I believe in love because of movies that make me cry.
If love wasn't real, I wouldn't lose my heart over love stories. I wouldn't tear up when Bogie says to Ingrid, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." I wouldn't start to bawl when Mr. Knightley says to Emma, "Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend." And I wouldn't blink away my blurred vision when Edward Norton's commoner "Illusionist" gets his happy ending with Jessica Biel's aristocratic Sophie.
I believe in love because millions of romance readers believe in love, and prove it every day by allowing me to do what I love.
I believe in love because I'm surrounded by beauty every day of my life: the vast New Mexico sky with its varied and fascinating cloudscapes; the flowers blooming one after another in my spring garden; the warmth of a summer day; the whisper of wind in the pines; the gentle fall of snow when it's fresh and new. All these are love in concrete form, nature's kisses bestowed freely on all of us.
I believe in love because of my three dogs, Freya, Nahla and Cagney. Dogs are the very embodiment of love. They give affection with no expectation of return. They want to be near me, even when I'm in a bad mood and wish the world would disappear. They comfort me when I'm blue. They look up at me from their soft brown eyes, and there is no doubt in my mind, none whatsoever, that they love me as much, in their way, as I love them.
And I believe in love because love can work miracles.
For most of my life, I was an involuntary loner. I was different than most of the kids in Middle and High School; I loved to read, wasn't big on sports or cheering on football games, preferred classical music to rock and was just socially awkward enough to find it difficult to make friends, let alone date like most of my peers.
For years I dealt with my loneliness by withdrawing further into my books and old movies, living in a world where love was very real to me. And then, one day in my late twenties, I met Serge.
I "met" him through a fan group devoted to one of my favorite authors, C. J. Cherryh. Serge and I, on opposite ends of the continent, had both been active in the group: Serge by appearing in a masquerade at one of the large World Science Fiction conventions, I by contributing frequently to a "round robin" of what would today be considered "blogs", in the days before e-mail and the internet.
I don't exactly remember what first brought us together: Serge recalls that I'd asked him to buy a few French-language magazines for me (when I was a huge fan of a certain movie actor); I remember that he asked me, as an artist, to illustrate a comic book he wanted to create.
Whatever the reason, we began to write to each other, I from California, he from Quebec, Canada. The letters (remember, this is pre-e-mail) grew longer and longer, expressing and sharing our innermost thoughts and wishes.
I clearly remember the moment I knew I was in love with Serge. He had been talking about the wonder of seeing his cat, Sissy, as she lay in a shaft of sunlight in his apartment; the gloss of her fur, the grace of her movements. And I thought, "anyone who can see such things as I do, feel such things as I do ... well, he's the man for me."
Naturally, we were both a little scared. But I invited Serge to stay at my parents' home in Concord, California, from where we would drive together down to Los Angeles for another WorldCon. It would all be entirely chaste, of course, but I was utterly terrified.
And when I finally met Serge, well ... I lost all my certainty. Meeting him for the first time "in person" proved a little daunting for me, and I pulled away, though there was no doubt that we were still very good friends. Once at the convention, however--as we went our own separate ways to various panels and exhibits--I realized that I couldn't stop thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing now?
By the first evening, I knew my feelings hadn't changed. I told him so. He was understandably cautious about my declaration; like most people our age, he'd suffered his share of disappointments. But as we drove back to northern California, we knew we'd keep seeing each other again and again. And we did: for two years, we depleted Serge's savings by flying back and forth from California to Quebec. And then, with no further doubt in his mind, Serge proposed. From nearly 3,000 miles away.
That was my miracle of love. After twenty-odd years of no dating, no boyfriends, and no love affairs, I had found my perfect match. Twenty-two years later, we're still together.
There are thousands of reasons to believe in love. But Serge will always be my first and foremost reason for my faith that love can be just around the corner, even when you lest expect it.
About Susan Krinard:
Born and raised in California, Susan now makes her home in New Mexico, the "Land of Enchantment," with her husband, Serge, her dogs Brownie, Freya and Nahla, and her cat, Jefferson. In addition to writing, Susan's interests include music — especially classical, oldies and new age — old movies, nature, baking and making jewelry for artisan beads.
