I Would For You

Isak was named after the pseudonym of a Danish author, Karen Blixen.

He was an Art History adjunct professor in Boston, managing his time between Harvard, Boston University, and other schools. Isak was approximately six foot, with a mop of tousled, mousy brown hair. The look he had was that of a classic scholar, glasses, five o’clock shadow, and bags under his eyes from a lack of caffeine. He had a collection of tiny scars - from a car crash - miring his face which only seemed to give him the air of a swashbuckler, he hated them. Isak was fit from walking across the city, and smoked like a chimney — He was trying to kick the habit.

Claire was a certified and unabashed book nerd. She worked nights for the Museum of Fine Arts, and would occasionally pick up hours working at Fenway when the Red Sox played.

She had just joined a book club that met around dinner time at the Cambridge Public Library. She was flowery in nature, and in style. This particular afternoon, she wore a fiery sundress, accompanied with long stockings that were covered with sun flowers that seemed to catch the setting light. She was a free loving, spritely spirit.

As Isak left his last lecture, he was fiddling with a variety of papers on the sculptures and sketches of Caravaggio, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Ghiberti. The pieces spilled from his messenger bag. He had stepped atop the benches on Broadway, and hopped over the fence into Joan Lorentz Park — it was the same route he took home for the last few years. He would throw a dollar in an artist’s hat or a musician’s case. Stopping at one of the restaurants at the intersection of Hampshire Street and Cambridge, the Indian place on Friday night. Maybe he would work on a piece in a park or study.

One errant paper was caught in the autumn breeze and ended under the heel of one Claire Campbell. Isak had been crawling after the paper, his hands wet from the grass and pavement. A cigarette dangled from his lip.

“Excuse me,” he said before seeing who was attached to the heel.

She leaned down and pulled the paper from the ground “Is this your-” she turned the piece so it could be seen properly, “Pieta?”

Isak’s world exploded. Many would call it, ‘love at first sight’, but he didn’t believe that crap. Did he? The sky was bluer, the grass greener, and this woman’s radiance was undeniable. Her socks reminded him of a van Gogh field, she had the bohemian style of a 70s woman, and Isak was struck.

“Smoking will kill you,” she couldn’t help but smile at the man. He was handsome in a scholarly, nerdy fashion.

Isak stood agape for a number of awkward, and lasting seconds.

“Hello?” she waved a hand in front of him. She had pale blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and tattoos up both arms.

He straightened his back, grumbled a little to regain his composure, and spouted, “Will you go out with me?” His stature regained he still trembled to be in her presence.

“I don’t date smokers.”

“I’ll quit this instant.” he pulled the tobacco tube from his lips.

“Yeah right!” She laughed a little at the thought of his instant commitment, “Why me?”

“I don’t know yet, but I do know that I would for you.”

She gave him a look that screamed, “Is this guy serious?”

“My name is Isak, Isak LaDame. I study art.” he stuck out his hands, which were covered in expo marker smudges, “I would, uh, really like to treat you to dinner.”

"Claire Campbell, and so do I."

"You want to treat me to dinner?"

"I too study art."

"Oh." he frowned a little.

“Well Isak,” Claire could feel the complete control she had, “If you quit smoking,” she gave him a wry smile and wink, “You can accompany me to my book club a week from today. Same time, same place. Then we can go out to dinner.”

He took his pack of Newports and his lighter and tossed them into the nearby trash. “Where would you like to go?”

“We’ll figure it out on the day.”

“Can I have your number?” he asked.

“Not yet.” she smiled, “First we’ll see if you can make good first.” She turned and walked inside the library. Isak could not help but watch her go, and she did look back once, gave him a smile that turned him into a puddle, and went inside.

Isak’s world came crashing back to him, yet it was never quite the same.

A week later he arrived at the park ten minutes early, he had even called his lecture short to make certain his punctual arrival. Throughout those seven days he hoped that he might spot her somewhere in a crowd or maybe she would just come up and grab his hand. Every piece of art reminded him of her. Isak had not had a cigarette, nor a nicotine patch. He was quitting for her, cold turkey.

He sat on one of the park benches just outside the stone-arched, west entrance of the library. There were many bikes of different colors chained up across the footpath from him. He nervously gripped a bouquet of sunflowers that were coupled with some sort of tiny, purple flower. Isak’s face was pink with anticipation. Then he saw her. This time she was in a robin’s egg blue, seersucker dress, and brown shoes. She wore large tortoise shell glasses. His world exploded again — everything around him slowed to a halt. The kids running in the playground moved in slow motion, and the people who did not meet the criteria of being Claire, ceased to exist. She was near the entrance to the little park, and couldn’t see him just yet. She was late, which made him smile. He had been checking his watch like a mad man.

She got distracted twice.

The first time made him smile. She stopped and listened to a gentleman who was playing a guitar on the street and she reached into her purse, pulled out a few dollars and threw them into his case. Isak could hear the musician singing Yesterday by the Beatles.

The second time broke his heart.

“Claire! Claire!” a voice could be heard down the street. Isak’s eyes scanned the road. A man dressed in runner’s clothes and sneakers jogged up to her. He was about six foot four with chiseled looks, and his head complete with a perfectly coiffed flow of jet black hair. The stranger was Superman, the hero. Isak was Clark Kent, the loser.

When the man reached her, she waved, smiled, and hugged him. Isak thought, I wish I could be his rival for his darling’s affections. The man spoke with her for a minute. While they chatted, Claire noticed Isak sitting on the bench waiting patiently. She went to wave, but the man grabbed her hand in both of his and pressed it to his lips which stole her attention. Then he kissed her in earnest.

Isak could feel a chill emanate from his heart and spread throughout his body. The warm September night turned icy. Isak couldn’t help but feel complete betrayal despite their brief and fleeting moment in the park. He dropped the flowers onto the bench, and was gone.

As Claire’s kiss ended, she looked to the bench, Isak had vanished. Sunflowers wrapped with coarse, brown twine sat lonely on the bench. A few of the golden petals were now floating away in the wind. She walked quickly to it, hoping that she would be able to catch the man who had fallen for her. Claire wished she was able to tell him that the man was an Ex who was promising to change, to become a better man for her, she wanted to explain that she was over him, and that meeting was quite by accident.

Every week for the next three months, Claire sat on the same bench hoping that she would see him. To apologize for the misunderstanding.

Isak found a new way home.