"Excuse me! Can you give me your autograph, please? Make it out to John. Something like...I love you, John. Love, Miss Me."
"Miss. Me, could you sign my T-shirt?" And so she did. She refused no one. Always gracious and giving to the end, she took time for each request, though tired, and smilingly gave of herself."
Everyday he would see her. Mr. Whoever. He saw her coming down the carpet. Mr. Whoever followed her. He watched her. And he wished for her autograph. He wished for it more than anything.
One day Mr. Whoever was noticed by Miss Me. She wasn't annoyed. She even seemed somewhat flattered by his presence. She invited him to come with her. As she signed and waved her gloved hand and fluttered her false lashes, he sat in the shadows and admired the subtle things about her-- the curve of her back, the grace of her nose, and the way the flashbulbs made her hair glisten. Lots of people were fascinated by Miss Me. "Surely," thought Mr. Whoever, "I am no different than these."
And then, when the last light faded, and the last autograph signed, Miss Me turned to Mr. Whoever, and said, "Come with me." How he swelled up on the inside to be her private guest! She never said where she was taking him. She only said "Come," and he came.
She took him to a garden. She showed him an ancient tree in the moonlight. "This," said she, "Is where I come each day." She sat down at its roots and patted the place beside her. As he sat down the musky earth smell rose up and it was everything. She was everything. And she kissed him there. And after she had kissed him, she pulled her hand from his and gave him her autograph. "Me and Whoever," she wrote. She wrote it on the trunk of the tree. No one would know what that meant. But he knew. And so did she.
And so, Miss Me and Whoever met often. Often in shadows. Often at the old tree. And whenever Mr. Whoever was not at the tree, Miss Me would send a message, "Come!" she would say. "Why aren't you here already?" And he would shake his head in disbelief that she could possibly have extended open invitation to him.
She showed him around and he enjoyed learning the garden's secrets. She showed him the fragrant forget-me-nots growing by the gate and giggled. "This is where I first kissed Stevie Eff," she said, and his heart sank a little. But he remembered his name on the tree with hers. And though no one knew what it meant, he knew...and so did she.
She took him deeper inside and he saw the narcissus, it's white bells suspended on dark stems invisible at this late hour. "I touched a boy there near those flowers," she said almost proudly, "but I don't remember his name." No pang hit his chest.
And then she ran to the tree and looked back to make sure he was following.
Little by little, he began learn that with her, no invitation was necessary. At first, it had been hard to even come through the gate without calling her name first. She laughed at that. But little by little he began to come unasked as he supposed she wanted. Tentatively at first. Then with more frequency. She encouraged it. So he would come without asking and he went directly to the tree where she would be. And she would pull him in and embrace him in the darkness near the bark that bore their names. Indeed no one knew what it meant. No one knew how important it was. But he knew...and so did she.
One day, before their shadowy rendezvous, Whoever received a message. "I just wanted you to know," she said, "that I had to give away some of my tree today." His mind flashed to the scenes he knew so well. Miss Me attending to others selflessly. "Someone needed to build a home" he thought, "and she gave him the wood. Or maybe even," he thought painfully as he envisioned it, "maybe someone was cold and needed a fire."
"Did you give the needy person one of the high branches that needed to be trimmed?" he asked with a lump in his throat. Miss Me didn't answer. "Did you give him the back side of the tree that we never sit under because it's mossy?" he asked. He waited. And his heart waited for the reply. "No," she said, "the best part of the tree is the bark. I gave my best, as I always do."
"It's true," he thought. "You always do give your best. But...the bark?? What about...what about..." he stammered, "What about our names?"
"Are you going to be that petty?" she asked. "It's just bark. It's just names. I'll write it for you again."
But it wasn't just bark and it wasn't just names to Whoever. "And your friend?" he asked, "What did your friend need the wood for?"
"He was having a party and wanted kindling for a fire," she said.
"For such a whim as that?" Whoever imagined flames eating words unknown by the burner. His heart was broken. "But that had our names on it. That was special to me," he said.
"Well, it's not anything special. It was just bark and names. I already told you that. It was my tree. I can do with it as I please."
And it was true. The tree belonged to Miss Me. It was hers. She could do what she wanted with it.
And it was true. It was just bark and names. No one else knew what it meant. No one else knew how important it was. But he knew...
