Letters from the Heart

This letter is to a friend who helped me with a delicate decision.

GIVING DIAMONDS

Dear MaryBeth,

After you helped me with the shopping, and I finally found the right ring, the next step was to give it to Janet. The thing is, though, we weren’t ready. We hadn’t talked about our future much, other than having decided a week or so earlier that we wouldn’t even bring up the idea of getting married for at least six months. But neither of us had ever said anything about children (did we want them? if so, how many? when?), where either of us wanted to “settle down” (L.A. is nice, but I wouldn’t want to raise kids there), and other import points it’s good to work out before you get married. (No one needs the shock of discovering one of you wants to live in the desert and the other in the forest after you’ve made a commitment.)

And it seemed these things should get discussed before I asked her to marry me.

But this was going to be interesting, because, being Monday, I taught a class that evening, and had a late sales appointment around dinnertime. The earliest we could get together was seven fifteen, my class started at eight, ten minutes away from her place, and I had to eat during that time. Somehow I had decided to give her the ring that night. I suppose I could have waited till it was more convenient (or romantic), but for some reason, that never occurred to me.

So I picked her just after seven, and we went to dine in the elegant Bob’s Big Boy two blocks away, the only restaurant within range, time-wise. It was near, they served quick, and it was deserted. Sitting down at a booth, I quickly ordered a sandwich, she took a minute and followed suite. As soon as the waiter left, I got out my questions—mentally, anyway. I had come up with four what-I-considered-essentials ideas I felt we needed to discuss, and launched into them.

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” I asked.

She began a discussion about the pros and cons. She wants to have a discussion, I thought. Glancing at my watch, I panicked. “We don’t have time for a discussion!” I thought.

My sandwich arrived. I glanced at it, and launched my second question: Where would you want to raise them?

Startled, and obviously not ready to leave the first idea, she started to answer, not naming a place, but the pluses and minuses of California vs. the midwest. Another discussion, I gasped. Halfway through her answer, I tossed out the next question, this time about religion. Another discussion loomed.

While she was talking, I took a bite of my sandwich. Maybe two. I never got any more, because it was time for another question, this time about working—did she want to? What about finances?

Janet was handling herself pretty well, moving from one subject to another, but definitely wanted a lot more time on each one. And more feedback from me than the one-word “yes,” “three,” “blue” kind of answers I was tossing out.

Then, I realized it didn’t matter. Just like her hair.

Like many men, and possibly woman, I prefer long hair, especially on females. It looks neat to me. As long as I’d known her, and despite my vocal opinions, her hair was short. I felt strongly about this (don’t know why), and, when I picked her up to go to dinner, I discovered she cut her hair that day. I was planning to propose, and she had cut her hair.

Instead of getting upset, however, I figured it didn’t matter. Long or short, as long as it was with her, it would be okay. And in the middle of my interrogations, I realized the same thing: it didn’t matter: as long as it was with her, it would be okay.

So I stopped asking questions. Good thing too, because it was quarter of eight, and time to scoot. Paid the check, got in the car, and drove back to her place, another five minutes gone.

“This is going to be tight,” I thought.

Pulled in her parking lot, took a deep breath, and said (as casually as I could), “I got you a present today.”

Janet loves presents, and I added, “it’s in the glove compartment.”

Reaching forward, she opened the compartment door. There, amid owner’s manuals, registration papers, and maps, was a brown paper bag of the lunch bag variety, which she took out.

Opening it, she glanced inside, then drew out a small white box, which she then opened. Inside was one of the velvety jewelry boxes. She opened it: inside was a diamond ring.

Did you ever see movie Star Wars? There’s a scene, towards the beginning, where R2D2 is rolling down into a rocky valley at night, and suddenly he’s shot with a blue bolt of electricity. Blue streaks course around his little metallic body, going this way and that, short-circuiting him. A moment later, he falls down.

That’s what Janet was like. She slumped back abruptly, leaning against the back of the seat.

“I have to go now,” I said, needing to get to my class. “Maybe I better come back after.”

“Maybe you’d better,” she breathed. Then she got out of the car and staggered inside.

When I did come back later, we had a long talk. During it, somewhere in the middle, I said, “Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings, will you marry me?”

She said yes.

Thought you would want to know.

Take care,


David

© David Adelson. All rights reserved. These "Letters from the Heart" were previously published as a column in the Quincy Herald-Whig in Illinois.