From: erisande@silver.ucs.indiana.edu (Kryst the Philosopher)
Subject: Memories with this one...
Organization: Quitters Inc.
Date: Tue, 28 Jul 1992 06:41:49 GMT

	This is one I wrote some time ago.  I was going to give it to
a girl I wanted to ask out, this was the way I was going to do just
that.  The day I finished the paper, she left... she never saw this.
I think it was really meant for Catherine, yet that may just be a
biased thought.  I hope you enjoy.

			     *   *   *   *   *


                     ...Then I Heard...



     Twelve midnight, just another lonely night at home, not
much  to  do aside  from watching  the clock's  hands travel
their  never  ending paths  around  the face  of  the clock,
endlessly  depicting the moment  of the day,  night, time of
the world.  Roger knew the path, and followed it with utmost
precision  and care, knowing that  the world traveled as the
clock.    Round and  Round, but  never  out of  the rigorous
routine followed minute by minute... day by day.
     Roger  looked to  his desk  seeing the  notebook he had
stolen  from Milinda.  Stolen, no... borrowed without asking
is how he viewed it all.  Stolen... borrowed... for the sake
of reading her private thoughts which she wrote daily in the
small  notebook.  She would not  miss it this night, though.
He  knew  her  schedule,  knew her  movements,  but  not her
feelings of life.
     He opened the drawer at the bottom of his desk, getting
a  pen  and tablet  out, then  closing  it back  into place.
Opening to the first page, he began to read the text written
in his own hand.

               Twelve   midnight,   just   another
          lonely  night  at home,  not much  to do
          aside  from  watching  the  clocks  hand
          travel  its never ending path around the
          face  of the  clock, endlessly depicting
          the  moment of  the day,  night, time of
          the world.

     He  took a bit of time to open her notebook to the page
he  was  going to  read from  before  turning on  the radio.
Right  now he  could hear a  song running  through his head,
filling it with a desire.  The desire?  To hold, to love, to
care  for someone besides  himself for just  a moment, if no
more.  He needed to feel wanted and wanted to feel needed.
     The  song played.  Not holding  much in his mind, but a
background.  The song was more of a feeling than a reality.

          I keep hanging on the promise of love
          Your eyes tell me that I'm gonna see,
          I feel the hunger like a starving man
          Honey, when you stand close to me...
          I start to shiver, I start to shake,
          Chills up an' down my spine,
          I'm in the mood for action
          In need of satisfaction,
          Babe I'm gonna make you mine...

     A bit of a rough song, but still it held the feeling he
felt.   Maybe the  song was a bit  more... sensual in nature
than what he really felt, but it gave him the emotion needed
to write and read.
     All  he needed  was a  story to  write to  send to this
"special" person to prove his worth, even though he knew she
would not be fully satisfied with him and him alone.  Now he
would  make his  best effort to  show her his  best on short
notice.
     His pen touched the paper before he knew exactly how he
would  end the story.   He just wanted  to send something to
her  to show he cared, realizing she might let the effort go
unnoticed.  It was the chance he had to take.
     Reading  from her notebook, he  began to find her point
of  view on  life.   It was there,  staring him  in the face
throughout the whole page.

               After looking at many faces, I find
          that  many people  interest me,  but few
          can  push the  interest to  the point of
          total  infatuation.  It  always seems to
          end up in slight curiosity if that much.

     He  knew she would get the best man in the whole world,
she  deserved no  less than  the best.   She  didn't realize
that,  at least not how  she wrote.  She's  trying to find a
person who does not exist on the face of the Earth.
     He  licked the end  of his pencil  in anticipation of a
grand  thought to  begin on  for the  next paragraph  of his
growing book, but he was stuck for the moment.

          ...watching  the clocks  hand travel its
          never ending path around the face of the
          clock, endlessly depicting the moment of
          the day, night, time of the world.

     Where  could he possibly go with that kind of line?  It
sounded  as if he sat around  his little home, doing nothing
but  watch the damn clock.  This  he did.  There wasn't much
else  to do in  his life now  that his friends  had all left
him.    He  was  left  with a  dream  which  might  never be
fulfilled.
     Changing  the music to something  more subtle, he began
to feel a different feeling inside of himself.

