Proposals

Before my nineteenth birthday, I had been proposed to three times: once by my high school sweetheart and abusive boyfriend when I was eighteen, once by a street vendor in Monaco when I was sixteen, and by Ed when I was four. I refused to recognize almost all of these as proposals until I was in my twenties, particularly Ed’s proposal. Some things are just better left forgotten, or so I believed. While all of these proposals were insanely strange, I suppose I shall start with what I still consider to be the strangest of all.

I was eighteen, a college drop out, and in a relationship with Daniel. Daniel did not have a job, and he had been homeless for the majority of our relationship. As you can imagine, his proposal was not very elaborate. It was what I refer to as the “Hey, I’m going into the military, and there’s a possibility you might be pregnant, so let’s do this thing” type of proposal that was all too common around my hometown. As we stood in my parents kitchen, Daniel threw his class ring at me, still engraved with the initials of his ex-girlfriend, and he said, “So… Yeah… You know… What do you say?” I said no, and we broke up a few weeks later.

My proposal in Monaco was not really a proposal, but I group it in here with the others because it is the happiest of the three. I had just fed a crepe to a seagull, and I was meandering the alleyways of Monaco with some close friends. The menagerie of Lamborghinis and other expensive cars caught our attention until a young man and his father in a street side shop called out for us in French. I, speaking only Latin, could only pick up a few words. Beautiful. Ladies. Something about a boy or his son? I turned to my friend travelling with me, who translated for me. “Beautiful ladies! American women! My son! You marry? You marry?” Next thing I knew, the kid was on one knee. I ran away giggling with my friends as any scared American would.

 Finally, the proposal I remember least vividly. It was the summer I turned four. I was at my maternal grandmother’s house. Somewhere along her hallway lined with mirrors, which I often compare to the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, Ed proposed to me. I accepted without hesitation. Who’s Ed you ask? Ed is my eating disorder. Ed is the man who saved my life and nearly killed me a few times along the way. Ed and I are currently in the process of filing paperwork to finalize our divorce.