Beaver Believes III: Christina Volcy

CHRISTINA VOLCY ’10

I was a closet fifteen-year-old romantic, an academic desperate to keep hidden my deepest hopes. As I browsed the fiction section of my public library – thumbing slyly through the yellowing pages of worn romantic novels – I overhead two middle aged women discussing love, and its basis in pure science. The shorter woman, who had a vicious sneer and grating cackle, nodded as her friend condemned love as nothing but a commercialized product of the Hallmark industry.

“True love – now that’s a load of bull! Am I supposed to believe that I was designed for the purposes of meeting one man – that there is one person to whom my whole heart belongs? And if I do meet this person – by some cosmic miracle, of course – will fireworks explode, will doves appear and will my heart explode from happiness? Of course not. Love at first sight; now that’s a load of bull!”

As I stole glances at this woman’s hardened expression, I found myself mulling over her bitter arguments. I considered the concept of soul mates, of fated love, and wondered for a moment if she was right, if maybe true love was nothing but a theory or a gimmick. I thought of the two embittered women, jaded by experiences that had transformed love into a piece of fiction for them. I thought of the absoluteness of divorce, and the delusion from which the not-yet-divorced-but-so-close marriage ‘time-outs’ result. I thought of broken hearts and deceitful significant others, unreturned phone calls and painful breakups – “It’s not you, it’s me.” And then, I was sure that these two women were right. That love, true love, did not exist.

But then I thought of Valentine’s Day, of wedding proposals, and of tearful marriage vows. “Love is patient, love is kind,” Corinthians 13:4 declares. I considered the contrasting beauty and fear of the first “I love you,” and the exciting delay before a first kiss. I thought of the unwavering love of my married parents, and of the story of their first meeting, of the moment that they fell in love. I remembered my first crush, of the twinkle in his hazel eyes, and of the simple pleasure of holding hands -the stinging rush of energy between linked fingers. Thinking of these moments, of these images, helped me to ignore the hostile declarations of the tired, cranky women, and reaffirmed my belief in love.

I believe in love at first sight -that immediate attraction exists, and that one can fall in love with another upon their first encounter. I believe in the pounding of one’s heart during the initial moments of “Hello, my name is…” and in the collision of sparks during that first, shared glance. I believe in stuttered salutations caused by clouded minds, and in the butterflies that come to life without warning, fluttering about nauseous stomachs. I believe in fireworks and exploding emotions, in skipped heartbeats and reddened faces.

As I turned away from the harsh mutterings of the women for whom love had become a source of pain, I felt sorry for them, and wanted to shake them by their shoulders in exasperation, to ease them from beneath their negative perceptions. I hoped then, as I hope now, that I will always believe in love, and in its power to strike immediately and unexpectedly. I believe in love at first sight. This, I believe.