She did not imagine the dance would be this painful. She winces. She steps on his feet again and again. She desperately wants to run away, to leave this floor and retreat back to a corner alone in a chair hoping perhaps no one will remember that she tried. She cannot for there are ropes that now bind her to him even when his own arms refuse.
She wishes her shoes were less pointy, or that perhaps he would actually wince again rather than accepting the abuse her missteps inflict with such stoicism. Her eyes are on his chest, his feet, her own. She does not dare to glance at his face, to seek his eyes. She fears loathing. She fears anger, or hurt. Worse, she fears seeing indifference. Oh the terror of seeing that he merely stares blankly at the walls, his mind somewhere far beyond her reach. Different shoes would help, she obsesses. Or perhaps if she could bring herself to fling her shoes off. Oh, but the humility of dancing with bare feet here and admitting her defeat before all. In frustration she pulls against the ropes. He lets her, indifferent that this too causes him pain and so needlessly for it is of no use.
She wants him to help her, though she also does not want to need his help. She wants him to forgive her, though she would not admit to him that she needs it. She wanted to dance well and to do so without being taught and without learning.
He wants her to stop stepping on his feet, though they are numb. He wants her to admit her defeat and kick off her shoes. He wants to help her but a part of him likes her failures, not because she is human, but rather because they allow him to pretend he is not. He wants to help her but he knows that would require knowing the dance himself well enough to teach and he does not. He merely has enough grace not to crush her feet, though even this effort distorts his form. To admit this to her might allow them to share in defeat and thus to be bound by more than ropes. Yet, he cannot yet muster this. He wonders about this as he stares at the walls.
Smiling women whisper as they dance past, "Don't fret, it is hard at first, but there will comes a time you won't even notice the ropes." She cannot fathom this. They must lie. She will always feel its burn. Yet her eyes close and she hopes they speak truly.
"There is no shame in losing the shoes while you learn," whispers another. "Did you?" she wonders, but dares not ask for either answer condemns her.
"He would still hold you even if there were no ropes," promises another with perhaps more intuition than the others. "Would he?! Would he...." her thoughts press her and beg her eyes to his face but she still cannot look.
"You will have to lose the shoes and learn his face or you will dance like that forever," exhorts another. She believes it terrified but still cannot decide which is worse, to gain the knowledge through humility, or to limp through a pain now familiar and hope grace comes on its own.
So they dance on, and she holds back tears, for she did not imagine the dance could be this painful.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Artemis Hunted
Love is an awkward thing. It flees when you grasp after it, yet often escapes your notice when it is present..."Didn't I hear that there is a guy now?" Someone might ask casually in a social game of catch-up.
The beloved blinks, feigning unawareness. When apparent the other is not deceived, she motions her head in the direction of him. For her, he is an all-consuming presence. For the other, there is a group of guys standing in the other corner.
Something is there, the beloved knows, but what?! Oh that persistent question that even brides have pondered insecurely while veiling themselves. All she knows is that her life is changing. All she knows is that "home" is changing. The once expected future - though never real in the first place - is suddenly murky, and strangely it does not bother her.
Her assumed trajectory of life was theorized in a closed system. The lover enters and that closed paradigm is shattered, or rather shifted, before the beloved actually recognizes that she is in a new paradigm. It is much like one for whom God came in softly but entered in transforming as He came. Everything was new yet the one could not tell when it began nor how.
For the other on the outside, who has already discovered and grown used to being loved and adjusted to having one's presupposed future forever altered, it is sweet to watch this awkward dance replayed by another younger. While the other's future vision for this young beloved remains yet unreal, her present song and steps are still familiar.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Possible Memoir Introduction
Deep music strummed with the songs of earth as she wove slowly into wine country. Approaching large iron gates her whole life began reviving itself before her due to the vitality of the vines. Rich and reaching upward, the rows and rows of foliage were newly green, growing leaves that had never been, all the while reaching downward, into deep ground, firmly rooted in past.
She passed signs that marked varietals, informing the uninitiated of the histroy:
She passed signs that marked varietals, informing the uninitiated of the histroy:
Pinot Noir
Willamette Valley Vineyards
Dijon Colony 777,667
Grafted in 1999
"That is too recent" she mused, half expecting so lovely a hillside to read 1846.
