Mar 2022
LOVE AND LOVERS
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 3
Jon had fallen in love with Bian the instant he saw her. Staring at the Hudson River in early evening through his living room window, Jon wondered how it could have happened. Then he thought he could wonder forever, but it would never matter: Jon knew he was in love, completely in love.
Jon was not only extremely bright, he was also extremely handsome. Beginning in junior high and then at Andover, he had had a number of girlfriends, which was also the case when he was a Columbia undergraduate.
But Bian was magically different from all his former girlfriends, ineffably so. As a poet, he had come to realize one should never force any creation. By extrapolation, he now realized the same was true about being swept away by Bian. It had happened. Rather than try to understand the miraculous, Jon now should just feel blessed and let himself be awash with joy. Let things naturally unfold, Jon concluded.
“Bian?” said Jon.
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Jon. Do you have a moment to chat?” asked Jon.
“Yes, I do, Jon,” said Bian.
“How are you? How’s your week going?” asked Jon.
“It’s been busy, but that’s the way it usually is. How are you doing?”, asked Bian.
“The same. I have a question. This Saturday night, the New York Philharmonic is performing Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto. Would you like to go hear it with me?” asked Jon.
“I’d love to,” replied Bian.
“Wonderful!” replied Jon. “The performance begins at 8. If we take a cab, we should leave about 7:30, so I’ll pick you up about 7:15 at Hartley. How does that sound?” said Jon.
“It sounds great,” said Bian.
“Good. I’ll see you then,” said Jon.
Jon sat in the Hartley lobby waiting for Bian. He had gotten there a bit early. He began to reminisce about how Chad enjoyed playing classical music in their dorm room. Jon’s favorite was Beethoven. Over the years, Jon had listened to about every piece Beethoven had composed: all of his nine symphonies, all of his piano concertos, all the sonatas, and his “Cycle,” all of his chamber-music pieces. Jon had even seen and heard Beethoven’s opera, FIDELIO. Though Beethoven became deaf, he never lost his “passion,” a quality Jon modestly thought he shared with Beethoven.
“Good evening, Jon,” said Bian as she entered the lobby.
“Good evening, Bian. You look lovely,” said Jon. “Shall we head out?”
Bian nodded.
The two walked to Broadway and caught a cab. They arrived at Lincoln Center in minutes. Attending a performance by the New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center was quintessential New York City. Hundreds of music lovers–some in tuxedos and gowns, other in blue jeans–flooded into David Geffen Hall. After the audience quieted down, Jaap van Sweden, the conductor, strolled to the podium accompanied by generous applause. Then the orchestra began to play.
For Jon, listening to any live concerto by Beethoven put him into a dreamlike trance. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The glorious music wafted over him. In one sense, the performance lasted but seconds; in another, it never ended.
When the performance concluded, Jon asked Bian, “I’d like to take you to Terra Blue, a nightspot in Greenwich Village. Do you think you’d enjoy that?
“Sure. Sounds like fun,” said Bian.
As the two sat at a table in Terra Blue, Bian said, “You know, Jon, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund state that on average 10,000 children around the world die of starvation every day. These global agencies, to my mind and heart, care more about statistics than the well-being of children on Earth. This is unconscionable, and it’s only one of hundreds of injustices perpetrated on the poor throughout the world.”
Jon sat in silence for several moments assimilating both the statistics Bian had just shared, as well as the deep, emotional effect they were having on him.
“I remember too well the stories my father told me about the war as I was growing up–not just the killing, the endless brutality on both sides, the utter destruction not only of human lives, but also of entire villages and the human lives that were ended by both bullets and ******, and the world is continuing to commit atrocities on every continent, in every nation, in countless cities, in small towns–everywhere. Humanity now faces the existential threats of climate change and nuclear holocaust.”
“You’re right, Bian. You’re absolutely right,” said Jon.
The two continued talking about these and other related issues, and Jon realized anew how much he loved her, and now, how much he respected her as a human being.
