Disclaimer: There's actually nothing wrong with Valentine's Day
Red Fellow, say hello.
Red rose, red alert.
Red Day - jolly good show.
Dont be cast out -thrown down in the dirt.
At least year ago today, Gyles Redding wasn't so adept at this particular holiday. He had no understanding of colors, their unique vibrations, . He was invited to an anti-Valentine's Day party. He couldn't believe there was one, couldn't believe people attended one, but he accepted the possibility as much as it sickened him to do so.
Did he want to attend some anti-Valentine's Day soiree, where people jeered at those vomiting sunshine and shitting rainbows? Absolutely not. He was quite fond of vomiting sunshine and shitting rainbows. It was better than the alternative, hearing people complain and mock their long lost love lives. He was unabashed, confident, and had dealings elsewhere. He'd made a plan with a member of the opposite sex. A plan with a member of the opposite sex is risky business. There is no plan, but there is planning and planning is everything. The plan is inactive and does not adapt. The planning is active, mutable, and more successful than not. Gyles, a year ago today, had a plan but no planning. He was doomed and his confidence had nothing to do with it. Even if one is confident with a member of the opposite sex, she does not let him project what he wants on to herself. The confidence comes when both are immersed in the moment, even if the moment grieves one or the other. Sadly projections are not a method of approach. Patting some one on the head for good graces is not a method of approach. Compromising, communicatively leaning, and being in the moment at least comprise a sound method of approach if not a successful one.
His plan was working in the beginning. Ah-hah, the beginning is half the battle. He was embattled, entranced, and fairly good at beginnings. As yet he had no acumen for endings. Poor fool. Three cheers for confidence and projections. Hip hip hurray! Hip hip hurray! Hip hip hurray! So on and so on. His confidence helped him purchase an inexpensive red rose which was apropos to Valentines Day. Why not? Extravagance was not becoming to Mr. Redding. The message, simple giving, and the approach were. However, how, why, and where were three factors he unwittingly overlooked. Alas he payed them no mind. He was resolute in his incontrovertible stupidity. I am beguiling and I have guile in spades! Not so, sir, not so.
He took the red rose in hand and jumped on the metro to his destination, a decent apartment complex preceeded with a billboard that said, "It's Snow Joke!" It was far south of the Plaza in Kansas City. He stood by the billboard and called Annie.
"Helloooo," she said.
"Hello! I'm ready to come visit you now."
"Ohhh, ohh, oh, I'm still busy. I forgot! Don't worry your pretty little head. Go to the Westsider, have a drink, and wait for me. I'll be along."
Having another drink, going to some bar, was something he did not want to do. He assured himself that this was a good idea. He trudged to the bar with his head down in thought. He was beginning to feel increasingly unhappy and examining why he was unhappy. It was treacherously frigged outside, so going some where warm and cordial was at least a plus.
He kicked the tavern door open highhandedly. Disconcerted heads looked him up and down. "Sorry," he cried out in oblivion. The heads went back into their longnecks and shot glasses, all huddled around a big screen tv, watching some banal soap opera. He couldn't forbear the alienation he felt, so he left and trudged to Jimmy John's, feeling more hungry than thirsty. He had a sandwich and a bag of chips, waiting for Annie. She rang and bade him come over. He through the vistages of his meal in with the refuse and left the sub shop.
Annie had just gotten off work, something he couldn't blame her for. She was in sullied chef's garb and smelled rather like Italian. She had already entered her home and was waiting for him there on the third floor. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and unbuttoned his Navvy Pea coat. He reached for the red rose inside his pocket. He tore the rapping off, adjusted the presentation of the rose by removing a leaf or two, put it between his teeth and marched up the staircase to the third floor, to the lodging of the dark-haired irritating Annie. She stood provocatively at the door, her hair messily attractive with one leg curled over the other. He growled with sexual undertones. "Hello, woman, " he cried out through the teeth that bit down on the rose. She raised one horny eyebrow and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him inside and kicking the door shut behind him. "I have this for you," he pulled the rose out of his teeth, spitting out some of the earthy flavor. He put in her hands. She looked at it indifferently, and put it in a basket in a corner of her living room. She took him to the kitchen and made them some drinks. He was already dismayed and new what was about to happen. With some eventuality and weak foreplay they began the evening's copulation, starting first on her counter top, which he vigorously cleared, sliding the dishes into the sink.
They went at it like rabbits. He cursed himself inwardly, hating the experience. He began to see his irritation in Anny's eyes. She wouldn't look at him at first. He hated that. "Annie, look at me." She did with so reluctantly. That was the final straw and thoroughly ignited his rage. He began to grudge fuck her and lifted her off the dirty countertop. He screwed her in midair, hating it and hating himself. He took her all the way to the disconcerting twin bed she slept on. He wrestled with her and utilized the rest of the room.
__
Gyles Redding awoke on Valentine's Day, and retrospected at least a year ago today. He inwardly forgave Annie and himself. He sipped his coffee. She had changed. He had changed. He wondered if she was able to accept the simple giving of flowers and receive the right kind. He wondered if she could be with some one, the right some one, and not complain about simple giving. He wondered if they had good adventures together, clean ones, whole ones, good ones. He wondered if she had found maternity and stability and acceptance. All things to Gyles Redding were left decidedly to wonderment and musing. This hurt him, but he sipped his coffee in solitude. At least he'd gotten better at giving and not expecting. Gyles Redding, a red fellow for the rest of his days. The path of the fool was over.
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