Yet it said 1999. Oh 1999, the year that once held nineteen. A year when memoirs were not a thing to think about because one was so drunk on living the very moments or dreaming warily of future ones.
Here was wine country. The lushness was intoxicating enough. The vows she would watch exchange were so full of promise. They would be full of the promise and potential that nineteen had been for her. With this remembrance she realized that perhaps 1999 was not so recent, not so recent at all...
Willamette Valley Vineyards
Dijon Colony 777,667
Grafted in 1999
"That is too recent" she mused, half expecting so lovely a hillside to read 1846.
Yet it said 1999. Oh 1999, the year that once held nineteen. A year when memoirs were not a thing to think about because one was so drunk on living the very moments or dreaming warily of future ones.
Here was wine country. The lushness was intoxicating enough. The vows she would watch exchange were so full of promise. They would be full of the promise and potential that nineteen had been for her. With this remembrance she realized that perhaps 1999 was not so recent, not so recent at all...
Friday, July 18, 2008
Traveling
The train clattered along as he watched scenery skipping past him as if it had somewhere important to go. The hills and streams and small towns whispered at vaguely familiar scenes from his past. He hadn't given the trip much thought when he responded to the ad for the job. Now that his mind and the train were racing towards this old city, he was flooded with memories of her, and the train seemed haunted.
He sat, transfixed on the constantly changing landscape out his window, while his eyes also darted towards every person who walked past, as if knowing that the train likely held someone he may have known.
Would he know her still, he wondered. Would she know him? Time had changed his face, his weight, his hair, his clothes. Would it not be the same with her? What if she was married now? What if she was someone's mother? Wild thoughts flew by with the mountains remaining constant on the horizon like regret.
When the train pulled into the station he was jolted back to reality remembering the important details about his life now. He was married. He had a child.
Stepping off the train he saw her, or perhaps only someone like her, her soft blond hair pulled up behind her. There were softer curves covered with billowy clothes. Yet her timeless laugh and voice were still comforting all who heard it. She held the hand of a very young man stepping of the train with his own little suitcase as she smiled up at the older man who shared his face. The three walked away hand in hand with the little man in between, unaware of the silent admirer exiting the car behind them.
Instinctively, he called home to tell his wife he arrived safely.
His daughter answered, "Daddy, are we moving?!"
"Oh, my darling girl," he sighed, "I have only just arrived. How can one know what the future holds? I do miss you."
He sat, transfixed on the constantly changing landscape out his window, while his eyes also darted towards every person who walked past, as if knowing that the train likely held someone he may have known.
Would he know her still, he wondered. Would she know him? Time had changed his face, his weight, his hair, his clothes. Would it not be the same with her? What if she was married now? What if she was someone's mother? Wild thoughts flew by with the mountains remaining constant on the horizon like regret.
When the train pulled into the station he was jolted back to reality remembering the important details about his life now. He was married. He had a child.
Stepping off the train he saw her, or perhaps only someone like her, her soft blond hair pulled up behind her. There were softer curves covered with billowy clothes. Yet her timeless laugh and voice were still comforting all who heard it. She held the hand of a very young man stepping of the train with his own little suitcase as she smiled up at the older man who shared his face. The three walked away hand in hand with the little man in between, unaware of the silent admirer exiting the car behind them.
Instinctively, he called home to tell his wife he arrived safely.
His daughter answered, "Daddy, are we moving?!"
"Oh, my darling girl," he sighed, "I have only just arrived. How can one know what the future holds? I do miss you."
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Stand or Fall
Two friends find each other unexpectedly walking the same old gravel road in their childhood neighborhood several years after they both moved away. They exchange pleasantly surprised greetings in the awkward fashion of men of their age.
After inquiries into each other's well-being and family, one speaks more genuinely, "This war is a terrible thing isn't it? I have spent many nights fasting and asking God what my response should be."
"Me too," his friend replies, happy in the unity of heart between he and his old friend. Then, shaking his head in wonder, "God asked me to enlist."
The other with wide eyes and a posture taken aback says, "God told me to abstain from violence."
"You'd better do it then," states his friend matter-of-factly.
"My friend, with all the due respect, how can God tell you war is good and tell me war is bad?" the other inquires, "One of us must have heard wrong."
