he had the ring in his pocket the whole time.
waiting for the right moment,
it was tucked away, deep down,
as we walked to peter's inn for dinner.
he had his arm around my shoulders, contemplating
the perfect words to accompany the perfect ring
when i asked, "how do you know we have what it takes?"
what are you talking about?
"so many people in the world fall in love. but not everyone lasts.
what makes us so special? how do we know we will last?"
without answering, he kissed me on the cheek and opened the door to the restaurant.
earlier that afternoon, i opened my mailbox to find the march 2000 issue of the sun magazine.
the theme for the "readers write" section was "the marriage bed". while waiting for paul to pick me up for dinner, i read about what the marriage bed meant to the authors of the submitted entries.
one woman wrote about receiving her marriage bed as a gift from her mother. her mother's wish was for "many blessings on their new marriage and many a good night's sleep." breakfast in bed and lazy weekend mornings in the beginning, turned into the couple sharing their bed with their newborn daughter, all three curled up together.
a widow wrote about missing her largerthanlife husband and feeling the void in their bed after twenty-something years of loving him.
a man wrote about making a bed, for his new bride, from trees he cut down himself!
but the other stories painted a different picture
of betrayal, neglect, abuse, and depression.
left on a curb for the trash collectors, a marriage bed was hauled away.
the author wrote, "it was as if all those joys and tears and angry words
had never been."
"how do we know that we won't end up like that?" i asked paul as we walked.
we won't.
being the youngest child of a father who was married five times,
i wasn't convinced.
my mind was all over the place when we got home from dinner.
come out on the roof and look at the stars with me. (setting up for the popping-of-the-big-question)
"i am going to bed," i answered. "i want to read."
the next night, paul cooked.
lying on his sofa, i continued to read, convinced that true love
didn't exist in the real world.
or, if it did, it was fleeting. not something that stayed.
and certainly not for someone like me.
i read, out loud, to him while he set the table and piled pasta onto our plates.
pausing between mouthfuls, he took my hand.
do you want to know how i know we will last?
faith.
i have faith in the love that i feel for you and i know
that i want to spend the rest of my life with you.
that is when he put the little black box on the table.
the one he had carried while listening to my rants about failed marriages.
the one that he, bravely, still gave to me after hearing my doubts.
we got married sixteen months later.
nine years ago, today.
june sixteenth, two thousand one.
and our marriage bed? we bought it when i was pregnant with our son.
and the three of us curl around each other every night.
i am so glad that ring didn't stay in his pocket.
