Lars and Laura

Lars fell in love with Laura one day. Worse things had happened. He had been bitten by a garter snake the week before and lost his glasses. While he soon did recover his glasses, and his wound quickly healed, his unfortunate affliction with Laura was persistent. He saw her each morning at the bus stop, and each day he became ever more convinced of his unfortunate condition. He knew he needed to address this somehow, and considered a distraction. He tried shuffling away from her and minding his own business. He tried looking at cloud formations and whistling. But, it seemed that no matter how far away from her he stood, or how loud he whistled, his condition remained. Over the days and weeks he began to fear that this was a chronic debilitating disease, and one that he did not know how to remedy. A busy young man, he was certain that such diversions could not be tolerated. Finally, he made the decision that action was required to resolve it.

One morning as he waited for the bus, Lars turned to Laura. He looked at her plainly and said:

"Laura, I have some troubling news. I'm afraid I suffer the misfortune of loving you."

"My, that is troubling," Laura responded tersely. "Not to worry though, I'm sure it will pass."

Lars nodded, and they both waited silently for the bus. "Yes," thought Lars, "I am sure it will pass." Laura was a thoughtful and studious individual, capable of the kind of dispassionate reasoning that both delighted and comforted Lars. Yet, even though he was relieved and comforted by her confident assessment, he soon realized that the exact nature of his condition may not have been communicated precisely. For example, perhaps he could have explained that he had not just realized this moments before he said it. He might have also included the exact number of days he had been in love, and its escalating degree. Without this important information, she was scarcely in a position to offer an accurate and thorough diagnosis. Recognizing the embarrassing and dismal state of his incomplete explanation, he feared the slim possibility her assessment was erroneous.

The next morning, at around the same time, he looked at his watch and then turned to Laura.

"Laura, I have been in love with you for precisely 37 days, and, while I expect it to pass, I believe that over this period of time its intensity has increased. Can you offer council on how I might eliminate this persistent agitation?"

"I'm sorry, Lars, but I can be of no help," she said sternly.

Again, her advice was greatly appreciated, and Lars was reassured. But, as he deliberated with himself, he discovered that her response was actually not very helpful, and even bordered on having the opposite of the intended effect. Just the sound of her voice, regardless of the words, seemed only to hinder his endeavor. Even more, she continued to seem oblivious as to the reality of his disorder. He began to suspect that even the exact number of days and the general escalation of intensity was somehow lacking in clarity. Something told him he still hadn't captured the full breadth and severity of this debilitating disorder. He decided that even if he had informed her of the exact number of seconds, that even that may not be enough. This was very troublesome indeed. Now, not only did he suffer from this strange illness, but also one that could not even be adequately expressed, much less diagnosed. In fact, it could hardly be communicated at all, and there was reason to believe that just maybe words themselves were incapable of a complete and thorough explanation. If this was the case, his condition was indeed dreadful, and would require thought, even if it took time away from his studies.

So, the next morning at the bus stop he was completely silent. Instead of whistling, or attempting another vocal explanation, which by now seemed especially prohibitive, he would formulate a plan. His mission could be stated simply, yet it was very difficult indeed: To inform her of the exact nature of his strange disease, and to do so without opening his ill-equipped mouth.

He was not much of a writer, so a letter was out of the question. He was definitely not a musician, so singing to her was out. His drawings were painfully inadequate, so art would be a dismal compromise. And, touching was right out. After much consideration, and many silent mornings at the bus stop, Lars decided he only had one real option. The way to describe his conundrum would not be through her hears, eyes, or mouth, but through her nose. Olfaction! It was well known that this was the most acute of all the senses.

That evening Lars raided his father's medicine cabinet. He sniffed every bottle of cologne and after shave he could find, determined to wear the most suitable one...the one sure to communicate his sentiments precisely. When the chosen bottle approached his nose it was instant heaven. Right away, he knew it was the one. He looked at the bottle, "Old Spice." Hm. Well, she wouldn't know what it was called. She would only discover the exact truth of his condition as it penetrated her nasal passageways. This, as he continued to sniff, was inevitable.

The next morning he stood calmly beside her. He was a stoic gentleman, and handled himself with dignity as a gentle wind escorted his perfectly constructed message to her lovely nose. Out of the corner of his eye he wondered if she had noticed, rocking slightly in her billowy pink coat. He had spent the night before studying and had learned that he was actually targeting five or six million of her olfactory receptors, and did not even require all of them. He could see her breath pour in clouds through the scarf bundled tightly around her head. She could hardly see, and he wondered if the cologne was capable of penetrating the thick fleece. He became the slightest bit concerned that his plan was not working and shuddered at the thought it may go completely unnoticed - it was either that or the sub-zero temperature. The bus arrived and she bolted through the door and walked to her seat at the opposite end of the bus from his.