His friend studied the edge of the gravel path as it dwindled into the horizon and then with a tilted head and the clarity that accompanies resolution he looked into his friend's searching eyes and said, "God did not tell me war was good. He just asked me to enlist."
After inquiries into each other's well-being and family, one speaks more genuinely, "This war is a terrible thing isn't it? I have spent many nights fasting and asking God what my response should be."
"Me too," his friend replies, happy in the unity of heart between he and his old friend. Then, shaking his head in wonder, "God asked me to enlist."
The other with wide eyes and a posture taken aback says, "God told me to abstain from violence."
"You'd better do it then," states his friend matter-of-factly.
"My friend, with all the due respect, how can God tell you war is good and tell me war is bad?" the other inquires, "One of us must have heard wrong."
His friend studied the edge of the gravel path as it dwindled into the horizon and then with a tilted head and the clarity that accompanies resolution he looked into his friend's searching eyes and said, "God did not tell me war was good. He just asked me to enlist."
Saturday, January 19, 2008
As One Terrified
She sits with him. She smiles. She laughs. She stares at the wall. Her hands fidget and she tucks her knees against herself as a barrier. Yet, she invades his space, closing the gap. What she wants more than anything, and what she fears more than anything, is a healthy relationship. How terrifying it is to be loved!
Her eyes implore of him, "love me" and then, "do not dare come that close."
Her mouth is pouty and playful as the words that leave it cut him. Her eyes take in the damage and she longs for returned abuse while hoping against hope that it will not come. It does not come. His hurt lingers and her shame grows. Yet she does not stop.
He stands with kind eyes while buffeted, knowing it will cease while puzzled by its source. She will not tell. She grows uneasy with his insistence on loving her. She does not know love. It is uncomfortable. She knows pain. She knows what to do with pain.
She grows nervous that he might win and that she might have to change, to change into someone who loves. She flinches at the thought that she might be the abuser, that she might not have justification for her anger. His affections accuse and spare her, and this is too much.
"Wound me and you may have me," says a voice somewhere inside her and her breath is bated and curves accentuated. Some days he is tempted.
"Pull me to a safe place to love you," says another. He hears this voice, too, and with it he hopes against hope.
He does not understand her refusal to drink of the water he offers, and yet he stays there, hands extended. Patient. Kind. Wise. King. He will offer until she accepts or until she famishes at the dry cistern she knows so well.
Her eyes implore of him, "love me" and then, "do not dare come that close."
Her mouth is pouty and playful as the words that leave it cut him. Her eyes take in the damage and she longs for returned abuse while hoping against hope that it will not come. It does not come. His hurt lingers and her shame grows. Yet she does not stop.
He stands with kind eyes while buffeted, knowing it will cease while puzzled by its source. She will not tell. She grows uneasy with his insistence on loving her. She does not know love. It is uncomfortable. She knows pain. She knows what to do with pain.
She grows nervous that he might win and that she might have to change, to change into someone who loves. She flinches at the thought that she might be the abuser, that she might not have justification for her anger. His affections accuse and spare her, and this is too much.
"Wound me and you may have me," says a voice somewhere inside her and her breath is bated and curves accentuated. Some days he is tempted.
"Pull me to a safe place to love you," says another. He hears this voice, too, and with it he hopes against hope.
He does not understand her refusal to drink of the water he offers, and yet he stays there, hands extended. Patient. Kind. Wise. King. He will offer until she accepts or until she famishes at the dry cistern she knows so well.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Snippet from a dream
She was behind the counter finishing coordinating the refreshments.
He came behind the counter with her to collect more napkins for the table. He stood too close. Close enough to hear her sharp inhale and see her pulse change and body tense all the while not removing herself to a safer distance.
He watched the physical changes he had elicited from the corner of his eye and smiled, "Are you nervous?"
She smiled without taking her eyes off the work in front of her, "Yes."
He left to deliver napkins. She was left wondering what she was allowing as she felt herself wishing his proximity had lingered.
He came behind the counter with her to collect more napkins for the table. He stood too close. Close enough to hear her sharp inhale and see her pulse change and body tense all the while not removing herself to a safer distance.
He watched the physical changes he had elicited from the corner of his eye and smiled, "Are you nervous?"
She smiled without taking her eyes off the work in front of her, "Yes."
