A Brief Touching Love Story: If You Give Sincerely Like a Cabbage
J.D. Salinger: An American writer, his famous novel The Catcher in the Rye is considered a classic of 20th-century American literature. On January 27, 20xx, Salinger passed away at the age of 91 at his home in New Hampshire, USA.
1.
Justin is a printing apprentice earning $30 a week, and about 60 unfamiliar women pass by him every day. Based on this, in the few years Justin has lived in New York, approximately 75,120 different women have passed in front of him. Out of these 75,120 women, about 25,000 are between the ages of 15 and 30. Of these 25,000, only 5,000 weigh between 105 and 125 pounds (around 47.6–56.7 kg). Out of these 5,000, only 1,000 are decent-looking, only 500 have some charm, only 100 are quite attractive, and only 25 are charming enough to draw a long, slow whistle. But there’s only one woman whom Justin fell in love with at first sight.
Typically, there are two kinds of women who can be described as “fatal women.” One type is universally attractive, while the other isn’t.
The girl Justin falls in love with is named Shirley, 11 years younger than Justin, and she is 20 this year. Shirley is a stenographer and lives with her mother. People often say about her looks, “Shirley is as beautiful as a painting.”
One morning, on a bus on Third Avenue, Justin was standing next to Shirley Lester, nearly paralyzed like a crab. All because Shirley’s lips were parted in a mysterious way. Shirley was reading a cosmetic ad on the bus wall, and as she read, her chin slightly relaxed. For that brief moment when her lips were slightly open, she might have been the most lethal woman in all of Manhattan. Justin found in her the cure for the loneliness, the giant monster that had been lurking around him ever since he came to New York.
This is the beginning of the story I wrote for Collier’s Magazine. I intended to write a gentle, touching love story. That seemed appropriate, I thought. The world needs more “boy meets girl” stories. But to write such a story, unfortunately, the author must first figure out how to make the boy meet the girl. And I just couldn’t write it. I didn’t know how to make it realistic. I couldn’t get Justin and Shirley to meet in a reasonable way.
2.
Hypothesis One:
It’s clearly impossible for Justin to lean in and sincerely say something like this: “Forgive me. I love you too much. You make me crazy. I’m fully aware of this. I’ll love you all my life. I’m a printing apprentice, and I earn $30 a week. Damn it, I just really like you. Are you free tonight?”
This Justin would be pretty stupid, but not a total fool. Such a person might have been possible in the past, but today they would surely be extinct. You can’t expect the reader to swallow such nonsense, especially since they’ve paid for it.
Of course, I also couldn’t suddenly inject some slick serum into Hogan Schlag and have him deliver a dramatic line like this: “Please don’t misunderstand, miss. I’m an illustrator for a magazine. Here’s my card. I’ve never wanted to draw someone so much in my life, but I really want to sketch you. Maybe we could both benefit from it. Can I call you tonight? Hopefully soon. I hope I don’t sound too eager, maybe I am, haha!”
Ah, young man. The above lines would need to be said with a tired, but slightly pleasant, and a bit reckless smile. It would be great if Justin could speak like that.
Maybe now you understand the problem I’m facing.
Yes, the real Justin might say something like: “Excuse me, aren’t you Wilma (a celebrity)?”
Shirley would coldly reply: “No!” and then look for an undisturbed spot on the other side of the bus.
“This is so strange,” Justin would continue, “I could’ve sworn you were Wilma. Any chance you’re from Seattle?”
“No,” Shirley would reply, colder than before.
“Seattle’s my hometown. Great little place, Seattle. I mean, it’s really great. I came here — I mean New York — four years ago. I’m a printing apprentice. My name is Justin.”
“I’m not interested.”
Well, with that kind of introduction, Justin doesn’t stand a chance. He has neither the looks nor the charm, nor is he dressed well enough to catch Shirley’s interest in such circumstances. He has zero opportunity. And as I mentioned earlier, to write a brilliant “boy meets girl” story, it’s best if the boy takes the initiative.
3.
