Dan Kennedy (3:22)

Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy, and today on the show, we have three stories about love. Because, you know, after all, Valentine's Day is coming up. It is just around the corner. It is closing in on us. It is looming over us. Maybe I'm describing Valentine's Day all wrong, but anyway, the holiday that we set aside to have very complicated, loaded emotions about feelings and awkward emotions and our difficulty in displaying them. Or maybe I'm just projecting it might be a pleasant holiday for most people. Our first story this week is from storyteller Arianna Rose. She told this story live in Houston in 2015. The theme of the night was love hurts.

Arianna Rose (4:14)

Well, I'm very nervous. I was 45 and he was 29. We met in a French medieval village called Bruniquel, and after four days of debate, I decided to go out with him. I couldn't resist him. He was the most extraordinary partner I have ever had. He was. I am so nervous. Okay, so let me look at somebody I know here. He was a painter and a sculptor. He loved Roman architecture, and he was building his own house with a patio and a fountain in the middle with columns. He loved nature. He taught me the names and the properties of trees and plants and flowers. He was an outstanding musician. He had created his own style of music that was flamenco music and Irish music put together. And when he played that music, it had delicious, indecent effects on me. Everything about him was exceptional. I couldn't believe that a man of his age and beauty and talent could be free and even more be interested in a woman of my age. As time went by, he was more and more Exceptional. I couldn't understand really what was happening. We traveled a lot. We went to a lot of festivals where he performed with this group called Kill the Dog. He used to play Irish music. We used to go up and climb in these old churches. Used to have this key ring with old keys that would go into any church. And I'd open and we'd sneak inside and look at the paintings. And I always wanted to make love in there. So he started calling me Puerquito. That means little pig in Spanish. Because he said that I was defiling all the holy places of France. But he never said no. So I called him Puerquito, too. There was one thing that was very peculiar about him. And that is that when he looked at children, his eyes would just beam and glow. And one day it suddenly dawned on me and I said, jean Michel, do you want to have children? And he said, yes, of course. I would have plugged them into the sun. He just beamed. And at that moment, I just said, oh, my God. Oh, my God. My heart just stopped. Have you ever seen Iron man when he puts on his suit? It was. That was my heart. I just barricaded my heart. My heart stopped. I knew that it was the end. At that moment, I knew that it was the end. You see, I had had two children of my own. They were already grown up. I loved my freedom and I loved my life. And for nothing in the world was I going to deprive that human being from living the experience of having children. I went home and I cried all night long. And the next day I left him. But it wasn't over. For three and a half years, Jean Michel and I would struggle to go our separate ways. We would struggle to talk sense into ourselves. And in his folly, he was ready to give up his dream. And I was ready to give him kids. But we both knew that it just wasn't possible. We could not do this. We shouldn't do this. We shouldn't sacrifice our lives in such a way. So I began bringing girlfriends to our outings. In hopes that he would look at them. But he would never look at them. I really didn't know what to do. We couldn't stay away from one another. We'd cry and just didn't know what to do. Our friends didn't understand us, our families even less. And time was ticking. I was almost 50. And then one day I was sitting in a terrace in Toulouse, drinking. And suddenly she walked by. It was magical, irreasonable. It was powerful. I could feel her essence she had red hair. She was wearing a velour hat. It was a Victorian hat. It was a little bit crushed, soft. She was the most beautiful thing walking on two pair of legs. And I walked up to her and started a conversation with her. She was an author for children's books. And for four weeks I entertained a unique relationship with her. Until the day that I invited her to come and see and meet my friend Jean Michel. When they crossed, when their eyes met and I saw his smile, I knew that it was good. It was good. It was good. I had arranged for a girlfriend to call me and tell me there was an emergency so that I could leave. He knew. He knew. And I hugged him. He hugged me. He wouldn't let me go. He said to me, don't leave me. But I just said, just be free. Make your dreams come true. Be free even without me. Just be free. So I turned around to never return. I walked away. They called me the next day. They called me dozens of times. I changed my phone, I moved away. And I didn't see him for four years. Until one day I took the phone and I picked up the phone and called him and told him I was coming. He was exposing in a nearby village. And as I walked into the gallery, I saw that four years had gone by and this beautiful little red head came running out with curly hair. And she ran towards me as if she had known me all her life, with the beautiful green eyes. And she just. She said to me in French, c'est toi la fete, C'est toi la fe. That means, are you the fairy?

