I Heart Virginia Mae Rosenthal

Virginia Mae Rosenthal is beautiful. Long blonde hair. Blue-green eyes. Smells like lavender shampoo.

Virginia Mae Rosenthal is talented. Singer. Dancer. Published sixty-five books before she turned 21.

Virginia Mae Rosenthal is wonderful. Animal rights activist. Clean air activist. Arrested for blocking the destruction of a natural forest.

Virginia Mae Rosenthal is my idol. I want to be just like her. I want her to be my best friend.

But Virginia Mae Rosenthal doesn’t know who I am. But Virginia Mae Rosenthal doesn’t know that I exist.

Oh, but she will.

I giggle as I break a window.

Oh, yes. Come tomorrow morning, Virginia Mae Rosenthal will know of my existence.


I am surrounded by Virginia Mae Rosenthal’s genius. So many letters. So many words.

So many books.

Her books.

Virginia Mae Rosenthal’s books.

Virginia Mae Rosenthal’s books filled with her thoughts and feelings and ideas and words.

All of Virginia Mae Rosenthal’s words.

I turn on the news.

“Hello, world. I am Matt Varnaloos. And I have a breaking report. What?” He looks over to his left. “Oh.” He smiles at the cameraman. Or woman. “Yes. I have breaking news. No.” He looks to his left again. “That doesn’t sound any better. Okay. I’ll try that. This just in, ladies and gentlemen. Big breaking news that you won’t get anywhere else. Someone broke into the Lotsa Books on Maybreeze Street and STOLE all of famed author Virginia Mae Rosenthal’s books.” His smile grows bigger. “Isn’t that just awful?”

I lean forward. What about her? What does she think? How does she feel? Does she understand my feelings?

“Unfortunately, Virginia Mae Rosenthal has chosen not to comment on the theft. And her agent isn’t talking either.”

She has chosen not to comment? Why? She can’t be upset about it. I did it because I love her. Because I want her to notice me. Because—

“I personally went to Miss Rosenthal’s—What?” Another glance to the left. “What? I don’t get it. Isn’t that the same…Oh. Okay. I personally went to Ms. Rosenthal’s home and pounded on her door, but she refused to answer. Maybe she is in cahoots with the thief. Or maybe she’s just too shell-shocked to speak.”


Shell. Shocked.


No! Doesn’t she see it? Doesn’t she understand? How can I make her understand?




Yes! Actions. I will rob another store. That hippie bookshop on Greenfield and Main. I will take all of her books, but this time!

This time.

This time, I will be sure to leave a note. I will tell her all.

My thoughts.

My feelings.

My name.

She will understand.

And yes. She will comment.

I giggle at the happy mental image of Virginia Mae Rosenthal commenting on me.

Acknowledging me.

And, in that glorious moment, she will know that I exist.

She will know my feelings and she will understand them.

She will become my best friend.

I grab an armful of her books and hug them tight.

Oh, yes. Virginia Mae Rosenthal and I will be excellent friends.


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