From last week:
Georgia sat in an old reclining lawn chair, with the back rest lifted. The seat was made of cloth. Years of weather had rotted the fabric. I knelt in front of her, reached into my pocket, and pulled out the ring. There was a ripping sound. Georgia sank to the floor as I asked, “Georgia, will you marry me?”
Part Two: Our Life Together
The chair ripped apart. We laughed together, as she slipped through the chair and hit the floor. I held her hand and helped her up. “Well?” I asked.
“Well what?”
“Will you marry me?”
“You were serious?” She asked
“Do you think I would joke about asking you to marry me?” “Michael! You’re serious? Oh yes! Yes! Yes, I will marry you.”
We spent the night in that barren house. I handed her a glass of champagne, “I love you.” I whispered. We kissed, slid to the floor, pushed the broken chair out of the way, and pulled the only blanket we had over us.
“Mike, what is wrong with you?” Johnny asked?
“What?”
“I was trying to turn up this circuit you wired. It took me two hours to figure out you wired it completely wrong!”
“I’m sorry, Johnny. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know what’s wrong! You’re in love with that little Hungarian girl, aren’t you?”
I smiled. “Yup! I guess I am.”
My thoughts were only about her. Everything else suffered.
Georgia and I sat at our picnic table. We were camping. A pair of pewter goblets, filled with wine, sat in front of us. Two men passed by followed by their children. They were headed to the shore to gather mussels for their dinner. One of the men looked at us and saw the goblets. “You’re either just or almost.” he said.
He had no idea how right he was. Yes, we were almost married. The smile on our faces and the goblets were sure signs.
My future mother-in-law suffered with cancer. She and my future father-in-law lived hundreds of miles from us. I only met them once before our marriage, but it was obvious, I would have no need for mother-in-law jokes. I loved her the minute I met her.
