You

You’ve never looked better than you do on this Sunday afternoon. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and you are beautiful. Your hair is tucked under your red toque, but a few loose tendrils have escaped, framing your face . Your jacket is open and you have a matching red scarf at your neck. When we left the car forty five minutes ago, the scarf was knotted under your chin, but the hike has made you warm so you’ve untied it.

I look back at you, struggling on the path a few feet behind me, and something about the way the red knitted fabric frames your neck, brushing your clavicles, drives me wild. But to be fair, a lot of things about you drive me wild.

We are both wearing hiking boots, and I’m glad we are. A thin layer of snow has made the rocks and roots underfoot slippery. It’s a perfect winter day for a hike. Even if it’s a hike I had to convince you to come on.

‘Babe.’ You call out. ‘This is crazy. You have to tell me where we’re going.’ 

I smile to myself. You’re so certain. Always. It’s one of the things that first drew me to you. I never feel certain. I’m always questioning, judging, second-guessing. Always wondering if I’ve made the right decision. It’s one of the reasons we work, I think.

‘Just trust me.’ I say, flashing a smile back over my shoulder.

‘Ugh.’ you groan, dramatically. ‘Can you at least tell me how much longer?’

I shake my head. Lock my mouth. Throw away the key. You rush forward and give me a playful shove and, even though the path is narrow, I slow down and reach for your hand, drawing you next to me as we carefully pick across the frost-heaved forest floor. There’s barely room for the two of us side-by-side, but we make it work. We always do.

We’re getting close.

My hand brushes the bulge in my pocket and I am struck with a moment of worry. I hope you haven’t noticed it. I think you would have said something if you had. It wouldn’t be like you to hold back.

‘But,’ I say, luxuriating in a dramatic pause. ‘I can tell you that it will be worth it. I promise.’ I bring your hand to my mouth and plant a kiss on your mittened knuckles. You look at me. Your eyes soften and you smile. All is forgiven.

You’re glowing. The exertion of the incline has brought a pink glow to your cheeks. And there, on the side of your neck, I see the gentle flicker of your pulse under your skin. Delicate, and so alive. You’re perfect and, for the millionth time since we met 8 months ago, I think how lucky I am.

My heart is beginning to race. I’m nervous. You haven’t noticed because I’m trying as hard as I can to regulate my breathing. This has been planned for weeks. But, if I’m honest, I’ve been imagining it since the day I met you.

My hand once again brushes the bulge in my pocket, this time intentionally. The feeling of it, the weight of it gives me comfort.

I sincerely hope you’re surprised. I love the way your hand flutters to your mouth when something unexpected happens. It’s the most lovely, automatic gesture. I’m not even sure you know you do it. And I’ll never tell you. 

When I pull it out, you’ll be surprised. I really believe you will. I can imagine the way your eyes will open wide as the sun glints off the metal. Sparkles.

Your hand, nestled in mine, squeezes. I squeeze back. A wordless exchange. Hello. I love you. I exist. I know you exist. Thank you.

Ahead of us, the trees begin to thin. The landscape is changing, and there is a new sound, unmuffled by the mossy forest floor and the thick canopy of leaves. Wind. Moving water.

Where once our view had been glimmers of light blue sky through a dense screen of trees, now there is more blue, more sky. Grasses. Rocks. Scrubby bushes.

We’ve arrived.

We step through the trees and onto a large piece of mossy stone. The view is stunning.

We stand on a large rock outcropping overlooking a vast valley. At the bottom, hundreds of feet below, a river winds its sparkling path towards, eventually, the sea. Even with the temperature near freezing, the river still flows. Although, from up here, I can see chunks of ice and snow lining it’s banks. It may freeze this year.

You turn to me, and I can see tears glinting in your eyes.

‘Do you like it?’ I ask.

You can’t speak at first. Or maybe you can, but you choose not to. You just nod, then step forward, dazzled by the scenery.

I watch you watching. I’m a few feet behind you. You’re closer to the edge. Not close, but closer. You are in no danger. 

From where I stand, the sun is beating down on you from its place low in the sky. The light is picking out threads of gold and copper in your hair. Once more, I can see the gentle thrum of your pulse in your neck. This time it’s a faint flicker under the skin below your right ear. It’s a detail I’ve never noticed before today and it makes me love you even more. You are full of surprises.

But so am I.

I reach into my pocket, careful not to draw your attention before I’m ready. I need you to keep looking in the other direction. But I don’t need to worry. You’re completely enraptured. I’m not surprised. The view is stunning.

When I first came three days ago, it had been an overcast day and even then I’d been dazzled. I'd practiced. I’d known it was perfect. And today, with the warm sun, the cool air, and the light glinting off the river below, the beauty of this place is undeniable.

Best of all, we are alone. Blessedly alone. I could have done this with other people around, but it’s better this way.

