I Will

The blue-grey haze of bar smoke fills the air. The Valentine’s Day crowd at Gilhouly’s bar (pronounced, after a few too many as Glilouy’s) seems to carry a certain energy of festiveness. There are no sulking singles here, everyone is with someone and happy about it. The long, thin pub is crowded. At one end, a foursome plays pool. The space is too small for the table, and for the ques, but they play anyway. In tables and booths, couples hold hands, kiss and talk.

The bubbles of my pint of Guiness churn, as do the remnants of the chicken korma in my stomach. Walking from the bar to our booth, I pass a table where a woman, dressed in pink, complete with cupid’s wings, holds a lacy, sparkly bow and suction cup arrows.

I set my Guiness down, my other hand gives a glass of white wine to the woman I love. I sit down across from her. We are out on a date on Valentine’s day even though we both despise the holiday. She tells me that she has been thinking about getting married. This comes as a surprise as the two of us share a general disdain for marriage. We feel that it is an archaic, religious, tradition that has worn out its usefulness in today’s society and discriminates against homosexuals. But, she tells me, from time to time she thinks about marrying me.

“So, you’re telling me that if, someday in the future, I were to ask you to marry me, you might say yes?”

“I don’t know, it’s probably just a phase. I’ll feel different tomorrow.”

Three and a half beers have caught up with my bladder and I excuse myself. The men’s room is tiny, and thank goodness there’s a lock. I hate peeing with someone to talk to, plus I need to be alone with my thoughts. I don’t want you to think that I am the typical man running away from commitment. I have every intention of making every effort to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I have loved her since the moment I first saw her, and grow more and more in love with her each day. No one has ever made me feel so strong, so safe, so loved, so warm, so confident. After all these years I still get butterflies in my stomach when I see her. Each morning when I wake up, she is there, reminding me that it is not all some sweet, euphoric dream.

But marriage? That’s not for me! I’m hip, urban young guy. I don’t do things simply because other people do do them! Marriage is for, you know, traditional people!

When I was a kid, I always wanted to get married. I always wanted to propose in some ultra-romantic, super emotional elaborate surprise movie scene way. The problem was, I never found the woman. A series of short, doomed relationships with the wrong women as a young man left me jaded. For over six years I played the part of the self-proclaimed single and happy guy. I was actually miserable, I just didn’t know it, or wouldn’t admit it. I drowned my sorrow in cheap 30 packs and rock and roll debauchery. Then she walked in my door. Now, I need to devise an elaborate and ultra-romantic movie scene proposal.

Knock, Knock!

Shit, how long have I been in here? “Just a second!” I pee and hustle out of there. My beautiful girlfriend is awaiting me. Her brown hair brushes the shoulders of her white, knit shawl and frames her smiling face. She always smiles when she sees me.

I sit down. She reaches across the table. Left hand takes right. Right hand left. One big ball of hands loving each other’s embrace, feeling each other’s warmth. We belong together, we deserve each other. Eye meets eye. A loving gaze. A long silence. Our silences are often long, but never awkward. Then the silence is broken.

“You know how I am.” She says.

“I know.”

“Sometimes I get these crazy ideas in my head, then I change my mind later.”

“It’s okay!”

“So, I was wondering,” she says, “if maybe you might want to marry me someday?”

“Really? Really? I will! I will! I will!”