LOVE AND LOVERS
by
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Chapter 2
Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.
“Bian?”, asked Jon.
“Yes,” replied Bian.
“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”
“Yes, I do,” said Bian.
“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.
“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.
“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.
“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.
“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Mario Abdo Benitez, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.
“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.
“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.
“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.
“I look forward to both,” said Bian.
“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”
Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had composed his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.
“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.
“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.
“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.
“I am,” said Bian.
“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.
The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Benitez would be speaking.
The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.
“I found President Benitez’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.
“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.
“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”
They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.
“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.
“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.
“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.
Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.
The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”
When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.
"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.
Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.
“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”
Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.
After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”
He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.
“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.
“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.
Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.
“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.
After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.
“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.
“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.
“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.
I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN
I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.
The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.
THERE WILL COME A TIME
There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.
The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.
THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU
There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.
“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.
It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.
“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.
