who it might be, but I had a way to find out. I called security and asked them if there had been any badge entries to the office the night before or that morning. When the answer was no, that meant that person had to be sitting in the office right then. They'd just gotten to work before I did, dropped off the card, and then innocently went to work.

The next morning, I pulled into the parking lot at ten 'til six and was standing by the office door at five 'til. When the clock on the badge reader said it was six and the light over the door turned green, I tried the door. It opened, so I went in.

The office was empty except for me...and the envelope on my desk. I didn't need to open the envelope to know what was inside, but I did.

It was a drawing of a gray rabbit with a pink bow around its neck, and it said, "I long fur you. Please be my Valentine". Knowing there wouldn't be one, I turned to card over to look for a name, and found a poem written in the flourishing hand of a woman.

Roses are red,

This bunny is gray,

I like you a lot,

Please don't throw my cards away.

I had to smile at the lousy attempt at poetry, but I was also thinking. The card hadn't been on my desk when I left, but the card from the day before had been in my wastebasket. Whoever left the card must have waited until I left and then dropped off the card. In the process, they'd seen the older card in my wastebasket and had written the poem on the back of the card.

So, whoever it was wasn't coming in early. They were staying late. Well, I could stay late as well as come in early. That night, I stayed until six thirty and smiled when I heard the lock on the office door click when I closed it behind me. I tried it, just to be sure, and it was locked. I'd been alone in the office, and there was no way possible for anyone to get into that office after hours without a digital chip in their badge or having security let them in. Either way, security would have a record of it happening.

The next morning, I got to work at ten 'til six again, stood at the door until six, and when the light over the door changed from red to green, opened the door and went in.

Just like the day before, it was just me in the room and there was another card on my desk. I called security.

The guard sounded a little aggravated.

"Mr. Henderson, I show no badge access to the office after hours, and no record that any of the security detail let anyone in. This is the second time you've asked the same question. Is there a particular reason you don't trust our security system?"

I made up an answer.

"I thought somebody opened one of my desk drawers."

"Was anything missing?"

"No, it just looked different."

I could almost hear him laughing.

"Well, Sir, sometimes when you close a desk drawer, things might shift around a little."

I made one last try.

"I know it sounds like I'm being paranoid, but are you positive nobody was in the office last night or early this morning."

He sounded pissed again.

"Mr. Henderson, any access by badge is automatically logged along with employee's name and time of access on the security system. My records show no access last night. The only other way for someone to enter that office is if they were escorted by security. The guard uses his digital badge to open the door and I have no record of that either except for when Officer Barnes let in the woman who sweeps, dusts, and takes the trash to the shredder. She's there every night because that's her job."

I thanked him, promised I wouldn't ask again, and then hung up the phone.

Unless there was a ghost who could walk through walls to put the cards on my desk, it had to be Mrs. Robbins, the cleaning woman, but it couldn't be. Mrs. Robbins was at least sixty and she was married. I knew that because on more than one project, I'd worked until almost midnight a couple of nights. She came in about eight and worked at sweeping, dusting, and collecting trash in the office until about eleven. Security always let her in and then followed her around while she did what she had to do to make sure she wasn't stealing any classified information.

I seriously doubted Mrs. Robbins would be leaving me Valentines every night, but I didn't know who else it could be. The only way to find out was to stay until she got there and then ask her.

At eight that night, the office door opened and Mrs. Robbins pushed her cart into the office. One of the security guys followed her in, closed the door, checked that it was locked, and then started following her from cubicle to cubicle. It took her an hour to get to mine, and when she walked up I smiled.

"Mrs. Robbins, why have you been leaving Valentines on my desk every night?"

She looked at me like I was crazy.

"Mr. Henderson, what make you think I'd ever do something like that? I'm a married woman and I'm almost old enough to be your mother."

"I just...say, how do you know my name? I've seen you before, but we've never actually met."

Mrs. Robbins smiled a smile like she probably gave her grandchildren and pointed to the wall between my cubicle and the next.

"Well, Mr. Henderson, your name is right there, on the sign on your cubicle. I was just trying to be polite."

I backed out of my cubicle while she swept the floor and dusted the bookcase. When she picked up my wastebasket and carried it out to her cart, she was holding the card from that morning.

"Is this the card you were talking about? You shouldn't throw something like this away. I think whoever sent it to you must really like you."

Mrs. Robbins handed me the card, dumped the rest of my trash, and after putting my trash can back, moved to the next cubicle. I didn't have the heart to toss the card again right in front of her, so I laid it on my desk, put on my jacket and left. I wouldn't get a card tomorrow because if I did, Mrs. Robbins would know I'd know it was her.

I was pretty happy the next morning. I didn't go in early because I'd already taken care of my problem. I didn't know why Mrs. Robbins would have been leaving me Valentines, but I was sure it was her, and now that I'd confronted her, they'd stop...except they didn't stop. There was another card on my desk right beside the older one I'd put there the night before.

This one was a drawing of a kitten with a pink bow, and said, "You make me purr. Be my Valentine."

On the back was another poem.

Roses are pricey,

Liking is free,

I really like you,

I wish you'd like me.

By then, I was dying of curiosity. I knew it had to be Mrs. Robbins and there was no way I was going to take her seriously, but I had to know why. I sat at my desk waiting for her, and when she got there I didn't wait until she got to my cubicle. I walked down to the first cubicle while she was sweeping the floor.