Dan Kennedy (11:40)

Ariana Rose has spent most of her adult life in France and has been living in the United States for four years now. During the day she works as a private assistant and the rest of her time she enjoys freestyle dancing, travel and deeply exploring her friends psyches. To this day, Ariana and Jean Michel still remain in touch.

SoFi Advertiser (12:01)

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Dan Kennedy (12:29)

Okay, emotionally mature listeners, are you still with us? Still. Okay. Still composed because our second story is from Matthew Dix and it was told live in New York City in 2015. This one is pretty heavy. It's a beautiful story. The theme of the night was game on.

Matthew Dix (12:53)

I asked Laura to be my girlfriend. On the back steps of our high school, Laura was my best friend. So when I asked her, we made a promise to each other. We promised that we would always stay friends and we would always take care of each other, no matter what happened in our relationship. I started to lean in to kiss her at that moment, but I realized it was going to be my first kiss ever, and it was going to be hers as well. And so I wanted it to be a perfect kiss. Three days later, we were leaving for California. Our band was marching in the Rose bowl parade in Pasadena on New Year's Day, and Laura and I were taking separate flights. So we decided to make mixtapes for each other. For the flight, I sat in my bedroom with my finger hovering over the record button, waiting for, like, the perfect Richard Marx power ballad to come on, praying that the DJ wouldn't speak over the introduction so the song would be perfect. I loaded those cassettes with all of the songs that said the things to Laura that I couldn't say myself. But when I got on the plane and I pressed play on my Walkman, there was no music on Laura's cassettes. Instead, it was her voice. It was eight hours of Laura talking to me, telling me stories about her childhood, telling me about her hopes and dreams, reading Shel Silverstein poetry to me, and singing acapella Beatle songs to me. Somewhere over the rockies at, like, 33,000ft, I fell in love with Laura Marchand. And I decided she had to have the perfect first kiss. And it was perfect because the next day we were at Disneyland. We were on the Ferris wheel at the very top of the circle, like, surrounded by thousands of people in this beautiful spot, but, like, as alone as two people could be. It was the perfect place to kiss her. And it was at that moment that I realized a perfect kiss is not really dependent upon location as much as technique. And I had never kissed anyone before, so I didn't have technique. And so I choked and I didn't kiss her. But that was okay because, like, four hours later, I was on a little stone bridge in front of Cinderella's castle as fireworks exploded over our heads. It was perfect, and I choked and did not kiss her. So I decided that I would kiss her the next day, New Year's Eve, on the dance floor at midnight, when the clock struck 12, I would kick, kiss Laura, and we would have the perfect kiss. That morning, we snuck out of our hotel rooms and went down for breakfast early, before anyone woke up. We sat and ate muffins. And Laura told me how she wanted to be just like her father when she grew up. She wanted to own her own business and raise two girls, just like he had done. And I told Laura that I wanted to be a writer someday. It was a dream I had, but I had never said out loud in my life. She was the first one to hear it. And when we had done our muffins, we went back to our room. But rather than taking the elevator, we decided to take the stairs in case the band directors were up. It was 14 flights up, a Pasadena Holiday Inn stairwell that was sort of gray, and it smelled of, like, urine and tacos, and it was hot already. We were up 10 flights when Laura told me to stop. And I turned around, thinking that she was tired, that, like, she needed to take a rest, but. But as I turned, she grabbed my face and pulled it to hers and she kissed me. And when she broke, she looked at me and said, can we get on with things now? And we did. For two years. We were like the disgusting high school sweethearts, like, perfect in every way. And if the things that don't break up couples at the end of high school didn't break us up, we might be together today. But we kept our promise, the one we made on those steps. And we stayed friends and we took care of each other. And Laura became a business owner, and she had her two little girls, Ava and Tess. And I became the writer that I wanted to be. Three years ago, Laura called me and she said she needed my help. So I came back to our hometown. We went right back to those steps at our high school. And Laura told me that she had cancer. She told me that she was dying of cancer. And she asked me to be the person who would tell Ava and Tess someday the stories of her teenage years, the time that we spent together. And I promised her I would. I told her that the writer I had become would write down her stories, that we would get together and we would reminisce, and I would capture every memory she wanted and put it down so I could share it when the girls were old enough someday. And then for the next two years, I did not keep my promise. I saw Laura once. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing my high school sweetheart wither and die away. I'm looking at Facebook and I see a post from her sister Elena that says, Laura's back in the hospital again and she's not doing well, but they're hoping she's going to get out in time for Easter to celebrate. And that's the moment I decide, dammit, I need to do the right thing and keep my promise. And I'm going to go back to my hometown and spend the time I need to capture her stories. Laura dies two days later. They bury her in a cemetery where I once taught her to drive, on a hill where we once had a blanket. And we sat and talked about our futures. And I'm terrified to think that Laura wondered if I was going to keep my promise when she was dying. And I'm terrified to think that she died wondering if Ava and Tess would know the things she wanted them to know. So I'm going to keep the promise that I made on that day 25 years ago. And every time a thought of Laura comes into my mind, it gets written down. And I just pray to God that I can remember all the ones that she wanted me to remember. And when I meet Tess and Ava someday to tell them their stories, the first one I'm going to tell is about a hot and stinking stairwell in Pasadena, California, and Laura and my first kiss. Our perfect first kiss. Thank you.

