The Day You were Engaged
You were crying. You were excited. Very. I wished there was some way to TiVo your emotion and play it later at a time when I felt more like giving a shit. Instead I said, “This is good coffee.” I said your ring sparkled a lot. You said it was old. I said, “This coffee is burning my tongue.” I felt like sweating. I wanted to jump through the window into one of the cars in the drive-thru lane. I tried to remember the last time I had vacuumed my car. I reached into my pocket to touch my iPod. It wasn’t there. I started sweating. I looked at your shoes. I said I liked your shoe- laces. You said something about Target and I tried to figure out if I really did like your shoelaces. I wondered how long I had gone without blink- ing. I said, “Did they do something to the lights. I feel like they’re messing with me. Psychologically. In some way.” You laughed and I realized I must have been making some sort of joke. I tried to think of a way I could say goodbye without you hugging me. Your sweater looked soft. At my apartment I was alone. I wondered why I was still wearing pants. I called your sister. I said, “I don’t believe in marriage.” She said, “It is a reflection of Christ’s love for His church.” I thought about making a grilled cheese sandwich. I thought about praying and those blind star-nosed moles. I thought “God.” I wondered if I could go 24 hours without eating.