Cupid's Arrow

By

Terry Wright

            “Poor Suzie.”

That’s what everyone thought as she shuffled through the downtown crowd. If people weren’t disgusted by her obesity, then her blemished complexion and tangled brown hair made them feel pity. Most thought her a bit touched, even wacko. So what if this life had been cruel to her? In a past life, she’d been a fairy with delicate wings, and before that, a princess in a long white gown. Though she now wore a frayed wool coat, tattered flower-print dress, and threadbare sneakers, she still felt pretty—even beautiful. Especially today. Valentine's Day.

            As she hurried through the throng, the man of her dreams was on her mind, the hairy-armed baker who kneaded bread in the window on 7^th Street. Every morning she’d watch him work, his muscles rippling, his chest heaving, his smile gleaming pearl-bright. He never looked at her twice. Not once had he nodded or acknowledged her presence. But she fantasized about him every night. Oh God—she could feel the warmth of his embrace, the heat of his breath on her neck, the rapture of his love. All that was about to come true. Finally.

For under her coat she clutched his Valentine's gift, a treasure beyond belief. She’d found it while rummaging through a dumpster behind the toy store, a red wooden bow and an arrow, engraved with Cupids and hearts. The arrow had a suction cup on the end, which she’d removed and whittled the tip into a sharp point. Yes—she’d found Cupid’s bow and arrow and purchased the perfect Valentine's card to go with it.

She entered the bakery, her heart light as a schoolgirl’s, the air alive with wonderful aromas.

“May I help you?” the baker said with a painted smile. “The French bread is piping hot and sourdough will be out shortly.”

“I’ve brought you something.”

            Squinting through black lashes, he dusted flour from his hands. “How about some fine pastries?”

“Maybe later.” Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved the Valentine's card and offered it to him.

He approached the counter. “What’s this?”

On the face of the card, a naked boy with wings fluttered above a young couple standing apart, their eyes on each other.  The hovering boy held a bow with an arrow drawn back in its string. The caption read: On Valentine's Day, young lovers come together.

He opened the card where the now starry-eyed young man with an arrow piercing his heart held the young woman in his arms, kissing her.

With the help of Cupid’s arrow, love lasts forever.

            “Very nice,” the baker said. “Can I interest you in a hot loaf of Russian Rye?”

            “But that’s the magic of Cupid's arrow.” 

            He regarded the card once more. “In Roman mythology, Cupid was the son of Venus. He wouldn’t let his wife look at him.”

            “But his arrow symbolizes desire…emotions of love.”

            Looking her up and down and around, “I think you need a nice chocolate cake,” he said, indicating the dessert display behind him.

            From under her coat, she pulled out the bow and nocked Cupid's arrow. Now the baker would have stars in his eyes for her. Drawing back, she aimed at his heart. “I love you.”

            He whipped his head around, his smile gone. “No—please don’t!”

            She let Cupid’s arrow fly.