First Love — Part II

Valentine's day.  Everywhere I looked, there were happy couples with the girls nestling a bouquet of colorful beauties on her arm.  The atmosphere was warm despite the blowing chilly northern winds, which embodies the past angry winter that we just had.

“Are you bitter?” he asked.

“No,” I lied.  I kept my gaze forward onto the street that we were walking on.  The wind was hurting my face but I wasn't so sure if I were to blame the winds or the resentment inside me.

“Are you lying?” he looked at me quizzically with those eyes that I fell in love with.

“No,” I lied again.

“Okay,” he said with unfulfilled resignation.

We walked in silence.  I stuffed my empty hands into my coat pocket trying desperately to keep them warm.

“Do you regret being with someone who doesn't believe in giving his girl flowers on Valentine's Day?” he tried again.

I pursed my lips.  “No,” I said, not sure whether or not I was lying.

“Okay.”

I turned to him angrily.  “Where have you been the past two weeks?” I asked, feeling a strange tightness on my throat. “You barely called me.”

“I was busy,” was his answer.  Plain and simple.  

“Doing what?” I pressed on.

I saw his face harden.  “Stuff, okay?” he said without any further elaboration.

We were silent again for a while.  Inside me was a bag of mixed feelings being tossed around like a football.  I felt frustrated and angry — but at the same time, I felt extraordinarily safe being in his presence.  I missed him, I really did.

“You missed our one-year anniversary,” I said, barely in a whisper deliberately not meeting his eye.

“Oh yeah, I got the package you sent me,” he retorted without skipping a beat.  His voice was neither cold nor loving, I couldn't tell.  “I've been meaning to thank you.  So.. thank you.”

I kept silent.

He took a deep breath as if taking a deep drag out of a cigarette.  

“Listen.  I was busy working,” he finally revealed.  He almost sounded ashamed.  “It was a night shift, right after my last class.  It was the only time I had left to work.”

I was still silent — mostly because I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.

He fidgeted around in his pockets and produced a small box coated in a glossy turquoise color.  It had a plain white ribbon tying the lid down.  

“I only had two weeks to scrape up enough money to get you this,” he said handing the box over to me.  “I saw you looking at it last month and I know you hate it when I would use the money my parents give me to buy you presents or to take you out.”

I looked at the box resting on top of his right palm.  A million thoughts were racing through my head and I couldn't seem to pick one to dwell on right at that moment.  When I still didn't budge, he quietly opened the box and I saw the most beautiful ring sitting inside the deep velvet case.  It was gold with the letters X and O comprising the circumference of the prized jewel.  I felt warmth on my face… then it dawned on me that a fat tear just rolled down my left cheek.

He put the promise ring on my left ring finger.  “I don't like giving flowers because I don't like giving something that doesn't last forever,” he explained quietly.  “Especially if it's the type to die.”  

For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words.  All those unsettling thoughts I've had over the past couple of weeks suddenly seemed so silly, so juvenile.  I was angry at myself for thinking them and for entertaining them.  I gave this relationship a chance because I had faith in him.  And because I love him.  Despite his history, I knew there was loving heart hiding underneath that tough exterior that I so painfully wanted to crack.  

“I don't like celebrating anniversaries either,” he continued on.  “I think it's a waste of time.”

He wiped my tears away with his soft hands.  His skin smelled like gingerbread.

“I wish you'd stop counting the years we've been together too… I don't want you getting tired,” he said, his lips giving the hint of a smile.  “Because I will be with you forever.”