The Disaster Proposal

The memory itself is cringe-worthy - it punches me in the stomach every time I catch myself thinking back. I was on such a high horse, nervous, but so confident, surely I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think she’d agree? As I stand here getting a sweet, takeaway caramel hot chocolate, it springs back into my mind like a lightning bolt. And, as quick as it comes, it leaves. It leaves me stuck, about to put my card to the reader to pay, I stop. About to move down the line to wait, I stop. And about to say thank you to the barista, I stop. Not voluntarily you realise, my body just stops - that lightning bolt of a memory has taken away my ability to do anything. 

The world stands still, in my mind, nobody is moving, nobody is talking, it’s deadly quiet. Yet the barista is now patting my arm and I vaguely hear her questioning me, am I okay, do I need to sit down, shall I call anyone? ‘No’ I snapped out of it, no no no, there isn’t anyone you can call, that’s why I’m standing here just coming out of this some sort of episode. She’s gone.

Once I’ve paid and I’m finally standing waiting for the barista to create. As if nothing happened. No one is giving me funny looks, no one cares enough, they don’t know me, so why should they. I wander out of the coffee shop and the drizzle touches my face like a wet flannel, I hate rain. I was supposed to be checking out the architecture of the older style buildings today, but I am not standing out in the drizzly rain for that. I change direction, head across the marble stone floor, my heels gently clicking as they quickly kiss the floor. Ahead of me is the fountain, you know a proper tourist attraction fountain - not the water fountains type we used to have in schools! There are still so many people milling around it, even in pants weather. I stand, take in the view, not something I’d normally do, but why are there people here when it rains, what is actually their reason? There seems to be a crowd gathered to my far left. Maybe there’s something wrong. I hate the rain but not enough to not provide help to someone that needs it. I make my way over to the crowd, a fast walk, slow jog sort of pace, shows a level of urgency, but not a huge deal.

It literally couldn’t have been any worse, no there was nobody dying, but actually for me right now, worse, it was a proposal. A successful proposal if you stared long enough for it to conclude. The type of proposal I have envisaged, but didn’t get.

When I finally return home, I’m soaked through, even my boxers are wet, and not in a good way either. Shower, I think, then return to work and avoid the buildings architecture part for now. I  procrastinate in the shower, I know I am really just trying to avoid the memory, avoid flashbacks to what happy memory I have just been a part of unwillingly, avoid work. I don’t feel like it, I feel exhausted, and I feel sad. The shower gel promises to refresh me so I find myself using nearly all of it, in the hope that a bit more may do the trick. Of course, it doesn’t. Once dressed for the second time today, I skulk back towards the sofa, where I plan to stay the rest of the day. I feel inflicted. Inflicted with a memory I didn’t want to access and a memory that came upon me rudely without permission. I also feel inflicted that I am a part of someone’s happy memories when for me, it’s disastrous. I guess you’re wondering why the memory is so forbidden to reenter my head at any time.

It was a warm day, you know that gentle summer heat that almost hugs you, and there was a slight whisper of a breeze that made girls who have long hair look like they are partaking in a television advert. Anyway, I’m getting distracted. God, I don’t really want to talk about this. Okay, so it was a beautiful day, and we were walking along a rural track that runs along the top of a hill. That doesn’t sound romantic in any way I realise, but it was. We were strolling along, I had the blue velvet box collapsed tight in my hand, in case I dropped it, out my pocket - unlikely I know. My other hand was wrapped tightly around hers. We were talking about whether one day we would get a dog and what breed she wanted a whippet, I said a labrador. Maybe that was the sign for me not to do what I did next. Instead, as we were happily chatting about our future life, clearly together, I stopped. I grabbed her arms and pulled her around to face me, admittedly she did look a little terrified at this point, but I ignored it, thinking it’d be forgotten within five minutes with tears of joy and excitement… I snatched the box out of my pocket, and fumbled down onto one knee - my head didn’t know which knee to go onto, so I nearly ended up on both or my face in the worst case scenario. I saved myself, quickly looked up at her, opened the box to face her and asked, ‘’Will you be my wife? Marry me?’’. The look that was staring back at me, still haunts me, there was panic and despair in her voice, sadness in her eyes as she stared deep into my soul and quietly said ‘’what? No, no, no. This can’t be happening’’. Then she started to look around, there was no one else anywhere in our vicinity, yet it felt like the whole world was watching this failure. She looked left, shot her head the other way, glanced right then looked straight into my eyes and accused me of ruining everything, questioned what was I thinking and then, then she ran. She ran back in the direction we had come from and as she had the car keys, I can only assume she drove off. And by the time I had decided to find someone to get me home rather than walk, then by the time I had managed to get hold of anyone who could give me that lift from my rural location to our house, which in total, the journey as well, took something like an hour and thirty eight minutes, she had been home (we lived around a fifteen minute drive from there), and taken her essentials. 

When I eventually got back, there was no sign she’d ever even slept over, let alone lived there for the last five years. I haven’t seen her nor heard from her since that disastrous day in June 2018.