A Valentine for Miss Welty

Abstract

I didn't know who she was, not really. But it was February, after all. Valentine's Day was approaching, and I knew what was called for. It just didn't seem right to go empty handed. I was about five years old--and being dragged along on another of a series of errands that generally didn't hold much interest for me. But this trip held promise. We were going to one of my favorite places ... the bookstore. And for some reason my mom seemed to think it was more of an occasion than usual. I remember that she looked especially nice, but then my child's heart held this view most of the time anyway. I was sitting at the dining-room table intent on craftsmanship, scissors slicing away somewhat awkwardly through red construction paper, when she told me where we were going. Surrounded by glitter, stickers, glue, and bright rosy sheets of paper, I longed to bestow my little creations on everyone I could think of. I don't remember being very inclined to depart from my labors, but by the time you are five you have come to understand that if Mommy is going somewhere and there's no babysitter in sight you might as well just get in the car without protest. And anyway, sometimes you might be pleasantly surprised by what develops. But before I would go get my coat, find my shoes, and all the rest of it, I determined I would make a valentine for this person my morn seemed to think so much of. She's a really good writer, she told me in reverent tones, trying to impart the importance of the thing. Well, I like messing around with glitter and glue and scissors just as much now as I did then, and that's a lot. So maybe it wasn't all generosity of spirit that spurred my actions, though I'd like to think that was mostly it. Then as now, Lemuria bookstore is a wonderland for a short person who's been well introduced to the love of its wares. Books are stacked to the ceiling, in pyramids in the corners, on every surface--glistening in glossy rainbow jackets, beckoning to little hands and big. That day there may have been as many people waiting inside as there were books on the shelves. I may not have known what was going on exactly, but there were lots of awfully excited adults chatting in the altitudes above my head. We waited in line. I held my mom's hand in one hand and the valentine in the other. By the time we finally reached the front of the line, the valentine was a bit crumpled along the edge. In front of us was just a lady sitting behind a table, some books stacked by her side. …