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The first time I asked her to marry me was when we were six years old. "I'll be the husband," I said, "and you
can be the wife." The second time I asked her to marry me, was when we were
fourteen. We were partners in a dance for the annual school
program and I was waiting for her to come out of the dressing
room. I was dressed in a black suit and bowtie. As she stepped
out of the dressing room in a pink dress that came down
to her knees, I took a deep breath. She looked like an angel
that had just stepped down from the heavens. As we waited
for the teachers to give the signal for us to get on stage,
I stared at her and tried to find my voice. She caught me
looking and smiled as she asked, "What are you looking
at?" The third time I asked her to marry me was on her sixteenth
birthday. We were at a picnic with friends and the two of
us were sitting by ourselves under a tree as the rest argued
about which game to play next. She laughed at something
someone was talking about in the distance. I heard the tinkling
of bells in her voice. I plucked a daisy that was growing
nearby and gave it to her as I said, "Will you be my
wife?" The fourth time, we were eighteen. We were sitting in the
cafeteria in college as she sat sipping on a glass of orange
juice and telling me how beautiful the last poem she read
had been. After speaking continuously for a few minutes,
she stopped and said, "What happened? Why aren't you
saying anything?" The fifth time I asked her to marry me was the day of our
graduation. We were both twenty-one. I got down on one knee
with a red rose in my hand and said to her, "Will you,
now, take me to be your husband?" Four years later, I had finished my post-graduation and
had a job in a multinational company. We were sitting in
an ice cream shop when she brought it up. "You haven't
asked me to marry you in four years," she said. "What
happened? Did you change your mind?" She was smiling
widely.
She frowned as she said, "I don't know." She
looked beautiful even when she frowned.
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