My Brave Love Affair

My Brave Love Affair

Blossom sat with her head lowered, her hands folded together as if in prayer. The letter from her husband was always the same. Every year the conditions for reconciliation eased, the enticements for coming home increased, but one demand remained adamantly unchanged. She rubbed her temples and reflected on those purchasing bus tickets: I wonder if happiness waits at the end of their journeys.

A young woman dashed by and leaped into the arms of a handsome man. “You were so late,” she moaned in between kisses. “I was beside myself with worry.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “We’ll never be apart again, I promise.”

The scene took Blossom to the place she had first met Lonnie, three years earlier. It was a quaint park on the Intercostal Waterway in Saint Petersburg Florida. The lush grass and shade from the Sweet Bay trees reached almost to the water’s edge. He was packing an inflatable kayak into a carrying bag. The wind grabbed her floppy hat and tossed it right into his hands. He turned and immediately spotted her blushing face.

“Sailors take signs and omens very seriously,” he’d said, placing the hat back on head. “If we’re to have the greatest love affair the world has ever known, introductions are in order, don’t ya think?”

“That depends, are you a good sailor or a fast-talking pirate?”

“I assure you that my attentions are honorable—Lonnie Johnson at your service.”

“Blossom Bauer. I appreciate your noble deed, but I’ve been taking lunch here for over a year. What took you so long to find me?”

“I apologize for the delay, my lady.”

“Well, I should say so. If you intend to sweep me off my feet, you must never keep me waiting.”

“Let me make it up to ya over dinner?”

A voice boomed from the terminal’s loud speakers: “THE TWO-TWENTY TO JACKSONVILLE WILL BE BOARDING IN TEN MINUTES IN ROW SIX. SECURE YOUR VALUABLES.”

Blossom glanced at her watch. I was so bold that day in the park, she thought. I felt peculiar inside, so different. It didn’t even sound like me talking. It had been so long . . . no! I’d never felt like that before. But I can’t believe I went to dinner with him, let alone the motel.

She told Lonnie Johnson she had married a man who took her for granted and denied her any real affection—an eighteen year-old bride and a thirty-eight year old groom. The only time they made love was when he was in a drunken stupor on Saturday nights. And those evenings had nothing to do with love.

“My parents barely scraped by,” Blossom said. “College was out of the question. I was raised in central Florida, fifteen miles from the nearest town—and it’s only a stop-in-the-road. They said marrying Joe would the best thing. That he would provide for me. He is a hard worker. But the way we live, the way he treats me is so . . . I don’t know, so disconnected. Truth is I accepted it in the beginning. It’s not much different than the way my parents live. Joe won’t let me have friends, says it’s a waste of time, just like my daddy.”

Lonnie told her that he was raised in an orphanage and never knew his parents. They died in a boating accident soon after he was born.

“I have always felt disconnected, like you. I’m not a sailor at all. I’m terrified of water. I’ve owned that kayak forever. Every year I attempt to launch it, but can’t muster the nerve.”

Blossom knew something special was happening and that her world would never be same. She barely ate at dinner, and later in motel room she scooted close to Lonnie, until she could feel the warmth of his breath. He brushed back her hair and touched her cheek, and then her lips, one at a time, slowly, softly; then pressed his mouth against them. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t. She didn’t want to miss anything—not one thing. Not Lonnie’s tender expression, what his eyes were saying, or how he pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned her blouse, or touched her as their bodies melted together in a way she never imagined possible.

“THE TWO-TWENTY TO JACKSOVILLE WILL BE BOARDING IN FIVE MINUTES IN ROW SIX. SECURE YOUR VALUABLES.”

Blossom knew if she didn’t go home, her husband would never let her see their six-year old son. She would most likely have to wait until he was eighteen; it made her dizzy and weak in the knees. I have no way to fight him, she thought, watching a huge man silence his squabbling wife on their way to the bus. Joe isn’t evil, though. It’s just the way he was raised. He doesn’t do anything illegal, or run around with other woman. He said he’ll buy us a new bed if I came home this year, and give me more grocery money. Even said I could go to bingo any time I wanted . . . God, what am I thinking? What in the world is wrong with me?

She lowered her head and relived that magical time: Lonnie held her for hours that night; she talked about things she could have never discussed with Joe. Like how she enjoyed walking barefoot in puddles after it rained, playing on the swing-set in the park, and daydreaming about faraway places. Things Joe considered foolish.

“The whole world is suddenly brand new,” she had told Lonnie. “Everything has changed. I’m in love.”

Lonnie squeezed her hand. “I waited for you so long you. I love how you giggle, the tone in your voice, and the sincerity in your eyes. Most of all, I love how brave you are. I knew if I waited long enough, you would find me, and save me.”

“I have to go see my son, Lonnie. Will you meet me here tomorrow?”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll meet you here forever. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yes. But now that I’ve found you I’m afraid to leave, even for a minute.”

Lonnie gave her a reassuring smile and brushed her curly hair. “Remember, no matter what happens, as long as we’re true to one another, we will never be apart.”


That was the last time Blossom Bauer ever heard Lonnie Johnson’s voice. When she arrived at the park the following afternoon, the life squad was pulling away. An onlooker told her a young man in an inflatable kayak had been hit by a speed boat and killed. The words almost chocked her. No! Surely it’s not Lonnie. He’s afraid of the water. She dropped her suitcase and sprinted to where a policeman was photographing what was left of the wreckage. In black, permanent marker, hand written in large letters on the deflated boat, it read Blossom—My Brave Love Affair.



THE TWO-TWENTY TO JACKSONVILLE IS NOW BOARDING. SECURE YOUR VALUABLES. NOW BOARDING FOR JACKSONVILLE.

After three years of letters she could quote the demand verbatim, even hear the haughty disdain in her husband’s voice: “Admit the affair meant nothing to you, that you didn’t love him, and you can come home.”

Blossom thought of her son, then her minimal-wage job and the room she shared with two other women, and then Lonnie. She crumpled the letter and the enclosed one-way ticket on her way out. She realized this would be her last wasted trip to the bus station.

The End

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ID: 1817635   (Rated: 18+) The Classic Story Contest  Closed for judging and changes. by Lornda