"OK, Mrs. Robbins. I know you've been leaving me these Valentines. I appreciate that you want to, but would you mind telling me why?"

Her smile change into a really pissed off frown.

"Mr. Henderson. Last night I told you I didn't know what you were talking about and I still don't. If you think I'd throw myself at a younger man...we'll, I just wouldn't do that to my Harvey. I don't know why you'd think I would. I suppose you want to search me this time to find out if I have another card for you. Well, if you touch me, I'll have James here arrest you."

I looked at James, and he wasn't smiling. He also had his hand resting on the butt of the pistol on his belt.

"No, Mrs. Robbins, I wouldn't ever do anything like that. It's just...never mind. I apologize for asking you again."

That was a Friday. I went home still wondering how those cards were getting to my desk, and I was still wondering on Monday morning when I walked into the office. It didn't surprise me that there was another card on my desk.

It was a drawing of a puppy with a pink collar, and it said, "You make my tail wag. Please be my Valentine." On the back was another poem in the same handwriting.

Roses are red,

And the leaves are all green,

I'm not Mrs. Robbins,

I'm on the rocket machine.

I didn't know how whoever it was would know I suspected Mrs. Robbins, but evidently she'd told that person. At least I had a clue to my secret admirer now.

The "rocket machine" wasn't a machine that made rockets. The operators in the plant liked to give their machines names. One of the robots was named "Maynard" and another was "Clyde". A machine with a long, round, white nylon bearing guide was known as "John". When I asked Penny why it was named "John", she grinned and asked me if I'd ever heard of John Holmes.

The "rocket machine" was a multi-station press with the press cylinders all standing up on end like candles in a candlestick. It did look a little like six rockets standing in a circle. When I'd had it built and put it on the floor, that's what Peggy had said.

"It looks like this thing could take off to the moon. It's a rocket machine."

"Rocket Machine" sort of stuck, and it's been known by that name since.

When I walked out to that machine that afternoon, I knew the operator running it. She was Veronica Ashley, and I knew her because she'd been the operator who helped me get the machine checked out and up and running production. She preferred to be called "Ronnie", or so she'd told me after that first day.

"Mr. Henderson, could you call me Ronnie? I don't like Veronica very much. It sounds like a name some movie star would have and I'm a long way from a movie star."

I said I'd call her Ronnie if she'd call me Mark, and she grinned.

"That's better. Now, what do you want me to do next?"

Ronnie had been a lot of fun to work with, but that was all. In the factory, you didn't look at a woman's left hand to see if she was married or not because the Safety Department had deemed rings to be a safety hazard. Instead, the married women took off their rings and pinned them to the front of their uniform shirt with a safety pin. Ronnie had an engagement ring and a wedding ring pinned over her left breast.

When I walked up to her that day, Ronnie grinned.

"Hi Mark. We don't see you much out here anymore. How's it goin'?"

I smiled back.

"It would be going great if I could figure out who's leaving Valentines on my desk every night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

She gave me a sheepish look.

"I might."

"Why would you do that? You're already married."

Ronnie shook her head.

"Was. Not anymore. I lost my husband a year ago. They said it was a heart attack."

I felt like a real ass then.

"I'm sorry Ronnie."

She smiled again.

"Don't be. We had a great life together, almost twenty-five years. I didn't want to let him go, but sometimes you don't have any choice. It sounds bad to say I'm over it now, but I am. I still miss him, but I know he wouldn't want me to grieve forever. Marty wasn't like that. He'd want me to go on living and being happy."

"So, being happy means you put kid's Valentines with silly poems on my desk?"

"Well, sort of. I liked you a lot that time we worked so much together. I just wondered if...well, if you might have liked me a little too. I couldn't just run in the office and ask you and you never come out here anymore. I thought maybe if I gave you a Valentine, you'd come talk to me.

"They were old kid's Valentines I found in a closet when I cleaned it out after Marty died. I didn't want to throw them away, so I put them back. I remembered them a couple of weeks ago, and decided to give you one. It was fun because you called security to find out who it was, so I kept sending them. The little poems were just to keep you interested."

"How did you get them on my desk? Security said nobody but Mrs. Robbins was in that office after hours."

Ronnie shook her head.

"You have to meet me after work for me too tell you that. I'm getting behind, and Gladys will wonder why I'm sitting here talking instead of working."

Well, I did want to know, and since Ronnie wasn't married and I did like her...

"Where would you like to meet?"

"How about the pancake place just up the road? You get off at five, right? I'll be there at five. Uh-oh, here comes Gladys. I better get busy. See you tonight."

The rest of that afternoon, I kept wondering about Ronnie. When I'd worked with her before, she'd been fun and joked with me a little but she'd never given me any indication she liked me. I'd liked her too, but since she was married, it was just liking her as a person.

It wasn't that she wasn't good looking, well, as good looking as any of the women were in their uniforms. The uniform was a shirt and pants, and though they were cut for a woman's body, they were far from being sexy. They also had to wear hairnets so their hair wouldn't get caught in any machinery. About the only way a woman could improve her appearance at work was with makeup, but most of them didn't bother. Ronnie didn't either.

What I couldn't figure out is why, after two years, she'd wanted to talk to me. The fact she was a widow made me wonder if she was one of those women looking for a man to take care of her. She was probably doing OK financially because our wages were fairly high given the area, but maybe that wasn't enough. The fact she'd been so forward about it sort of reinforced that thought.