Dan Kennedy (19:16)

Matthew Dix is an elementary school teacher and the author of four books. He's also a 20 time moth story Slam champion. Matt is still in touch with Laura's mother and sister, and he recently connected with Laura's oldest daughter, Ava via Facebook. For photos of Matthew and Laura from high school, Visit our website, themoth.org the.

SoFi Advertiser (19:38)

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Dan Kennedy (20:14)

Okay, so we are two love stories in on our trilogy of love stories here on the Moth podcast for Valentine's Day. And if you're anything like me, you're eating alone, shoving the feelings down with food and eagerly awaiting our third story. Here it is. Our final story is from Carolyn Martin and it was told live in St. Paul in 2014. The theme of the night was Sister Stories.

Katherine Burns (20:44)

One day when I was a teenager, I remember very distinctly being out in my little red convertible with the top down and I was with my friend Celia and we were buzzing around Washington, D.C. on the Capitol Beltway. And blond hair flying in the breeze and having a great old time. And I remember Celia wanted to be a religious sister. And I thought, that's great. You'll make a wonderful sister. Me, I'm going to get married and have a big family. I was Catholic, practicing Catholic, but not very devout. No real relationship with the Lord, but she would make a great sister. So there we were, out kicking around, having fun, and she said, oh, by the way, would you mind stopping by the Little Sisters of the Poor in Washington? It's this home for the elderly poor where I volunteer, and I have a little business there. So fine. And we pulled over, and when we got out, the young Mother superior came out on the front steps, and she saw our guitars in the back of the car, and she said, well, why don't you bring your guitars in and sing and play for the residents? So we did, but, you know, we were beginners, so we weren't really that good. But we went around and we sang and we played for them. And there were the most beautiful smiles on every wrinkled face. Face. It was very touching. And of course, I didn't know at that time what I know now that many times older people have a little hearing deficit. But they thought we were great. They thought we were great. Or else, and this is probably more likely true, they heard with the ears of the heart, which old people are awesome at doing. But anyway, I also noticed the sisters serving in the background. They were happy. They were genuinely happy. You could see it and, you know, humble in their service, but full of joy. And I remember thinking, here I am, a teenager, and I see people racing all around society, frantically looking for happiness. And these people, these women, in all of their poverty and simplicity, they have it. They have the pearl of great price, and I want it. So then one of the sisters invited me into a room where there was a lady preparing to go home to God. She was in the dying process. And there was a sister kneeling at her bedside, praying with the lady, holding her hand, holding in her hand a lit candle which is a symbol we have of their going forth to meet Christ like the bridesmaid with her lamp lit. And I was so taken aback by that. I was a teenager. I had never thought about end of life. I had my whole life ahead of me. But I realized that right here in this room, right before my eyes, time was touching eternity. And then I started asking myself the big questions. Well, then, what lies after? Is there a God? Is there eternal life? What is there? And I knew that I believed in God. And I knew at that moment that whatever number of years there would be between the time that this happened and the time he called me home at the end of my life, I wanted those years to be very meaningful, and I wanted to spend them for him. So there was just one problem, and that was that I had this boyfriend. And we were very serious about each other, very serious. And we had envisioned our life together and our future together. And he had actually already proposed to me on two occasions, you know, after we'd spent an evening together, begged me to marry him. And I felt an intense love for him. And I knew the answer would be yes. But I knew being a teenager, it's really too soon. So the yes was going to come, but it hadn't come yet. So now God had swept me off my feet with this greater love, this beautiful love from the experience