We could make a book of the responses we received to our Love Stories contest—a long, sappy and occasionally heartbreaking book. You sent us tales of missed opportunities, of love gone sour, of cheating hearts. But mostly you sent us stories of connections made, of love that prospers. That’s a nice antidote to the prevailing cynicism and self-conscious irony of the day.

In any case, no book is in the works. Instead, here’s a selection of favorites. First the three winners. Katie McKenna, you’ve won two tickets to see the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre at Shea’s on Valentine’s Day, as well as gift certificates to Buffalo Chophouse and to Art N Body Tattoo.

Trisha Kordos and Brian Jenkins, you’ve each won two tickets to see Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre at Shea’s Tuesday, February 13, as well as gift certificates to Laughlin’s Beef & Barrel.

(Contact us for details: 881-6604.)

To our honorable mentions: Thanks for sharing your stories, and Happy Valentine’s Day to all.

1st Prize:

more than you know

In Buffalo there lives a boy, and he loves a girl—much more than she knows.

They met under typical circumstances, but their love was not conventional, nor was it convenient. He didn’t always live in Buffalo and he never envisioned moving there. But he did. For her.

He loves her much more than she knows.

His love for her took him to places he never thought he’d go—to the theatre, to romantic, overly expensive and under-fulfilling dinners, where the tables were too small and he had no elbow room. But when she looked over at him, smiled and took his hand, he knew it was worth it.

He loves her much more than she knows.

He always keeps her in mind regardless of what he’s doing, even if it’s a simple trip to the grocery store, by remembering something she needs or likes. He watches movies that he wouldn’t typically, and moves the kitchen table and chairs in front of the fireplace so they can have a dinner for two without leaving the house.

He knows things about her that no one else does.

He loves her much more than she knows.

And when he found out that the girl he loved was sick with a disease, the kind that has no cure, he said without hesitation, “We’ll get through this,” and has yet to speak a word differently. He will let her talk about how afraid she is, but will not let her wallow in her fears. He makes her want to be courageous.

He loves her much more than she knows.

For a special St. Valentine’s Day trip a few years ago the boy planned a getaway to the theatre in Toronto, something he knew she’d enjoy. When she fell ill and needed to be taken to the hospital the very next morning, he showed no regret, no remorse and not a trace of disappointment. And when she cried, afraid that she had ruined their plans, he wiped her tears and was just happy that he was with her. When that same girl had an early morning surgery, he drove many miles, overnight without sleep, to be there when she woke up.

And the list goes on and on…

I am that girl, and I love a boy…much more than he knows.

I love you with all of my heart.

—katie mckenna

Runner-up:

WILL YOU PEE, MY VALENTINE?

I went on a three-and-a-half month “date” with my boyfriend, the two of us in the cab of a truck 14,000 miles cross-and-back-around country. By around New Mexico, we were fairly tired of each other, and doing lots of things just to get on the other’s nerves. On some flat highway in Louisiana, I asked him to stop, I had to pee.

“No.”

“Are you serious? I have to go.”

“There’s a bottle on the floor, go in that”

“Come on, you won’t stop?”

“Nope.”

“Fine!” Feet on the seat, window wide open and hands gripping the inside window casing for dear life, I stuck my ass right out that window and went. (It was nighttime.) Ah! Suddenly I hear my boyfriend yelling, “Stop! Stop!” The wind and aerodynamics had conspired to make a mist of droplets go right back into the cab to hit him smack in the face. Thank you, divine justice. It was extremely hard to stop midstream, especially when laughing so hard, but I managed, and he pulled over lickety split, then and for the rest of the trip. I figured I pretty much had him at that point, and we’re married now.

—trisha kordos

Runner-up:

PLANE OL’ FATE

I was sitting on a plane waiting to taxi out, wondering who would be sitting next to me. Hoping for an attractive, intelligent woman who would be a good conversationalist as well as being nice to look at. Sitting patiently, I glanced up only to see the woman I was wishing for. Slowly she made her way down the narrow aisle, stopping to allow other passengers to enter their seats. When she was about three seats away, our eyes met and smiles were exchanged. As she walked closer, checking her ticket, I became more and more anxious. Then she was standing right in front of me, politely asking if I would pardon her as she scooted passed me to the middle seat, the seat to my right. She was holding a mini, hand-drawn mural of her name: “STEPHANIE.”

As she sat in her seat we greeted each other with hellos and how-are-yous. Easing into conversation was never easier. I immediately was consumed by her beautiful brown eyes. We talked about everything from what we were doing an hour before we found ourselves sitting on the plane, to what we were doing years before. The longer we talked the more comfortable we became, now noticing that our knees had met and were leaning comfortably on one another.

Continuing on with our conversation, we were interrupted by a man shouting, “Stephanie”! She turned her head slightly, basically ignoring the man’s voice. I suspected the voice to belong to her brother. After asking Stephanie about the mysterious voice, I learned it was a boyfriend of hers, one she was having trouble with. We both ignored him.