He left to deliver napkins. She was left wondering what she was allowing as she felt herself wishing his proximity had lingered.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A Picture of Loves - Part 6
There were no words now. They were stuck in a small fellowship of learners, and the only conversation that took place was through fleeting glances and mutual responses to other peoples inquiries.
For example, several weeks earlier T spoke of a movie he wanted her to watch so that she could understand the epiphany he had about himself and their now past relationship. She hadn't seen it at the time because she thought it looked corny. One of her professors mentioned the movie right after she had just recently watched it with A, unfortunately thinking of T the whole time, and weeping a little at the end as she understood T's epiphany, though it was still too late. She allowed A to think she was just an emotional girl, rather than know that she was still grieving the loss of T. When the movie was brought up to her in T's presence she told the professor earnestly that it was a very good movie. She knew this communicated to T that she now understood what he had wanted her to know. Yet still, there were no words between them other than the required courtesies of sharing a small space and community with one another. Perhaps everyone else was as uncomfortable as she was. She didn't know. She just knew that she had made a decision. That decision might come crumbling down if there were more words between them. So they continued their odd understanding of each other in silence. It was painful. She couldn't imagine three more years of this, but she knew it couldn't always feel like this.
Her ring was finally finished and she and A shared a lovely dinner to celebrate with a more traditional proposal (though without suspense). It felt strange to feel the weight of jewelry on her hand. For so long she had wanted this. In the desperately confusing times feeling rejected by T, she had looked upon her married friends hands and spouses that they had dated for shorter periods that she and T had, and she coveted. She so desired to be wanted and to belong to another person. The weight of the ring, so long in the making, now shouted its presence on her finger and made her terribly uncomfortable, however beautiful its voice.
Wearing it to school, she attempted to hide it all day. She had no desire to show it off here. She loved having it on, but longed for it to seem unnoticeable. All was discreet until the afternoon discussion when K shouted gleefully that she finally got her ring and then everyone wanted to see it. She felt his eyes. She knew that this signified a seriousness to him that her mere words had not. She felt his anguish and defeat. She felt the sadness welling up within him as he quietly stood and left the room, unbeknown to anyone at the time that he was leaving the fellowship permanently and relieving the discomfort of their silent co-existence. Her mouth smiled at joy others wanted to share with her, but her eyes could not as her heart felt punctured knowing his was crushed.
She thought of action films when there was a guy with a gun on his victim where the only way to get free is for the victim to pull the trigger through their own body, into their captors, releasing them. Both wounds would be unnecessary if decisions had been made differently. Unfortunately, the wound is sometimes the only way when the struggle has so passionately intertwined two characters. She felt the freedom and the pain. She looked forward to when the rings weight would become normal, and its notoriety fade.
For example, several weeks earlier T spoke of a movie he wanted her to watch so that she could understand the epiphany he had about himself and their now past relationship. She hadn't seen it at the time because she thought it looked corny. One of her professors mentioned the movie right after she had just recently watched it with A, unfortunately thinking of T the whole time, and weeping a little at the end as she understood T's epiphany, though it was still too late. She allowed A to think she was just an emotional girl, rather than know that she was still grieving the loss of T. When the movie was brought up to her in T's presence she told the professor earnestly that it was a very good movie. She knew this communicated to T that she now understood what he had wanted her to know. Yet still, there were no words between them other than the required courtesies of sharing a small space and community with one another. Perhaps everyone else was as uncomfortable as she was. She didn't know. She just knew that she had made a decision. That decision might come crumbling down if there were more words between them. So they continued their odd understanding of each other in silence. It was painful. She couldn't imagine three more years of this, but she knew it couldn't always feel like this.
Her ring was finally finished and she and A shared a lovely dinner to celebrate with a more traditional proposal (though without suspense). It felt strange to feel the weight of jewelry on her hand. For so long she had wanted this. In the desperately confusing times feeling rejected by T, she had looked upon her married friends hands and spouses that they had dated for shorter periods that she and T had, and she coveted. She so desired to be wanted and to belong to another person. The weight of the ring, so long in the making, now shouted its presence on her finger and made her terribly uncomfortable, however beautiful its voice.