that I had had. And so how was I going to tell my boyfriend? And so I didn't want to hurt his feelings. And so I kept saying, if I wait one more day, one more day, one more day, I know I'm going to think of just the right words to tell him that he'll understand that it's not that I don't love anymore, but he'll understand about my vocation and my call. And the days passed and we continued dating. We'd go out to ball games and parties. We went to the roller rink, hung out with friends. But I couldn't think of the right words to tell him. And I was enjoying all the things that life had to offer. You know, everything that materially that I wanted and popularity and success and friends and all that, and enjoying the beauty of his love for me. But I still was embraced by this mystery. And I couldn't think of the words to tell him. Because, you know, vocation is a mystery. So the evening before I entered the convent, I felt like a heel, but I. I didn't want to hurt him. So time was running out. So we went to a movie. And after the movie, I told him, I am going to become a Catholic sister. He was so stunned. First of all, he didn't know what a sister is. And second of all, what about the life together that we had planned? And he was so stunned. And he cried. And I cried. And we cried and cried. I remember my shoulder was all wet with his tears. I can still almost feel it today. And I can still almost feel the pain in his heart. There had been one instance where before that time I had been called over to get my pinning, you know, for my postulant outfit. And I remember he drove me over there, not knowing what it was about. He didn't ask, so I didn't tell him. And. And I remember the sisters running around, you know, doing my pins. And I'm looking out the window down at him sitting in the car, full of pain for him and for the pain that would be in his heart. I almost felt guilty for the great joy that I felt in following my call. But then when this last night came and I finally had to break the news to him, it was very, very difficult for both of us. So the next day came. It was my entrance ceremony, and he came. I knew he would be there. He always wanted to be with me, and he was going to for as long as he could. So my family was around me, and he was in the pew immediately behind me at my entrance ceremony. And then when it was time for him to leave, we were at the front entrance. And I couldn't kiss him. I couldn't hug him. I mean, you know, it was different now. I was a postulant, and I was studying to be a sister. So we were with the sister who's in charge of the young women who had just entered. And he and I said goodbye, tears running down his cheeks. And he turned slowly and went down the steps. And it was a hot summer day. And that very kind sister said to him, wait. Would you like a cold drink? And he turned around, and he looked up at her, and he looked up at me with the tears coming down, and he nodded yes. So he came back up. She gave him a cold drink. He sipped it. He made it last as long as he could. We just looked at each other in silence, and the tears continued to flow. And when he couldn't make that cold drink last any longer, he gave her the empty cup, took one last look at me, turned around and went down the steps and disappeared. But, you know, I always can find him in the Eucharist. I still love him, but my heart is expanded to this great love that accepts and welcomes everybody that God sends into my life. It's a much greater love, but he's part of it. So I find him when I go to prayer, and I find all of the other people whom I love, and. And I've never regretted saying yes to God's beautiful plan for my life.

Dan Kennedy (29:48)

Sister Carolyn Martin has been a member of the Little Sisters of the poor for 46 years. She's also a registered nurse and serves as administrator at Sacred Heart residence in Mobile Alabama. She's a big fan of ballet and Sesame Bake. Thanks to all of you for listening. We hope you have a great Valentine's Day and a story worthy week.

SoFi Advertiser (30:10)

Dan Kennedy is the author of the books Loser Goes First, Rock on An American Spirit. He's also a regular host and performer.

Dan Kennedy (30:18)

With the Moth Podcast production by Mooj Zaidy. Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City with supervision from Paul Ruest. The Moth Podcast and Radio Hour are both presented by prx, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public@prx.org.