     Give me all of your dreams
     And let me go along on your way
     Give me all of your prayers to sing
     And I'll turn the night into the skylight of day
     I got a taste of paradise
     I'm never gonna let it slip away
     I got a taste of paradise
     It's all I really need to make me stay
     Just like a child again

     Then  an idea came  to him.  He  would tell her exactly
how  he felt about  her.  Not  very unique, but  it would be
straight  to the point,  no playing around  this time, so he
erased  the first paragraph and began  again.  A letter this
time.

          Milinda,
               I  think about you a lot and I find
          you  very attractive.   Your  name, your
          life...  you.  I find all of it exciting
          to  me.  I need to  tell you this, for I
          am interested in you.  If only you could
          see how much I love you.  No... how much
          I  like  you...  love  is  too  early to
          define for sure.  I hope, pray, you feel
          the  same.  How do you see me?  Who am I
          to  you?   Yes, we  share times together
          talking over problems, life, love... but
          it   is  not  enough.    I  would  enjoy
          spending more time with you... alone.
               Is it possible?  Is this all just a
          fantasy of love?  Something created by a
          feeling of loneliness, not of real, true
          desire?  No.  It is a true love, from as
          far as I can tell, you must believe me.

     He  stopped for a  moment to consider  the words he had
written.  Not bad for the first time, but not good enough to
actually  send to Milinda, she was  too  precious for simple
words and feelings.  She was worthy of better than his best.
Now  all he had  to do was  find the ultimate  thing to say.
Prom  was near for the two of  them, he needed to get it out
before that day.
     "Ask  her... ask her... prom is  too close.  Damn.  Too
close to allow time to get the nerve up to..."
     Roger  threw  the pencil  down  only to  have  the lead
break.   He picked it up with  a swift, angry grab.  He took
hold  of the sharpener on  the end of the  desk and began to
sharpen  the  pencil, thinking  of his  next line,  his next
move.   Seeing that the pencil  was sharpened, he folded his
arms  on the desk and dropped  his head into them, ideas and
words filling his mind.

                     *   *   *   *   *

     The  next morning he awoke, still with his head settled
in his folded arms.
     "Oh,  God.   Nothing  accomplished last  night.   And I
still  haven't asked...  What the Hell  do I do?  Wait until
she  says something  to me?   No, a person  like that should
expect  the man to make  the first move.   If only she would
show  me how she felt.  Even  a hint would be heaven for me.
A flirt with serious overtones...
     Roger  went to the dresser drawers, looking for clothes
to  wear to  school this day,  wanting to be  filled with an
idea which would solve his problems for the day.
     School  went as  usual.   He took  his car  to the spot
designated for him to park in, walked to his first class and
listened  to the teacher take  attendance, droll out the new
assignment  for the  next day, and  then have  the nerves to
say, "Have a good day today!"
     Then,  without  warning.    After  class...  just after
walking  out of the door, he saw  her.  He fell in love with
her again.  Beauty beyond description in his mind.  Is there
any  way  God  could  create something  so  perfect  on this
forsaken  Earth?    Milinda.   Just  the  name... perfection
captured  in human words, English no  less.  Is there a more
perfect  word for  this person?   He could not  think of any
which would be more appropriate.
     She was leaning against the wall talking to her friends
and  waiting for her next class when he caught sight of her.
He  looked to the  letter he held  in his hand  then back to
her,  trying  to  think things  out.   He  took  the letter,
unfolded  it and wrote at the bottom, "Milinda, would you go
to  the prom with  me?" and signed  it again.    Simple.  No
trick  words, no romance to  get in the way.   It was just a
simple question to be answered in a simple way.  Yes or No.
     Walking  to her side, taking steps  as if they were his
first,  he handed her the  note personally and smiled, "Just
read it, please."
     Her   smile  which  she  had  been  wearing  turned  to
confusion, "Sure."
     He  heard her  whisper the word  and began  to feel the
tension  of the  new situation.   "Incredible,"  he thought,
"get rid of one strain, gain another to fill its place."

