Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the American short story writer, O. Henry
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The substance of this tale, the details of which were recently related to me, is worthy of the great American short story teller O. Henry. Or, hopefully, it will be in that ball park by the time I get done with it. O. Henry, for those who do not know, made a literary career out of short stories, stories about working people and other down and outs of society in the early 20th century and putting a little twist, ironic, sardonic or tragic on them, the stories that is, although now that I think about it maybe the people too. Probably the most famous one, The Gift Of The Magi, is, as I recall from the distant past, about a young down and out married couple at Christmas time who are so broke they can’t put two dimes together. But they are in love and love has this funny habit of making you do, well, off-hand, off-the-wall stuff, praise be. In their case they sold what was most precious to each (she, her big hair, he, his watch) in order to buy each other Christmas presents (she a chain for his watch, he a comb for her big hair). Nice twist, right? I hope I can hit that mark here:
I have spent reams of cyberspace telling one and all that I grew up and came of age in “the projects” in the 1950s American night. For those three people who do not know what “the projects” are I will just tell you they are places, public housing, good, bad or indifference, but mainly in the long, bad, at least for my family and some others that I know of, for the poor, the working poor and the drifters, grafter, and midnight sifters of the world to “make due” in. The particular one that I grew up in started out as a stepping stone, kind of a half-way house, for returning World War II veterans like my father who couldn’t afford that little white house with the picket fence of post-war dreams without some help. That was the idea anyway, if not the reality. But enough said of that, I will speak of that another time, because this is not really meant to be a “treatise” on class injustices and societal indifference but a “love story.”
The love story part, just like in O. Henry’s The Gift Of The Magi could happen to rich and poor alike, although perhaps the circumstances for the rich would work out differently. I have never been close enough to that social class and their predilections to make comment here. What I can comment on is that “projects” boys, and in the case of the subject of this story a “projects” girl, have as much right to dreams of getting out from under as anyone else. Literature is filled with tales of such escape by the timely presence of a “prince charming,” or some other good fortune. And so it transpired here.
The way that the story came to me is that our “projects” princess, Cathy, somehow caught the eye of a rich gilded youth, Robert, from the other side of town, the other side of the tracks. Apparently (I am a little sketchy on the details, but no matter) this young princeling was so smitten with his princess that he wanted to buy her expensive gifts to show his devotion. One of the first things in his seemingly endless arsenal was to present a bottle of Chanel No. 5. Not the toilet water or eau whatever stuff but the real stuff, and a big bottle as well. Not bad right? Now I don’t know much about perfume and I prefer, much prefer, not being put in a situation where I have go to a store and buy such an item but as a fellow “projects” denizen this is a young man that I would not give the air to out of hand. And if Cathy had asked my counsel I would have said the hell with poverty, go for it. But our fair working class maiden was betwixt and between on this, and we will leave her that way for a moment.
Why? Oh I “forgot” to tell the other part of the story. Oops, sorry. Seems our Cathy had another boy, a poor boy, Jimmie, who was “courting” her as well. So while our young prince was showing his love with barrels of gifts her poor boy was hard pressed to give her a simple Woolworth’s 5&10 cent store bracelet. This is definitely a “no-brainer.” Order the tuxedos and gowns for the royal wedding now. Robert and Cathy sounds right, right?
But wait just another minute. What if I told you, as was told to me at an earlier time, that that poor boy, that mad man Johnny, that cheapo bracelet giver had shown his love in another way. And suppose I told you that this is the very guy who in another story I called “bicycle boy” actually swam across a dangerous river channel, against the odds, to be with his “projects” princess. Well, now all bets are off. Throw that ne’er do well, grasping, shallow, callow gilded youth Robert to the sharks in that channel. And his cheap jack Chanel No. 5, 10, 15 or 20 too. Bicycle boy it is. And guess what, our “projects” girl, through thick and thin and in honor of that long ago flame, and his deeds, still has that bracelet snuggly wrapped around her wrist.
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