Your back is still to me when I hear you say a quiet ‘Thank you.’ Then you turn.

I’m on one knee and, stretched out in front of me, is the box. Your eyes move between me and the small velvet box, open to reveal a ring. The ring.

Your hands fly to your mouth, and I smile a bit wider. Just as I predicted. The satisfaction of knowing you this well is only matched by the joy I feel at discovering new things about you. Every day a discovery, a joy.

Eventually your eyes lock on mine, now filled to overflowing with tears. I feel myself start to tear up. I’m a mirror. You’re the flame. I reflect your warmth back to you.

I’ve rehearsed this speech so many times that it passes my lips almost without my thinking about it. A prayer. The words my comfort and my salvation. They are perfect.

Before I’m even done speaking, I see you nodding, a snotty wet smile splitting your joyous, tear-streaked face.

You move closer to me and pull me to my feet. You kiss me, your hands pressed to either side of my face. I can feel the wetness on your cheeks, so cool compared to the moist heat of your mouth.

I smile my winningest smile. It’s a smile perfectly calibrated to say I love you and I treasure you and I’m not worthy of you. It says that you’re my everything, but this was still a risk.

I’m relieved. You could have said no. But you didn’t. Not that it would matter, this would eventually end the same way. I feel confident in this.

‘Is that a yes?’ I ask, through my smile.

‘Of course it is.’ You pause, a deep thoughtful breath before you answer again. ‘Yes.’

Your hands are still on my cheeks and you pull them back. You take the mittens off and shove them in your pockets. Your hands are shaking.

I had pictured trying to slide the ring onto your finger while I was still kneeling, but this is fine too. Standing works. I can handle the unexpected. I’m very resilient.

I pluck the ring from its velvet setting and pinch it between my thumb and index finger. You extend your left hand towards me and we come together as though this is a well-rehearsed dance.

I take your hand in mine and slide the ring onto your finger. That finger. It stops at the second knuckle and I laugh bashfully. This should work, my smile says. I try again and the ring still will not budge. This is not surprising. Technically, the ring was not made for you.

‘Don’t worry.’ You say. ‘We’ll get it resized.’ You look at me again as I tuck the ring back in the box sheepishly.

'I'm sorry.' I say. 'I wanted this to be perfect.'

‘It is.' You say. 'It's beautiful. Thank you.’

I say ‘I love you.’ And I think I mean it.

You say ‘I love you too.’ And I know you mean it.

There is a moment where we just look at each other, our eyes full, and the space between us charged with emotion.

Then I shove you as hard as I can.

The look of surprise in your eyes is genuine. Fresh. Nothing like the look when you saw me kneeling, holding out an engagement ring. 

I realize then, that you may have been expecting this. That your surprise at the ring may have been as practiced as my proposal. Seems we’ve both been a bit sneaky. But I forgive you.

You hadn’t been standing especially close to the edge, six or eight feet. A completely safe and responsible distance. But I’m much bigger than you. And much stronger. And you were not expecting this. So at least that part was a surprise.

Your arms windmill. Literally windmill as you stagger backwards. Your feet tangle, threatening to trip you and, for a moment, I worry you won’t make it over the edge. 

I have a disappointing vision of you falling to the ground just short of where I need you. And what would I do then? Push you again? Kick? I don’t want to have to hit you, but I suppose I will if I need to.

But all my worry is for nothing, because your momentum propels you right to the edge of the cliff, where your feet scrabble for purchase before the weight of your body pulls you backwards.

You don’t make a sound. That’s surprising. Normally you're very chatty. But not now.

Your eyes are wide with confusion as you slide further and further away. Your arms are no longer windmilling, but reaching. Perhaps for a ledge, a stone, a branch. Perhaps you’re reaching for me, even now thinking I might be the one to save you, as if your brain hasn’t yet caught up to the fact that I am the reason you’re now plunging 248 feet towards your death.

I move toward the edge, but not too close. Wouldn’t want to have an accident.

There’s a sort of poetry in the way you fall. It’s majestic. Graceful. You really are so beautiful.

Eventually you hit the ground. I watch you make impact and fairly spread across a rock at the edge of the rapids. Your head is in the water and for a moment you stay that way. Then the force of the river and the weight of your upper body pulls you from the rock and you tumble your way through the frothy water. After a moment, I lose track of you. You are gone.

The entire thing takes seconds. Or hours. I can’t tell. It happens slowly, but fast. Quickly, but at a high frame rate. Whatever it is, my brain doesn’t know how to process it. I am overwhelmed, but calm. An inner stillness and a sense of accomplishment I rarely let myself feel.

I’m proud. And that’s good. I should be proud. I did something difficult. Although I will say, it was easier this time. Perhaps the easiest yet.

And perhaps the next will be easier still. But I still have to find you again. And I have 365 days to do that.