A Rose on the Lapel

Jeremiah James stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through the Chrysler building. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a library in Chinatown. Taking a book off the shelf, he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. 1

In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Gabriella Capistrano. With time and effort, he located her address. She lived in Manhattan. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The following day, he was shipped overseas for service in Iraq. 2

During the next year and one-month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Jeremiah requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. 3

When the day finally came for him to return to New York, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 pm in the lobby of the Chrysler building. 4

"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." At 7:00 pm, Jeremiah was outside the museum looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. 5

What follows next is seen through his eyes. 6

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her black hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were a golden pair with violet undertones. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit, she was like spring time come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. 7

"Going my way, private?" she murmured. 8

Almost uncontrollably, I made a step, bringing me closer to her, and then I saw her... Gabriella Capistrano. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past forty, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankle feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the women whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. 9

And there she stood. 10

Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; her grey eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. 11

I squared my shoulders and saluted. Finally, I held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. 12

"I'm Lieutenant Jeremiah James, and you must be Miss Gabriella Capistrano. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" 13

The women's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit that just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" 14

I gave the woman a quick hug. "Thank you." I did exactly what the woman said: I went across the street and saw the girl in the green suit waiting by the door. I stopped and she just stood there. 15

Then, she smiled and extended her hand. "Hello Lieutenant Jeremiah James. I am Gabriella Capistrano. I'm glad that you and I can finally meet."16

I held her hand for a moment longer and finally, I met her eyes and said, "Pleased to meet you, Gabriella. Shall we?" 17

\It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Gabriella’s wisdom. 18

The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," a wise man once wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."\ 19