Hypothesis Two:
Maybe Justin faints and tries to grab onto something to steady himself — perhaps Shirley’s ankle. He might tear her stockings and even leave a beautiful run in them. People would give poor Justin some space, and he would stand up, mumbling, “I’m fine, thank you!” Then, “Oh no! I’m so sorry, miss. I ruined your stockings. Please let me repay you. I don’t have enough cash on me now; could you leave me your address?”
Shirley wouldn’t give him her address. She’d just be embarrassed and stammer, “It’s fine!” while inwardly wishing he would just disappear. Moreover, this whole idea is absurd. Justin, a Seattle boy, would never dream of grabbing Shirley’s ankle. At least not on a Third Avenue bus.
A more logical possibility is that Justin would take a daring risk. Even today, some people are still willing to take risks for love. Maybe Justin is one of them. He might snatch Shirley’s handbag and run toward the nearest exit. Shirley would scream. People would think of High Noon or something similar. Justin’s escape, let’s call it that, would be halted. The bus would stop. Officer Wilson would arrive at the scene and ask, “What happened here?” “Officer, this man tried to steal my purse.”
In the end, Justin would be dragged into court. Naturally, Shirley would also attend the hearing. They would give their addresses, and so Justin would learn where Shirley’s sacred abode was located.
In jail, Hogan Schlag would write Shirley Lester a letter like this:
Dear Miss Shirley,
I didn’t mean to steal your purse. I did it because I love you. I just wanted to get to know you. Could you write to me if you have the time? It’s very lonely here, and I love you so much. I hope you can come visit me sometime.
Your friend, Justin
Shirley would show the letter to her friends. They would say, “Oh, that’s kind of cute, Shirley.” Shirley would agree that, in a way, it was kind of cute. So she would write back to Hogan Schlag:
Dear Mr. Justin,
I received your letter, and I’m sorry for everything that happened. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do now, but I feel sad thinking about the complicated reasons behind it all. On the bright side, your sentence isn’t long, and you’ll be out soon. Good luck.
Sincerely, Shirley
Receiving the reply, Justin would be overjoyed and encouraged, and then he would reply:
Dear Miss Shirley,
You have no idea how thrilled I was to receive your reply. You don’t need to feel bad. It’s all my fault — I went crazy, so you don’t need to think about it anymore. We get to watch a movie here once a week, so it’s really not that bad. I’m 31 years old, from Seattle. I’ve been in New York for four years, and only occasionally miss that little town when loneliness strikes. It’s a really great place. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, even compared to the girls in Seattle. I hope you can come visit me on a Saturday afternoon. Visiting hours are from two to four. I’ll pay for your train fare.
Your friend, Justin
Shirley would show this letter to her friends too, but she wouldn’t reply this time.
Anyone can see that Justin is a fool. That’s what it boils down to. She’s already written one reply. If she replies to this foolish letter, it’ll never end. She’s done all she can for this man.
At this point, Justin is tormented in prison, even if they get to watch a movie once a week. His cellmates, Bird Hunter and Buck, think he looks a lot like some Chicago punk who once betrayed them. They are convinced the rat-faced guy (rat, also meaning a traitor) and Justin are the same person.
One day, seventeen inmates attempt to escape. They take a guard’s blonde child hostage, and seventeen big men and one blonde child walk out the gate. Sixteen men and the blonde child make it out safely. A guard on a high tower, thinking he had a perfect shot to take out the ringleader, fires but misses, fatally hitting the small man following behind — Justin.
4.
And so, my plan to write a “boy meets girl” story for Collier’s Magazine—a gentle, heart-wrenching love story—fell apart because the protagonist died.
Well, if Shirley had sent a second letter sooner, it wouldn’t have led to Justin’s despair and panic, and he wouldn’t have been part of that doomed escape attempt. But the fact
remains that she never replied to his second letter. Even if he waited a hundred years, she wouldn’t have. I can’t change that fact.
