Jakeb Brasee

The Revolutionary Courtship Of Mr. Gillian Miles

          Two things about love: it tastes like hot cinnamon cough syrup, and nobody really knows what it means, so you had better ask some clarifying questions before you drink it, and even then you'll want to pinch your nose. Gillian Miles' stodgy nose was pinched already (presciently?) when he stepped into a revolving door and promptly fell in love.

          A revolving door is a very good place to meet somebody! It is a carousel in disguise, pretending to be practical. So when Gillian entered the swirling portal and glimpsed a beauty through the glass, he felt the strong connection of secret, shared enjoyment -- and then a sense of teamwork as they pushed from either side -- an equal and opposite purpose, like a hostage exchange, like the east and west ends of the Transcontinental Railroad had never met in the middle and just passed by with a "how do you do?"

          Then it was over. Drug World! got Gillian while the great outdoors got the girl of his dreams. In the scrumptious air conditioning he stood frozen, enraptured -- and quite at a loss. A revolving door is fine for first impressions, but how difficult to get a second date! He puffed his cheeks out, contemplating fate.

          "Ain't she pretty?" came the whip-crack voice of the lone clerk. "What you want?"

          "The love of my life," said Gillian, absently. "Antihistamines."

 

          Gillian came calling at Drug World! every day after work...but she only showed up on Saturdays, so he adjusted accordingly. She always bought Airborne, chips, and cheese; returned one movie and rented another (these tended toward the inspirational). She knew beforehand what movie she wanted. The whole trip usually took between 5 and 8 minutes, depending on lines. It's not stalking if you love the person. Then it's called courting.

 

          The First Transcontinental Railroad took more than five years to build. Gillian feared it would take at least that long to say hello to the love of his life. She was wholly unaware of his existence, of course. He was there to shop like anyone else, not to hover. That would be creepy. He never slowed down, never altered his path to cross hers...never even looked her in the eye, except in those rare, historical slow-motion moments when they danced together through the door. So caught up with his darling, he missed the singular pity in the cashier's expression, and the fluorescent sign above the door:

 

          "DRUG WORLD!"!

          STOPPING AT NOTHING TO SERVE YOU BETTER!

          nothing

 

          Twenty weeks after he fell in love, Gillian made a mistake. He entered the building, scanned the area -- all clear. No sign of a soul mate. Must have got there too late. Puffing out his cheeks in mourning, he shopped arbitrarily for batteries and marshmallows (equating these to power and comfort). Then stepping into line, he saw her -- just ahead of him! Proximity alert, back away, back away...wait. A glimpse of her driver's license. Amethyst Evans.

          So that was her name. She had a name. Names can be very intrusive. You think you know a person so well, but their name comes along and tells a different story. Hers was nice -- Amethyst, a gemstone; Evans, rhymes with Heavens. But it was just not...organic as he would have predicted. (Why not Lavender? Willow? Sequoia?) He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, watching her walk away.

          "What you want??" that voice again, cut across his consciousness.

          "I...I don't...know. Just these," Gillian dropped his marshmallows and batteries on the counter.

          "Ain't she pretty?"

          "Yeah! Love of my life," he vowed, and then less certainly, "Amethyst Evans..."

          The clerk sighed and massaged his temples. "Okay guy," he slipped into a stage whisper, "you gonna need more than power and comfort. You gonna need real love."

          Gillian began an insightful inquiry, "Huh---?"

          "Look, she's real pretty. You ain't, guy! You look like my daddy's bunions." The drug store got quiet as an Old Western draw...then he produced a bulbous bottle of viscous liquid the color of Valentine's Day. "A love potion, man." And indeed, the label read as follows:

 

          DR. AGAPE'S REAL LOVE POTION

          ***MIRACULOUS RESULTS***!!!!!!

          Simply

1.    add DNA of self and beloved

2.    shake well

3.    consume contents

          and experience REAL LOVE whenever you lay eyes on each other!!!!!!!!

 

          Gillian's skepticism was self-evident...but so was a deeper longing, twenty weeks of daydreams, a lifetime of hopelessness. Though he deeply resented the intrusion (this guy was spying on him all along!), he wrapped himself in sarcasm and cooperated. "Okay, sure, show me the magic."

          "Right!" the clerk barked, and scanned the potion. "Your total comes to twenty-five eighty-five."

          "Twenty-fi--? Fine, that's fine. Wait, hold on," he ran for a bottle of grapefruit juice, slammed a fifty on the table, scooped his purchases into a bag, and bolted.

 

 

 

          1. add DNA of self and beloved

          Gillian popped the cork, bit off a fingernail crescent, dropped it in the potion. It rested on the surface for an instant before sinking. And then, inevitably, inexorably, he pulled a tissue from his pocket -- a tissue on which the exquisite Amethyst Evans had blown her adorable nose just weeks before.

 

          2. shake well

          The potion fussed and flared, turning an even brighter red. He could almost swear it had a heartbeat. No trace of the tissue or the fingernail remained.