My dream flight was coming to an end so I decided to take a shot in the dark and give her my phone number. To my surprise she accepted it with a smile. I was going to Savannah, Georgia; she was continuing on to Buffalo, New York. Wishful thinking. The plane pulled up to the gate at Washington Dulles airport and Stephanie and I said our goodbyes, holding one another’s eyes intently.

The plane started emptying and I heard a familiar voice to the rear of my seat. He was telling me I could go out in front of him, and I did. I walked in front of Stephanie and her boyfriend, listening to him interrogate her on our little love affair. Demanding she let him search her purse for whatever it was I gave her, my phone number.

As we entered the terminal I stopped to check departure times and the two continued on to their gates. I started walking behind them, listening and watching. What I saw next astounded me: He actually spit at her, this beautiful, kind, gentle woman, an angel. I ran up to them as fast as I could, making sure he did nothing else to disrespect her. I was able to distract him long enough for Stephanie to walk ahead of him.

On my flight back to Georgia, only one thing occupied my mind: Stephanie. Was she okay, did that asshole keep bugging her, would she call me? I arrived in Savannah at about 12:30am. Two friends of mine picked me up and, without my saying a word, they wanted to know what happened. I had smile from ear to ear. I told them the story, they laughed and said I would probably never hear from her. That night my phone rang, 1:30am, it was her.

Six months after meeting Stephanie I moved to Buffalo. I have lived here a year. I have never been so in love with such a beautiful creature. I guess you can call it plane ol’ fate.

—brian jenkins

Honorable Mentions:

I felt like dancing

I knew that I had the power to change my life for good. I had an idea that we could talk about more than books at the brown table. I would make special trips to see her and leave her notes. Would I every have the guts to tell her how I really felt?

She finally paged me one afternoon in July. I wasn’t sure if I would throw up or just die. Was it a date? I desperately wanted it to be. I stared deeply into my mocha coconut latte and wondered what it would be like to stare that deeply into her eyes.

We had drinks after work. We talked about crap that needed changing. We sat at a slot machine at the casino. With every spin, I looked for a sign that said I should tell her. What would she think? I wondered if I could date her secretly.

I felt like dancing. Not alone, but with the person that I knew I should be with. We spun around the dance floor and I hardly noticed that my sandals were slicing into my feet. She admired my eyebrows. I blurted out things like, “This is crazy.” I said, “You are the person I want to be with.” She looked at me like I was from another planet. Did I make a mistake? How could I think it was okay to disrupt her life? With a hug good night, I felt her heart and knew that everything would be as it should.

Almost four years later I look back to that night and know that I made the best decision of my life. I love her more today than I ever did and my life has never been so wonderful.

—jennifer butera

DANCIN’ SUZIE

Okay, mine actually is a love story. I hang out at Sportsmen’s Tavern on Amherst. I am known as Dancin’ Suzie and I never wear shoes on the dance floor. I also wear my military son’s army engineer jacket from Korea that is very scary-looking and has the motto “I am sure to go to heaven ’cause I spent my time in hell” blazed across the back.

Apparently there was a guy who came in and saw me and thought I must be a war bride of some kind, I was never with anyone, always wore the jacket and never left the dance floor. So he developed a crush and kept coming in on Saturdays to try to meet me. I almost never go in on a Saturday so I guess this went on for awhile. He saw me again and could not work up the nerve to talk to me yet.

Finally I was there, oblivious; he came in with a friend. The friend told him to ask me to dance or he would. I had just gotten out of a long-time relationship and was not even thinking about love or even like. We danced, he asked me to dinner. I gave him my number and thought he would not call. Middle of the week we made plans to go to dinner. A little paranoid, I volunteered to drive; when I got to his house to pick him up he had wine (my favorite, he had asked the bartender what I drink) and a single rose. We went to Flying Tigers for a wonderful dinner. When we left the restaurant he took my hand like we had been together for years. A few weeks later was Valentine’s Day and he sent a barbershop quartet with roses to sing to me at the library I work at—so much for being anonymous. That was three years ago and we have not been apart since the day we met. I guess it’s like they say, things happen when you least expect them.

—susan jaworski

a gesture of elegant

simplicity

It began with a headache. It was still mid-morning, but the day had already been a long one. Somewhere in the midst of all the work that was going on, I mentioned to my friend that I had a headache. Not the kind that sends you to the emergency room, but just your run-of-the-mill type of headache that burdened a dreary February morning. I am not even sure why I said anything as I went off to my next meeting.

When I came back several minutes later, there were two Advil and a glass of water sitting at my desk. It was a gesture of elegant simplicity. I looked towards my friends and she looked back but didn’t say a word. It was then that it all hit me. In that moment, I found the answer to a question I didn’t even know I had been asking. I knew what it felt like to be loved.

The world has many love stories, each with their own degree of grandeur and beauty, but at their heart each comes down to two fundamental questions. What does it mean to love and what does it mean to be loved? While I still struggle with the first and strive to make myself worthy, my friend and that moment have ensured that I will never forget the second.