Wearing it to school, she attempted to hide it all day. She had no desire to show it off here. She loved having it on, but longed for it to seem unnoticeable. All was discreet until the afternoon discussion when K shouted gleefully that she finally got her ring and then everyone wanted to see it. She felt his eyes. She knew that this signified a seriousness to him that her mere words had not. She felt his anguish and defeat. She felt the sadness welling up within him as he quietly stood and left the room, unbeknown to anyone at the time that he was leaving the fellowship permanently and relieving the discomfort of their silent co-existence. Her mouth smiled at joy others wanted to share with her, but her eyes could not as her heart felt punctured knowing his was crushed.
She thought of action films when there was a guy with a gun on his victim where the only way to get free is for the victim to pull the trigger through their own body, into their captors, releasing them. Both wounds would be unnecessary if decisions had been made differently. Unfortunately, the wound is sometimes the only way when the struggle has so passionately intertwined two characters. She felt the freedom and the pain. She looked forward to when the rings weight would become normal, and its notoriety fade.
Friday, October 12, 2007
A Picture of Loves - part 5
In walked the guy whose office was next door to the shop . The proximity had caused him a serious caffeine addiction and a lot of banter with the shop staff. She mused about the funny details and moments she was able to observe from behind a counter. This was her first job in the service industry, and though still in training, she was enjoying it. This particular customer was always amusing and seemed to know everyone. Her first week on the job she assumed he was gay because she overheard him talking to some older women about never wanting to get married and enjoying salsa dancing all the while wearing rather form-fitting pants.
"Hi, the usual." He quipped handing her his drink card.
"Flat, vanilla latte?" She confirmed, as he actually often ordered black coffee as the day wore on.
"Tepid." He reminded.
She nodded, thinking, "I know. The high-maintenance drink."
"You have a pretty smile," he complimented.
Two days ago it was her eyes, "Thanks," she said.
"So," He pried, "is there a man in your life?"
She smiled. He was harmlessly flirtatious, but she was not about to date a customer, or anyone for that matter. "No, but I just got out of a three year relationship..." she informed him trying to find the words to express that she was not exactly available.
"So, it's probably not a good time to ask you to have dinner with me?" He stated while still asking.
"No. You'd need to check back in about five months," she answered and hoped it deflated his interest.
"Alright," he replied, taking his drink with a nod of thanks and a tip.
She worked over the weekend and he did not. The next time her shift overlapped his morning coffee he smiled and asked, "Has it been five months yet?" to teasingly avoid any awkward moment.
"No," she said but could not help but smile at his persistence.
He found her a few days later with her attentions primarily directed at "Crime and Punishment," though she had not unintentionally sat at the closest table to his office outside her shop.
He sat down and they began talking about Russian literature and life. Unbeknown to her, T was driving by and observed their interaction. When she saw him at school Monday he mentioned seeing her conversing with an older business man and asked her if she'd had a job interview.
"Oh, no," she said, remembering. "That's just A, he works next door." She did not mention the pool game they wound up playing to escape the interruption of one of the local crazies who wanted to talk to them about her imaginary horse for well over 45 minutes. The game gave her the opportunity to better explain her problem with the whole practice of American dating, and to reiterate that she would not date him, but that she could get to know him casually so long as he was only ever himself and did not try to woo her.
T was not yet threatened, and yet not quite reassured, either. This time she seemed far more resolved that there were no more chances for them, and he worried that another man would not squander an opportunity at her heart. He resolved that neither would he squander one last opportunity if he could just convince her to give it.
"Hi, the usual." He quipped handing her his drink card.
"Flat, vanilla latte?" She confirmed, as he actually often ordered black coffee as the day wore on.
"Tepid." He reminded.
She nodded, thinking, "I know. The high-maintenance drink."
"You have a pretty smile," he complimented.
Two days ago it was her eyes, "Thanks," she said.
"So," He pried, "is there a man in your life?"
She smiled. He was harmlessly flirtatious, but she was not about to date a customer, or anyone for that matter. "No, but I just got out of a three year relationship..." she informed him trying to find the words to express that she was not exactly available.
"So, it's probably not a good time to ask you to have dinner with me?" He stated while still asking.
"No. You'd need to check back in about five months," she answered and hoped it deflated his interest.
"Alright," he replied, taking his drink with a nod of thanks and a tip.
She worked over the weekend and he did not. The next time her shift overlapped his morning coffee he smiled and asked, "Has it been five months yet?" to teasingly avoid any awkward moment.