 

          3. consume contents

          Gillian swigged from the bottle...not because he needed it. He was already in love and knew that it was real. But the lingering cynic in his mind still smelled poison, and he wanted to keep his Amethyst safe.

 

          Now, have you ever drunk from a cup of soda under the impression it was water? Have you experienced the instinctive revulsion of such unmet expectations? This was something akin to that, on an Olympian scale. Love that tasted like hot cinnamon cough syrup. It coated his teeth and burned his throat, and very nearly made him retch.

          Tears streaming from his eyes, then, he twisted the cap off the grapefruit juice and washed the potion down. What was left he mixed together -- a terrible deception, but he loved her.

 

          He ran, drink in hand, toward the parking lot. Was he too late? No, there she was -- just pulling away! She drove a violet convertible with a smiley cactus antenna topper. Gillian was naturally familiar with the vehicle.

 

          "Amethyst! Amethyst Evans!" he hollered. The car slowed to a curious crawl and stopped when he came closer.

          "Hi," smiled Gillian Miles. "Good day to you."

          "Hello there?" she replied, waiting for clarity.

          "I, um, I got you a bottle of grapefruit juice," he handed it to her. "Here, I got you a bottle of grapefruit juice."

          Now her eyes (those eyes!) grew wide with mock sincerity. "Is it an illegal bottle of grapefruit juice?"

          (funny, it felt like his insides were glowing -- and that potion didn't taste bad at all)

          "Did you steal it?" she jabbed him like a co-conspirator.

          He quirked his mouth into a playful shape. "It's not stealing if it's already open."

          "How did you...oh, disregard, I don't wanna know. Well I do, but I don't."

          "There's nothing wrong with it! Look," he grabbed it back and took a sip (which tasted horribly like hot cinnamon grapefruit juice). "Mmmmm!"

          "Gross. It's a bottle of illegal, germy grapefruit juice. Who are you?"

          "I'm Gillian Miles," he felt his insides twisting. The next words only came out with effort, "and I met you twenty weeks ago in that revolving door, and you are the love of my life, so I bought you a grapefruit juice, because it is delicious and refreshing."

          "Well, free food. Who is turning that down, I ask you?" she giggled a song and drank. Gillian stared at the ground, waiting for her repulsion. He was not disappointed. "Agh! That was the worst..."

          "...but," she said tenderly, "thank you, it was a sweet thing to do." There was love in that voice! Joy shuddered through Gillian's heart. True love at long last -- praise God, this was it. Slowly he raised his head. His stomach was a furnace now, and the potion was a flame. He met the gaze of his dearest Amethyst Evans, and his heart broke. Shame, ugliness, weeping!

          "Amethyst, Miss Evans, forgive me!" he moaned, not knowing what he was saying. He hung his head in humiliation.

          Hold up, what was this nonsense? This was a happy day! He glanced up, determined to fall in love. Again the sight of her burned him to the soul.

 

          …experience REAL LOVE

          whenever you lay eyes on each other...

 

          He was transfixed now, and words born of stale guilt poured from his mouth. "Miss Evans, I'm so sorry, " he struggled to stop his voice cracking. "I have not been, y'know, honest. If I really ever loved you, I would have been honest. You were just -- you're pretty, and I have stalked you to this store for like twenty weeks now, and I spiked your grapefruit juice with a love potion."

          "Love potion?" she was actually smiling. Gillian felt miserable.

          "Yeah. It didn't work, thank God. I've done enough already."

          "Hmm, I'm gonna say it was successful on some level. Hee, you look like a blowfish," she poked his cheek, deflated it. "Sir: I forgive you."

          The weight of worlds lifted. He stared at her to make sure.

          "Love always trusts," she said. "It keeps no record of wrongs. I forgive you. Trust me."

 

          Nobody really knows what love means. Not until they taste it. Gillian turned away, overcome -- and with line of sight broken, an old petulant voice returned. It spoke of infatuation, romance, happy ever after. It spoke of love at any cost: lies and manipulation. Even love by force, if you can find such magic in the world. Above all, it said, love means getting satisfaction.

          But he wiped the snot of repentance on his sleeve, turned around and faced his true love. There stood a woman he barely knew and had no right to know, whose privacy he had violated, whose image had consumed him, to whom he had revealed the depth of his indiscretions -- and she held none of it against him!

          The shame broke, then, being freely admitted. The guilt flaked away, and the crush blossomed into something new. "Amethyst Evans," he said, "thanks for forgiving me. If I am honest, like I want to be, I need to say that I genuinely don't have a place in your life. And if love means committing myself to what's really good for you, then I'll just be on my way. I hope that's not insulting."

          "Not at all insulting, Mr...Miles, was it?"

          "Mr. Miles," he nodded.

          "I knew a Mr. Kilometers once...he was shorter than you," she tipped her head to one side and put the car in gear. "Thanks for the grapefruit juice, Gillian. Love ya!"

          Gillian laughed, "I love you too, Amethyst."

          Then he closed his eyes and made a choice. "Goodbye!"