His former worry, that of being unnoticed, was proved to be ill-founded. His seat mate spared no time pointing it out, as well as those in the seat in front and behind him. The driver was not immune to it either, and did not hesitate before his robust beard turned to exclaim "is that old spice!?" Lars endured a chorus of laughter followed by the passing of his body from one seat to another as the other children struggled to deliver him to the opposite end of the bus. One young gentleman hurried from row to row, opening every window. There were many anxious to point out their discovery of his former decision, so dramatically misdirected and misinterpreted. In fact, his plan had the unfortunate effect of enlivening everyone on the bus except for Laura, who seemed strangely oblivious to the whole ordeal, casually gazing out her window.

Lars was beginning to realize the difficulty of his task, and he spent much time pondering it. He finally decided there was no easy shortcut, and that his objective would require some real, conscionable, effort. She would need to be impressed with him somehow. He would need to accomplish something exemplary or fantastic in her honor. But, this was a devastating discovery, as there was absolutely nothing exemplary or fantastic about him. He was perhaps the least talented individual in his class. He was neither athletic, nor especially charismatic, nor bright by any measure. All of this brought him to the inevitable comclusion that he had no choice but abandon this objective entirely. And, so he did.

For a little while. Then, he got to work. He decided to learn to play an instrument, and then decided he would listen to all the music he could find until he discovered the most beautiful piece ever. But, as much as he listened, he simply could not find any music beautiful enough. Dozens of CDs turned to hundreds, and then thousands of MP3s accumulated in his iTunes. Yet, nothing even came close. So, he resolved to take matters into his own hands. If no one else could write a piece of music beautiful enough for her ears, then he would do it himself. After that Lars sat down at a piano every day, and make little sketches on a piece of score paper. He found this very difficult, and, after several days, he noticed he was not making much progress. Yet, as he stood next to her each morning, he remembered that he simply could not give up. Soon spring came, and then summer, and he continued to poke away at the keys. He after several years, he had written the piece that he believed was beautiful enough for her ears.

But, by now he had quite a lot of time invested in all of this. His efforts had been quite agressive and perhaps even excessive, but necessary, as his condition had deteriorated into a desperate and unenvyable state. As he polished the notes and practiced its performance, a severe problem lingered in the back of his mind. He considered the possibility of her continued misunderstanding. That would be quite disturbing, and would certainly leave him more wanton of expressive revelation than ever. To take such a risk, it became obvious, would require far more courage than he posessed. Performing for her would be impossible. This was an unfortunate realization, but one that could not be avoided. Lars put his manuscript into storage and thought about how he could manufacture some courage.

About that time Lars and Laura parted for different corners of the country. Laura to the east coast and Lars to the rocky mountains. He decided a profession in extreme sports was required to acquire the desired amount of courage. He started with mountain biking, and then rock climbing, and finaly base jumping. When even this shook his nerves he engaged in daredevil motorcycle stunts. He figured if he could overcome his fear of jumping one hundred automobiles, he could overcome the fear of performing his masterpiece for Laura. He cleared the hundred cars with the unfortunate side effect of breaking nearly every bone in his body. After a year of rcovery it was apparent that his hands would never be in a state to play the piano again, which Lars found quite troubling.

The next decade was spent learning to paint. By this time in his life he was a bit more clever, and managed to place his very best painting in a gallery that Laura would go to. She saw the painting and disliked it, so Lars threw away his brushes. Over the years she saw, heard, and even tasted a few more of his creations without her knowledge. None of them were of particular interest to her.

The next decade, Lars accumulated a fortune. He figured he could buy her a nice gift, and that maybe this would be adequate to demonstrate his, by now, completely terminal illness. While Laura appreciated the large ocean-side estate, she also appreciated moving there with her husband and five children. Lars felt the slightest bit concerned that by this point she just may be too distracted to ever fully understand the peculiar nature of his illness. This did not distract him for long.

The remaining sixty years of his life Lars attacked his illness with a vengence. He became a world-renouned ice chisler, champion competitive eater, and minor-league baseball team owner. He produced movies, wrote novels, and caught a record sea bass. He started a multi-national corporation and became a multibillionaire, funding charitable organizations around the globe. He even bought an island and started his own republic. Is own personal worth exceeded that of almost every nation on earth. He dedicated everything he did to Laura although he knew the possibility of relieving his ailment was very slight.

He was in his 90s when he rang her doorbell one morning.

"Laura, I have been in love with you for precisely 75 years, 325 days, 1 hour and 37 minutes. While I expect it to pass, I believe that over this period of time its intensity has increased. Can you offer council on how I might eliminate this persistent agitation?"

She responded immediately.

"I'm sorry, Lars, but I can be of no help."

Lars nodded and turned away. He began to walk down the sidewalk, but turned back before Laura had closed the door.

"Laura, I never asked. Do you happen to suffer the same illness?"

Laura nodded her head. Lars continued...

"I have not been of much help, have I?"

Laura shook her head. "No, you haven't."

Lars nodded and turned away again as Laura closed the door. He walked slowly down the driveway on onto the sidewalk. He stopped and turned back for a moment. To his surprise, he saw Laura watching him, and smiled for a fraction of a second before the curtain closed in front of her. Lars lived in peace for the remainder of his long life.