A Treasured Gift

As I was writing A Rose for Sergei I recalled how my former boss drove me to Sergei Kourdakov’s funeral.  Mr. and Mrs. Logie stood along side of me that heartbreaking day, supporting me emotionally and physically.

We don’t always stop to think about how important certain people are in our lives... maybe because we aren’t even aware of it at that particular moment.  Part of my writing journey led me to track down my former boss.  After thirty-six years, I finally caught up with Mr. Kirk Logie, Sr.  After we hugged each other warmly, he took a step back to just stare into my face.  He couldn’t stop smiling.  “I never, ever expected a visit from you after all these years,” he said as his eyes twinkled brightly.  “You got older.”  Did he expect time to stand still, just like our memories?  At age ninety-three he still has a full head of wavy hair, although time has turned it from red to white.  I would have recognized him anywhere.

Two of Mr. Logie’s children also joined us when we met.  They shared heartwarming stories of when Sergei lived with them when he first arrived in Washington DC.  Sergei helped Kirk Jr. with his swimming and diving skills at the neighborhood pool.  Sergei obviously was an expert in that area, having survived his incredible swim to freedom the night he defected from the Soviet Union.  You couldn’t have asked for a better teacher than Sergei.

It was Lee Anne’s story, however, that captured my heart.  Lee Anne was seven years old at the time and had her first-ever “crush” on Sergei.  To a young girl, Sergei must have seemed “larger than life.”  She said Sergei liked to pick her up and place her on his shoulders as he walked around.  After one such time, Lee Anne told Sergei that she loved him.  His response completely surprised me.  Sergei told Lee Anne that no one had ever said those words to him before... and then he gently told her that he had a girlfriend.  I knew that hearing those words, “I love you,” from a sweet, caring child would have touched him deeply.  A few days later, Sergei gave Lee Anne a watch.

After Lee Anne told me her story she showed me the watch Sergei had given her.  It was beautiful, with a small stretch band to fit a young girl’s wrist, and a few tiny diamond chips sprinkled at the corners where the band attached to the facing.  She treasured his gift even after all these years.  I picked up the watch and held it close with both hands as a flood of memories rushed over me.  I smiled as I told her, “You beat me to it.  You told Sergei you loved him before I did.”