                     *   *   *   *   *
     During   that   time,   Roger   learned   many  things.
Simplicity  with little wording can make the steps easier in
life.   If one would  just be out in  the open with feelings
and   emotion,  less  time  would  be  spent  on  the  wordy
definition  of  them and  more time  would  be given  to the
understanding.    Finally  he understood  the  songs  he had
listened  to for eternity.  He felt relieved of the unneeded
stressed he put upon himself.
     He  learned  that people  are more  apt  to open  up if
others did likewise.  People bring honesty back to life when
they are told the truth.  Taking things for granted is easy,
but  to know the value of it  made it so easier to decide on
exactly  how much you  really need it and  to no longer base
things  on desire and  demand.  To  really know the absolute
quality.
     He also learned Milinda loved him.  She always had.  He
also  saw that being straight  forward with a person brought
him quicker, more accurate results and found very few people
who could be so.  But as for the rest of us, I guess we will
have  to make  due on  what we  see and  hear throughout our
lives.  We depend on our perception no matter how far off it
may end up being to  the real thing.
     From  that day  on, he believed  in true  love and felt
that  he needed Milinda  as one of  his favorite songs spoke
of.   He heard it  all the time, but  now found the words to
hold  some amount of truth.  Truth he had not seen before...
heard before, until he took the time to listen.

                  I want somebody to share
                 Share the rest of my life
              Share my most innermost thoughts
                  Know my intimate details
              Someone who'll stand by my side
                    And give me support
                       And in return
                   She'll get my support
                   She will listen to me
                    When I want to speak
                 About the world we live in
                    And life in general
                Though my views may be wrong
                 They may even be perverted
                    She will hear me out
               And won't easily be converted
                   To my way of thinking
               In fact she'll often disagree
                  But at the end of it all
                   She will understand me

                 I want somebody who cares
                    For me passionately
          With every thought and with every breath
             Someone who'll help me see things
                    In a different light
                  All the things I detest
                     I will almost like
                  I don't want to be tied
                    To anyone's strings
            I'm carefully trying to steer clear
                      Of those things
                    But when I'm asleep
                      I want somebody
             Who will put their arms around me
                    And kiss me tenderly
                  Though things like this
                        Make me sick
                    In a case like this
                   I'll get away with it

     Listening  to the song that night made him sit down and
begin writing everything he could remember.  Writing a story
that  he had lived and had learned from in the end.  Writing
a  story that someone might read someday... maybe to help in
finding  the  way  to  open  up  a  new  world  for himself,
permitting him to make a change for the better, a change for
love...  or maybe just allowing him to see the other side of
life just for a second.

               Twelve   midnight,   just   another
          lonely  night  at home,  not much  to do
          aside  from  watching  the  clocks  hand
          travel  its never ending path around the
          face of the clock...

     His wife Milinda smiled as he began to type, seeing the
story taking the mold of real life.  She took Roger into her
arms  holding  him  for a  moment,  "Maybe we  should  get a
digital clock..."
     Roger  smiled and whispered something  into her ear.  I
never  heard what he said to her, but she kissed him for the
longest  time.  All Roger ever told  me was simple.  He told
me how to find the one I love.

               If your heart is beating fast,
                 Then you know she's right
               If you don't know what to say,
                    well, that's alright
                 You don't know what to do?
          Remember, she is just as scared as you.

     I  found it to be  true.  But I  still feel more scared
about  it all.  I want to believe  it, but it is so tough to
just  come out and tell  my feelings to people.   Now I find
myself doing something I never thought I would do.

          ...not  much to  do aside  from watching
          the  clocks hand travel its never ending
          path...

     When...  when do I get a try?   When will I ever learn?
Tomorrow?  Next year?  Not if I don't give it a shot.  Well,
it  looks like it's going  to be a long  wait.  Where is the
clock?

                                    Author: Erin S. Anderson
                                        To:    Amy Jo Cherry
                                   Written: 09/20/90 10:35pm
                                  Finished: 09/21/90 01:39am