marry me
while we were on top of that hill overlooking the valley, someplace romantic
like that—because that’s what I had originally planned—would you have said
yes?”
I wanted to respond, but I didn’t
know what to say because the truth was it wouldn’t have changed anything. I
felt sick to my stomach. Ben was still watching me with a stony expression and
I was almost tempted to take it all back, tell him I wanted to get married,
tell him I was just scared, but I knew I couldn’t because it wasn’t the truth
and because I really did love him, I felt he deserved nothing less than the
truth.
“Just what I thought,” he said
when I didn’t answer. And then he left.
I nearly got up and went after
him, begging him to stay, but I didn’t. Instead I sat on the bed for a long
time staring at the wall across from me—every line and crack, floor to ceiling—the
long empty wall. At some point I started to cry. I cried loudly, wailing like a
child, and then I went into the bathroom and took off the whole roll of toilet
paper and sat there on the toilet seat crying and blowing my nose.
I knew I was going to miss him. I
was going to miss all the wonderful things about him.
I began to walk around the house
looking out each window. I felt sad, but at the same time I knew that I was
only twenty-two years old and I wasn’t ready for a lifelong commitment. As bizarre
as it sounds, deep down, I even felt a strange sort of relief. I can do
whatever I want now. I’m free to go to school. I’m free to meet new people. I
wouldn’t have the pressure weighing down on me always feeling like I have to
please Ben.
He returned from wherever he’d
gone to well after midnight. I listened as he came into the bedroom, fumbling
around in the dark, kicking his shoes off. I began to wonder if maybe he’d
changed his mind, that maybe he’d realized it didn’t have to be all or nothing.
He didn’t say anything though, but climbed into bed right beside me. I moved
towards him. It was then that I noticed he smelled like alcohol and, as I
peered at him, I realized he was already asleep. I shook his shoulder trying to
wake him, but he didn’t rouse in the least bit, in fact he had that deep wet
breathing of someone who was passed out drunk. This pierced my heart more than
anything and I started crying all over again. I’d never seen Ben drunk before.
Not ever. I could only imagine what sort of horrible shape he must have been in
to actually go sit in a bar somewhere and drink himself into oblivion.
***
The drive back to Seattle the next
morning was the worst three hours I’ve ever spent in a car in my life. I was
hoping it would give us a chance to clear things up, but every time I tried to
say anything he’d only turn the music up louder. And to make it all that much
worse he kept playing Blood Sugar Sex Magik . It felt like an exorcism,
like he wanted to throw it on the fire along with everything else.
Ben had barely spoken two words
since we’d woken up that morning. I felt guilty when I saw that he had a
terrible hangover. I watched as he rooted around in the cabinet for a bottle of
aspirin and then stood at the kitchen sink drinking glass after glass of water.
I tried to speak to him. I told him I thought we should talk, but he shook his
head.
“There’s nothing more to say.” He wouldn’t
even look at me when he spoke, but stared out the window.
Finally we got back to the city and
he drove me directly to my house. He pulled my bags out and carried them up the
front steps, and as he started to walk away, I grabbed his arm. I thought he’d
pull away, but he stopped and stood there gazing at the sky.
I waited until he turned to look
at me for the first time. Our eyes met and when I saw the coldness in his, all
the things that were bottled up inside of me that I’d been trying to say for
the last few hours died. We simply stood there, our eyes locked on each other, and
then wordlessly he turned and walked
while we were on top of that hill overlooking the valley, someplace romantic
like that—because that’s what I had originally planned—would you have said
yes?”
I wanted to respond, but I didn’t
know what to say because the truth was it wouldn’t have changed anything. I
felt sick to my stomach. Ben was still watching me with a stony expression and
I was almost tempted to take it all back, tell him I wanted to get married,
tell him I was just scared, but I knew I couldn’t because it wasn’t the truth
and because I really did love him, I felt he deserved nothing less than the
truth.
“Just what I thought,” he said
when I didn’t answer. And then he left.
I nearly got up and went after
him, begging him to stay, but I didn’t. Instead I sat on the bed for a long
time staring at the wall across from me—every line and crack, floor to ceiling—the
long empty wall. At some point I started to cry. I cried loudly, wailing like a
child, and then I went into the bathroom and took off the whole roll of toilet
paper and sat there on the toilet seat crying and blowing my nose.
I knew I was going to miss him. I
was going to miss all the wonderful things about him.
I began to walk around the house
looking out each window. I felt sad, but at the same time I knew that I was
only twenty-two years old and I wasn’t ready for a lifelong commitment. As bizarre
as it sounds, deep down, I even felt a strange sort of relief. I can do
whatever I want now. I’m free to go to school. I’m free to meet new people. I
wouldn’t have the pressure weighing down on me always feeling like I have to
please Ben.
He returned from wherever he’d
gone to well after midnight. I listened as he came into the bedroom, fumbling
around in the dark, kicking his shoes off. I began to wonder if maybe he’d
changed his mind, that maybe he’d realized it didn’t have to be all or nothing.
He didn’t say anything though, but climbed into bed right beside me. I moved
towards him. It was then that I noticed he smelled like alcohol and, as I
peered at him, I realized he was already asleep. I shook his shoulder trying to
wake him, but he didn’t rouse in the least bit, in fact he had that deep wet
breathing of someone who was passed out drunk. This pierced my heart more than
anything and I started crying all over again. I’d never seen Ben drunk before.
Not ever. I could only imagine what sort of horrible shape he must have been in
to actually go sit in a bar somewhere and drink himself into oblivion.
***
The drive back to Seattle the next
morning was the worst three hours I’ve ever spent in a car in my life. I was
hoping it would give us a chance to clear things up, but every time I tried to
say anything he’d only turn the music up louder. And to make it all that much
worse he kept playing Blood Sugar Sex Magik . It felt like an exorcism,
like he wanted to throw it on the fire along with everything else.
Ben had barely spoken two words
since we’d woken up that morning. I felt guilty when I saw that he had a
terrible hangover. I watched as he rooted around in the cabinet for a bottle of
aspirin and then stood at the kitchen sink drinking glass after glass of water.
I tried to speak to him. I told him I thought we should talk, but he shook his
head.
“There’s nothing more to say.” He wouldn’t
even look at me when he spoke, but stared out the window.
Finally we got back to the city and
he drove me directly to my house. He pulled my bags out and carried them up the
front steps, and as he started to walk away, I grabbed his arm. I thought he’d
pull away, but he stopped and stood there gazing at the sky.
I waited until he turned to look
at me for the first time. Our eyes met and when I saw the coldness in his, all
the things that were bottled up inside of me that I’d been trying to say for
the last few hours died. We simply stood there, our eyes locked on each other, and
then wordlessly he turned and walked
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