What a shame. How unfortunate that Justin didn’t write the following letter to Shirley from prison:
Dear Miss Shirley,
I hope my words don’t trouble or embarrass you. I’m writing this, Miss Lester, because I want you to know that I’m not a thief in the usual sense. I took your purse because I fell in love with you at first sight on the bus. I couldn’t think of any other way to get to know you than by doing something rash — or more accurately, stupid. But you know, people in love always do foolish things.
I fell in love with the way your lips parted slightly. You revealed the mystery of everything to me. Since I came to New York four years ago, I’ve never been unhappy, but I’ve never been happy either. You could say I’m just like the thousands of other young people in New York, merely existing.
I came to New York from Seattle, hoping to become rich, famous, stylish, and sophisticated. But after four years, I realize I won’t become any of those things. I’m just a good printing apprentice, and that’s all. One day, the printer got sick, and I filled in for him. I made a mess of things, Miss Lester. No one listened to me. When I told the typesetter to get to work, he just giggled. I don’t blame him. I looked foolish giving orders. I guess I’m just one of the millions who were never meant to give orders. But I really don’t care anymore. My boss just hired a 23-year-old guy. He’s only 23, and I’m 31, and I’ve been in the same place for four years. But I know that someday he’ll become the printing supervisor, and I’ll still be his apprentice. But even that doesn’t bother me anymore.
The only thing that matters to me is loving you, Miss Lester. Some people say love is about sex, marriage, morning kisses at 6 a.m., or a bunch of kids. Maybe that’s true, Miss Lester. But do you know what I think? I think love is reaching out and then pulling back your hand.
I think it’s important for a woman to marry a man who seems rich, handsome, smart, or popular. I’m not even close to being popular. No one even dislikes me. I’m just — I’m simply — Justin. I’ve never made anyone feel happy, sad, angry, or even annoyed. I think people see me as a nice guy, and that’s all.
When I was little, no one ever said I was cute, sunny, or good-looking. If they had to say something, they’d say my legs were short but sturdy.
I don’t expect you to reply, Miss Lester. Although your reply would be the thing I want most in this world, honestly, I don’t expect it. I just wanted to tell you the truth. If my love for you only leads me to deeper pain, then that’s what I deserve.
Maybe someday you’ll understand and forgive your clumsy admirer.
Justin
And Shirley’s following letter, of course, would also remain undelivered:
Dear Mr. Justin,
I received your letter and liked it very much. I feel guilty and sad knowing that things turned out this way. If you had just spoken to me instead of taking my purse, how great that would’ve been! But even if you had, I probably would’ve responded indifferently to your conversation.
It’s lunchtime now, and I’m sitting in the office writing you this letter. Today, I want to be alone. If I had to go to the cafeteria with my coworkers and listen to them chat with their mouths full, I’d probably scream.
I don’t care that you’re not successful, don’t care that you don’t have money, fame, or style. I might’ve cared about such things in the past. When I was in high school, I always fell for the handsome boys. They would walk in the rain and recite Shakespearean sonnets from memory. But that wild phase of my life is over.
Those guys in your office who laughed at your orders are on my blacklist. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate them.
What you saw was me after I had carefully made myself up. Without all this makeup, trust me, I’m not that pretty. Please write and tell me when I can visit. I want to make sure you weren’t deceived by my false appearance.
Ah, how I wish you had told the judge why you took my purse! We could be together, talking about all the many things we might share.
Please tell me when I can come visit you.
Sincerely, Shirley
But in reality, Justin would never meet Shirley. She got off at 56th Street, and he at 31st. That night, Shirley went to the movies with Howard. She loved him. Howard thought Shirley was a nice girl, but that was all. That same evening, Justin stayed home, listening to a Lux Soap radio play. He thought about Shirley all night, then continued thinking about her the next day, and she often came to mind throughout the month. Then, suddenly, he was introduced to Doris, a woman who was starting to worry she would never get married. But before Justin realized this, Doris and other things caused him to forget Shirley, and Shirley, along with thoughts of her, vanished completely.
And that’s why I never wrote a “boy meets girl” story for Collier’s Magazine. In a “boy meets girl” story, it’s always the boy who takes the initiative.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