"No," she said but could not help but smile at his persistence.
He found her a few days later with her attentions primarily directed at "Crime and Punishment," though she had not unintentionally sat at the closest table to his office outside her shop.
He sat down and they began talking about Russian literature and life. Unbeknown to her, T was driving by and observed their interaction. When she saw him at school Monday he mentioned seeing her conversing with an older business man and asked her if she'd had a job interview.
"Oh, no," she said, remembering. "That's just A, he works next door." She did not mention the pool game they wound up playing to escape the interruption of one of the local crazies who wanted to talk to them about her imaginary horse for well over 45 minutes. The game gave her the opportunity to better explain her problem with the whole practice of American dating, and to reiterate that she would not date him, but that she could get to know him casually so long as he was only ever himself and did not try to woo her.
T was not yet threatened, and yet not quite reassured, either. This time she seemed far more resolved that there were no more chances for them, and he worried that another man would not squander an opportunity at her heart. He resolved that neither would he squander one last opportunity if he could just convince her to give it.
A Picture of Loves - part 4
She and D were more ready than the customers to close shop as usual. Balancing school, work, and your early 20's was quite an act, and they knew they would finish their closing chores quickly. She switched the sign to close and quickly escaped outdoors to bring in furniture, and avoid the eyes and questions D would undoubtedly corner her with.
She walked back in making brief eye contact, but it was all the invitation he needed.
"So, when are you getting married?" He asked teasingly.
She rolled her eyes at him, "It was just a date."
"You LIKE him," he insisted.
"No, I don't," she insisted.
"Yes, you do. So, when is the wedding?" he continued in mock earnestness.
"D, seriously, I don't like him" she opened her eyes wide to show her sincerity.
"Seriously, you do. You can tell me," he said, implying her secret was safe from his roommate, her previously believed soul-mate.
"I don't like him. I think I could like him, but I don't like him. We barely know each other!" She told him all there was to tell.
"Right. Okay. But you'll send me an invitation, right?" he said, always knowing when to stop, but somehow always getting away with never doing so.
She knew he did not approve at all. D had watched A with other girls at the shop and he was convinced A was either a player or would happily marry anyone at all under 30. She disagreed. She saw something genuine in his goofiness and grin. She really did not like him, but she did enjoy his company. Further she had decided to indulge his desire for them to continue to get to know one another. Primarily because of a note A had brought her a few days earlier. It was a scribbled quote from Henry Vincent that read: "Contact with a high-minded woman is good for the life of any man." For her this meant two important things. One, he read books. Two, he saw their interactions as worthwhile even if they never did amount to a relationship.
She processed later with another co-worker, G, about D's concern that A just wanted to get married. G, a married man himself, shrugged, "What's wrong with knowing you want to get married? A's a good guy."
Sensible, she thought. And so it began.
She walked back in making brief eye contact, but it was all the invitation he needed.
"So, when are you getting married?" He asked teasingly.
She rolled her eyes at him, "It was just a date."
"You LIKE him," he insisted.
"No, I don't," she insisted.
"Yes, you do. So, when is the wedding?" he continued in mock earnestness.
"D, seriously, I don't like him" she opened her eyes wide to show her sincerity.
"Seriously, you do. You can tell me," he said, implying her secret was safe from his roommate, her previously believed soul-mate.
"I don't like him. I think I could like him, but I don't like him. We barely know each other!" She told him all there was to tell.
"Right. Okay. But you'll send me an invitation, right?" he said, always knowing when to stop, but somehow always getting away with never doing so.
She knew he did not approve at all. D had watched A with other girls at the shop and he was convinced A was either a player or would happily marry anyone at all under 30. She disagreed. She saw something genuine in his goofiness and grin. She really did not like him, but she did enjoy his company. Further she had decided to indulge his desire for them to continue to get to know one another. Primarily because of a note A had brought her a few days earlier. It was a scribbled quote from Henry Vincent that read: "Contact with a high-minded woman is good for the life of any man." For her this meant two important things. One, he read books. Two, he saw their interactions as worthwhile even if they never did amount to a relationship.
She processed later with another co-worker, G, about D's concern that A just wanted to get married. G, a married man himself, shrugged, "What's wrong with knowing you want to get married? A's a good guy."
Sensible, she thought. And so it began.
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