Essay/Assay

Valentine’s Day, 2004.

I’m at the Southern California Writers’ Conference, and at the bar that evening, solo scribes gather over beer and burgers, vowing to boycott candlelit dinners on this most romantic of holidays. After a long evening of sharing intimate stories with newfound strangers, one of them, Sam, turns to me and says, "So…have you been loved?"

And the question stops me.

Because usually, what people ask is, "Have you been in love?" And of course most everyone answers "yes" whether they know what love is or not. They’ve been in some form of some attachment, some emotional push-me-pull-you that they saw on an old movie screen that made them think this was their version of it, in Nightmare Before Valentine’s Day.

But, Sam asked, "Have you been loved?" How am I supposed to know? Do I go up and ask ex-boyfriends, "’Scuse me. I know I called you an asshole that last day, but, reflecting back—did you love me?" The answer requires confirmation from an outside source, i.e. the lover.

I know you can say you’re loved by your family, your friends, or your dog, who certainly appreciates the fact that you put food on the floor. You can say, "I have been loved by me." But even that is suspect. Some women gather diamonds from old fiancés and husbands and re-arrange them on a necklace, like scalps on a frontiersman’s belt, to prove they’ve been loved. A diamond is forever, right? But that’s no confirmation. There’s no stamp you can get in your passport of life that says, "Yes, Vickie Jenkins passed through here back in 1983 and, by God, I loved her." Stamp. Confirmed.

So how will you ever really know whether someone special loved that something special inside of you? The question kept squirreling around my mind on the drive home from the writers’ conference that Valentine’s night. Back at the house, the answer was waiting in my mailbox. Written, right there, in black and white. A card from an old boyfriend, thanking me for our wonderful years together. I actually have his original document right here, so let me just quote from it.

He writes about his memories of the great trips we created together. Quote: "VJ, friends and people I meet many times talk of their past relationships like horror stories. When I reflect on ‘our time,’ I see a place of love, and above all, a supportiveness for each other’s space in this world. These thoughts make my heart happy."

And it is signed, "Love…"

I remember those candlelit dinners—on a moonless beach in Maui, over wine and Dungeness crab in Sausalito, in a crowded cantina in Zihuatanejo.

On Valentine’s Day, I got confirmation from an ex-Valentine. And because they are written words, they carry some weight with me.

Have I been loved? Yes, actually.

Yes.

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Read Chris Baron's essay on Valentine's Day

Read Mansi Bhatia's essay, How Deep Is Your Love?

Read more about the Southern California Writer's Conference in San Diego

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