Becoming a Fiance
“Let’s take a walk over to Randall’s Island.” He said, looking out the window at the blue sky. I rolled over sleepily to observe the new day, yesterday still clinging to my soar muscles and growling stomach.
“Ok.” I murmured. “Your breath stinks, by the way.”
New York City is at its best during the spring. The weather can be perfect with low humidity, cool temperatures, warm sunshine, rolling fluffy clouds and flowers blooming everywhere. I love May in New York. I’ve always thought May was the month full of the best of the year: asparagus is cheap and fresh and the blueberry bushes produce millions of delicate white promises.
We walked and talked as we hiked our way over the TriBoro Bridge to Randall’s. The cool thing about the island is how inaccessible it is. There are only a few ways to get there, weeding the faint of heart out and keeping the grassy wind-swept park relatively empty of boisterous New Yorkers. The small island sits in the middle of the East River and is sandwiched between Astoria and East Harlem with The Bronx crowning its head and midtown lying at its feet. The first time we ever jaunted over there together it was as at the very start of our relationship, the feelings for each other being so new that when we held hands (for the first time) on the way back to Queens my palms were too sweaty to be comfortable.
Today was in total contrast to that first time. We bantered, discussing future possibilities abroad, what our lives might be like if we were millionaires and how we can finagle living in Europe. I felt totally at ease, no sweaty palms, no quiet hesitation.
When we got to the island there was an art opening in full swing. We walked over to some chairs made of grass and dirt and wondered at them before taking a seat and looking out at The City. “I love this place.” Jackson said, watching a boat go by. “Me too.” I replied.
“Come here.” Jackson said, beckoning me to his knee. I sat, draping my arms over his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “You’re my best friend.” He said, looking me dead in the eye. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” I whispered in his ear.
“I’m not going to wait any longer.” Jackson said again, getting ready to stand up.
I leapt back. Oh my god. He pulled out a thin black box from his jeans pocket. OH MY GOD. He got down on one knee and held open the box to reveal a single stone resting on a white gold band that shimmered in the light of the sun. “Natalie? Will you marry me?” OH OH OHHH MAH GERD.
Then we looked at each other. So… what do we do now? I took the box and looked at the ring. I looked at Jackson. He looked at me. I tried to put the ring on. It was too small.
“Oh. Guess we’ll need to find a jeweler.” Jackson said.
“It’s okay!” I assured him, jamming the ring onto my finger. “Let’s take a picture. We’ll find a jeweler later!” He snapped a shot of my hand. I kissed him again.
A woman approached us. “I just saw that proposal.” She said. A couple of girls behind her were looking at us as well. A group of important looking people we smiling at us. “I have a couple of shots of you two.” The woman said, handing us a postcard. “Congratulations!” One of the girls behind her chirped before turning around and hurrying away. The photographer took off, and the group of important looking people smiled at us again and walked away. I started to cry.
Jackson put his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go get that altered.” He said. I smiled, looking at my pink finger and feeling extra special, even though everything around me seemed totally normal.
We left the grassy seats walking hand in hand and the world went on like nothing had changed.
May 19, 2014 at 5:04 am by Natalie Allen