—anonymous

Framed by Valentine Day

Valentine’s Day framed in and mirrored the confines of our romance. Our first date was a Bo Diddley concert on Valentine’s Day week-end. It was hard not to fall in love with someone who shared my love of music on such a romantic evening. After the show, we had dinner in a trendy Italian restaurant. I ordered in Italian and impressed the waiter, but my date just looked at me and didn’t say anything.

In the next year, he said he loved my sense of adventure but I could hear the disapproval in his voice when I called him from a hotel in the Poconos during an impromptu road trip. He said he admired my independence but got mad when I didn’t take his advice and bought the car I wanted instead of the one he did. He said he was in awe of my creativity but would pout if I wrote a story before I wrote him an email. He said he liked it when we went out as a couple with our friends, but I was beginning to realize that more often than not they were his friends, not mine. He said he was concerned for my safety and well-being but when I called him to tell him I would be delayed because of poor winter road conditions, he yelled about being late. He said he wanted to be a part of my life but I was beginning to feel like he wanted to be the puppet master who ran my life.

One year passed and on Valentine’s Day he brought me gifts of chocolates and flowers and a sweet, heartfelt card with a full page of handwritten declarations of his love. Every sentence started with “I.” It was as if I only existed to complete his vision of a perfect world. I felt like the sugar-coated walls were closing in. Sitting in another Italian restaurant that night, he asked me if I would consider marriage. The next day, I handed him the store-bought card with a hastily written signature scrawled inside.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you,” I said.

I never saw him again. To this day I am grateful to him for showing me that the person I needed to love on Valentine’s Day was myself.

—brenda vanhorn

WHEN MAC MET TERASA

The first time I set eyes on Mac, he was 16 years old, and I was nine.

It was the summer of 1965. We lived on the corner of a busy street, in a neighborhood known as Hamlin Park. It was a beautiful area with tree-lined streets and double homes. Most lawns were manicured and neighbors who were more like family than casual acquaintances. During the summer time, our neighborhood would be vibrant with activity. Sitting on the front porch was more entertaining than anything on television. Passersby ranged from the elderly taking evening strolls to the tortured souls returning from Vietnam . Mixed in the variety was an assortment of other colorful characters, as well.

In the streets, children played dodgeball, football, baseball and even hopscotch. At night, teenage boys would gather on the corner, in front of our house, harmonizing to current Motown tunes. Their beautiful singing voices came to be known as the “street corner symphony.” I lived outdoors in the summer months. Consequently, that was when I’d see Mac.

He wasn’t from my neighborhood but became a familiar face in the community. He was dating his high school sweetheart who lived in the house next to my family. Our neighbor’s household consisted of two families who were related. One family occupied the upper apartment; the other family lived in the lower one. In the entire house lived seven teenage girls. Needless to say, their porch stoop became home for many neighborhood friends and young fellows coming around to solidify friendships or seek dates. Many times, I’d observe them sitting on the porch, while I jumped rope in the common driveway we shared with the neighbors. Curiously, I’d ease my way closer toward their house so I could hear what they were talking about. They knew what I was doing and would laugh at me. Sometimes when steady boyfriends came by to visit, they would joke and tease with my sisters and I, as we played in the side yard. This was my first childhood memory of Mac.

Our paths crossed a second time, 10 years later. It was a beautiful, warm summer day. I decided to walk to the Main Place Mall to go window-shopping during my lunch break. While in the mall, I heard a voice from behind me say,

“Excuse me, Miss, may I take your picture?

I turned to see who was asking me such a strange question. To my surprise, it was Mac! Immediately, we recognized each other and greeted one another with a familiar smile. He was a little embarrassed for being so forward and quickly explained the reason for his request. He and his roommate would be hosting a disco at the Sheraton Hotel. They planned to do a slide presentation showcasing local people, businesses and other scenic places in Buffalo. I thought it was a unique idea for a disco backdrop and agreed to pose for the snapshot. We exchanged a few more words, and then said our good-byes.

Six months passed. I had been working as a secretary to five police officers detailed to the Police Academy. At that time, the Academy was located in Police Headquarters on Franklin Street in downtown Buffalo. I was sitting at my desk typing, when I glanced up from the typewriter and saw Mac standing in the doorway to my office, in full uniform! We were shocked beyond belief when our eyes met. He was a police officer! Neither of us knew we were working for the same agency! He was told by a few of the officers who had come to the academy on business, to go and “check out” the young woman working in the office. We spent the afternoon talking at my desk, getting reacquainted with each another. Before he left, he asked if he could take me out to lunch the following week. I said yes.

It was midmorning on Friday, January 28, 1977. Mac popped his head into my office to see if lunch was still on for later that afternoon. As we were discussing restaurant choices, it began to snow. Within minutes, the snow turned into a thick white blanket covering the city, along with howling winds of over 70 miles per hour. The temperature had plummeted to near zero. The wind chill dropped almost 60 degrees below zero. The weather conditions were nothing like we’d ever seen! Everything in Buffalo came to a standstill. We were stranded for three days!

In that time, we became good friends. We were married three years later and have been married for 26 years and still counting. To this day, when we look back on the events that brought us together, we quip about destiny and coincidences, but in our hearts we know it was a match made in heaven.

—terasa gipson