Be My Valentine

Sheldon was very depressed, almost despondent. His mother, to whom he was deeply attached, was dying. Sheldon’s father, a tailor, had passed on almost fifteen years earlier, while Shel was in seventh grade. His mother had stepped in to fill his father’s role, and then also became his mentor and his closest friend. It was she who had inspired him to do well enough at PS 168 and Bronx Science to get a full scholarship at Harvard. She encouraged him to go into premed studies and then, after he was accepted to Columbia Medical School, sold shoes at the Thom Mcan store on 46th and Broadway so he would have enough spending money to subsist in a small cold-water flat on West 178th Street.

After he had graduated from Columbia with honors and got an internship then a residency in cardiology at Bellevue, Shel moved in with his mother in her two-bedroom apartment in Stuyvesant Town. It was like he was a kid again. She would always have his favorite foods waiting for him no matter what time of the day or night he returned home. She would be waiting there in her flowery chintz bathrobe with a plate of blini or some sliced brisket and half-dones from the 2nd Ave. Deli. On the Saturdays that Shel was not working, they would travel by the Canarsie line to the Pastrami King restaurant in Brooklyn and spend hours gorging themselves before going on to Far Rockaway to watch the surf or bask in the sun, depending on the season.

But this particularly cold February things were very different. Shel’s mother could no longer go out of their apartment. Shel himself had diagnosed his mother’s condition -- congestive heart failure. Too many corned beef sandwiches and too little exercise were conspiring to take Shel’s mother away from him before her time. She was only 58 after all. But there was little Shel could do, save a heart transplant, to return his mom to here former vigor. And the cost of a new heart for her, even with Shel’s medical privileges, was well beyond what he made or could even borrow (being already tapped-out due to his medical studies). And besides, by the time Shel’s mother reached the top of the waiting list for a new heart, it most probably would be too late. So Shel’s brooding mood matched the grayness of the late-winter Manhattan weather.

Now Shel, although not quite handsome and hardly the athlete, had attracted, by his potential earning power, the attention of quite a few of the female hospital staff. He was constantly getting invitations for coffee, or for drinks after work, or to spend the weekend helping some comely nurse paint her apartment. All of which he refused. That is, all, until this particular Valentine’s Day when he got dozens of cute cards with all kinds of sappy and suggestive messages, such as: “You can have my candy, Valentine” or “You can put your dart in me, Sweetie.” One particularly florid card showed cupid shooting an arrow into the tukhas of a doctor who was, in turn, ogling a nurse with a lot of cleavage showing. It read, “Just say the word ...” It contained some of those little heart-shaped candies that had inscribed things like “Be my Valentine” and “My heart is yours;” and the card was signed “Amanda.”

When he read this card, Shel immediately got a half a woodie ... for he had been secretly admiring Amanda, out of all the nurses vying for his attention. She was statuesque with large breasts and, unlike most women endowed in this manner, also had a very shapely derriere. She was, of course, a blond schiksa whose intellect was not the match of Shel’s. But in some ways she did remind Shel of his mother and this made him feel more comfortable around her. She often knitted socks, just like his Mom. She drank her tea with a slurping sound, just like his Mom. And she often wore he hair in a tight bun covered with a snood, just like his Mom.

So Shel decided to break his self-imposed exile and have a go at Amanda. He sent her back a note asking if she would like to have dinner at the local Szechuan dive. His beeper went off fifteen minutes later and its text message read: “YES! YES! MANDY.” They met later that night at the restaurant and small-talked their way through the Hunan chicken and the sweet and sour pork. When Shel asked Mandy to come back to the hospital, she practically gushed her assent. Then she, from behind, placed her hand into Shel’s right front pants pocket to let him know a bit of what was coming. They practically ran back to the hospital and up to the top floor where the residents had temporary lodgings while they were on duty. By the time Shel had closed the door and moved his black bag off of the bed, Mandy had already shed her blouse and had let her beautiful breasts come cascading out of her bra. His breathing became short and shallow.

Shel, then cracked a couple of Amyl Nitrate vials, which they both quickly sniffed. Then he produced a Nitrous Oxide inhaler, which Mandy quickly sucked into her lungs as she slipped out of her panties. Shel quietly held back. Then he produced two Seconols, which, while Mandy downed hers, let his slip softly to the floor. Next he lay his drowsy and giggling date on the metal-frame bed and proceeded to tie her up, hand and foot, as she squealed with delight. Next, he opened a canister of ether, which, as Mandy inhaled its distinctly sweet smell, brought a flash of panic to her eyes. When Amanda was fully zonked, Shel slipped a rubber sheet under her supine nude torso. With that, he retrieved his black bag and proceeded deftly to spread open her chest, cut out her heart, and place it, still beating weakly, into a sterile cryogenic package ... and then into a small Thermos ice chest. He then calmly phoned for an ambulance to bring his mother to the hospital. As he double-locked his room, picked up the ice chest, and turned to make the necessary preparations in Operating Room 4, Shel, with a sly smile, realized that he truly had stolen Amanda’s heart.

© Copyright, George W. Potts