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 3
Jon had fallen in love with Bian the instant he saw her. Staring at the Hudson River in early evening through his living room window, Jon wondered how it could have happened. Then he thought he could wonder forever, but it would never matter: Jon knew he was in love, completely in love.
Jon was not only extremely bright, he was also extremely handsome. Beginning in junior high and then at Andover, he had had a number of girlfriends, which was also the case when he was a Columbia undergraduate.
But Bian was magically different from all his former girlfriends, ineffably so. As a poet, he had come to realize one should never force any creation. By extrapolation, he now realized the same was true about being swept away by Bian. It had happened. Rather than try to understand the miraculous, Jon now should just feel blessed and let himself be awash with joy. Let things naturally unfold, Jon concluded.
“Bian?” said Jon.
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Jon. Do you have a moment to chat?” asked Jon.
“Yes, I do, Jon,” said Bian.
“How are you? How’s your week going?” asked Jon.
“It’s been busy, but that’s the way it usually is. How are you doing?”, asked Bian.
“The same. I have a question. This Saturday night, the New York Philharmonic is performing Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto. Would you like to go hear it with me?” asked Jon.
“I’d love to,” replied Bian.
“Wonderful!” replied Jon. “The performance begins at 8. If we take a cab, we should leave about 7:30, so I’ll pick you up about 7:15 at Hartley. How does that sound?” said Jon.
“It sounds great,” said Bian.
“Good. I’ll see you then,” said Jon.
Jon sat in the Hartley lobby waiting for Bian. He had gotten there a bit early. He began to reminisce about how Chad enjoyed playing classical music in their dorm room. Jon’s favorite was Beethoven. Over the years, Jon had listened to about every piece Beethoven had composed: all of his nine symphonies, all of his piano concertos, all the sonatas, and his “Cycle,” all of his chamber-music pieces. Jon had even seen and heard Beethoven’s opera, FIDELIO. Though Beethoven became deaf, he never lost his “passion,” a quality Jon modestly thought he shared with Beethoven.
“Good evening, Jon,” said Bian as she entered the lobby.
“Good evening, Bian. You look lovely,” said Jon. “Shall we head out?”
Bian nodded.
The two walked to Broadway and caught a cab. They arrived at Lincoln Center in minutes. Attending a performance by the New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center was quintessential New York City. Hundreds of music lovers–some in tuxedos and gowns, other in blue jeans–flooded into David Geffen Hall. After the audience quieted down, Jaap van Sweden, the conductor, strolled to the podium accompanied by generous applause. Then the orchestra began to play.
For Jon, listening to any live concerto by Beethoven put him into a dreamlike trance. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The glorious music wafted over him. In one sense, the performance lasted but seconds; in another, it never ended.
When the performance concluded, Jon asked Bian, “I’d like to take you to Terra Blue, a nightspot in Greenwich Village. Do you think you’d enjoy that?
“Sure. Sounds like fun,” said Bian.
As the two sat at a table in Terra Blue, Bian said, “You know, Jon, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund state that on average 10,000 children around the world die of starvation every day. These global agencies, to my mind and heart, care more about statistics than the well-being of children on Earth. This is unconscionable, and it’s only one of hundreds of injustices perpetrated on the poor throughout the world.”
Jon sat in silence for several moments assimilating both the statistics Bian had just shared, as well as the deep, emotional effect they were having on him.
“I remember too well the stories my father told me about the war as I was growing up–not just the killing, the endless brutality on both sides, the utter destruction not only of human lives, but also of entire villages and the human lives that were ended by both bullets and ******, and the world is continuing to commit atrocities on every continent, in every nation, in countless cities, in small towns–everywhere. Humanity now faces the existential threats of climate change and nuclear holocaust.”
“You’re right, Bian. You’re absolutely right,” said Jon.
The two continued talking about these and other related issues, and Jon realized anew how much he loved her, and now, how much he respected her as a human being.
