You are listening to
"Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole
by
Houssaye
"John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened
his
Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making
their
way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl
whose
heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the
rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a
Florida
library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself
intrigued,
not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the
margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful
mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's
name,
Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her
address.
She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing
himself
and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped
overseas
for service in World War II. During the next year and one month
the two
grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed
falling
on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested
a
photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really
cared,
it wouldn't matter what she looked
like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe,
they
scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central
Station
in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red
rose
I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station
looking
for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never
seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what
happened:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and
slim.
Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes
were
blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in
her
pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started
toward
her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a
rose.
As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her
lips.
"Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost
uncontrollably
I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis
Maynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman
well
past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She
was
more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into
low-heeled
shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly
away.
I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to
follow her,
and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had
truly
companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her
pale,
plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm
and
kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small
worn
blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to
her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious,
something
perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been
and must
ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out
the book
to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the
bitterness of
my disappointment.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must by Miss Maynell. I
am
so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The
woman's
face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is
about,
son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just
went
by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if
you
were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is
waiting
for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was
some
kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss
Maynell's
wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the
unattractive."
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye
wrote,
"And I will tell you who you
are."
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