I was kneeling on one knee holding a ring in front of an empty chair at a crowded restaurant.
The normal buzz of conversation had ceased in the area around me almost as if all sound had been sucked out of the room.
Every eye in the place around my table was on me, most displaying abject pity, with several people's jaws wide open in shock.
"Well, that didn't exactly go as planned," I said quietly to no one in particular as I rose to my feet, put the ring back in my pocket and then sat back down in my seat opposite the empty chair.
"Uh, could I have another, a double please," I added as I held up my empty glass of Woodford Reserve.
I could feel every eye in my section of the restaurant upon me. My field of vision had shrunk to a small window.
I suppose things could have been worse. The restaurant could have gotten sucked into a giant sinkhole... or another dimension.
"Here's your Woodford, sir," a disembodied voice said as a glass of bourbon over ice showed up magically on my table.
"Th-thank you," I mumbled as sound suddenly restarted in our area.
I lifted the glass of bourbon and took a big sip, comforted by the smooth burn of the liquid as it reached my stomach. Smooooth, with three or four of the letter "o" in the middle. I guess the day wasn't going to be a total loss.
I put the bourbon down and picked up the remainder of my steak sandwich. I looked across the table to the half-eaten Cobb salad sitting in front of the now empty seat. I took a wild guess that the most-recent occupant of that seat wasn't coming back to finish her meal.
The disembodied voice was back, telling me that a new drink it had put down on my table was courtesy of the two businessmen who were sitting somewhere to my right. I turned my head in that direction and nodded blankly, not focusing on my benefactors.
"That was pretty cold man. We're sorry," came a voice from the table.
"Thanks. I appreciate that," I responded quietly without looking at them.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How could a day that was supposed to include a signature moment in my life go so wrong? She was supposed to say yes when I popped the question, maybe burst out in tears; not yell, "Oh no," jump up and run from the restaurant crying.
Somehow, another bourbon showed up at my table. I nodded and raised my hand, trying to indicate a friendly gesture at whoever sent this one over.
How could I have missed the mark so badly? I sipped some more.
******
Traci Proehl appeared to be perfection from the first time I saw her on the campus of The Ohio State University in the fall of my senior year. I was playing Frisbee with several friends in an open grass area when this dark-haired goddess and three other pretty girls walked past on the way to class. It was a warm fall day, and she was wearing a tight white crop top with a low "V" front, and skintight short jean shorts. She was my definition of a walking wet dream.
I had just done a behind-the-back catch and was about to release a throw back to one of the guys when I spotted her. I'm pretty sure I sprained my tongue drooling as I watched her walk past.
"You'd better make sure to wipe off the spit before you throw that thing back," Harry Davidson yelled to me, breaking me from my indecent reverie of the moment.
I heard the girls titter, blushed a bit and fired a laser bolt back right at Harry's smart mouth.
None of the girls in the group was less than an eight on a 10-point scale. While I never lacked for confidence, I knew I was no more than a seven. I was athletic but not heavily muscled at 6-foot, 170 pounds. I was okay looking, I thought, with big brown eyes and a mop of curly shoulder-length dark brown hair that never did the same thing two days in a row.
I know I should have let the four keep walking, but at that point the little brain was doing all the thinking. I trotted over to the group, introduced myself--Jake Arnett, by the way--and asked for a date with the goddess of my dreams.
"How long have you problems communicating with girls, Mr. Arnett?" asked the tall blonde standing next to my goddess.
"Never done this before, but, what the hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained," I said doing my best Mr. Cliché impression.
The goddess blushed deep red. Her big green eyes seemed to get wider. Then the most amazing thing happened. She smiled and said yes. I somehow resisted the urge to jump up and down and do my best touchdown dance.
"You can't be serious, Traci. This yahoo doesn't look he can afford a haircut, let alone a date," commented the short brunette with the pixie cut.
I know I glared at the one who spoke, but held my tongue. I was smart enough to know that you should never insult a member of a girl's inner circle if you expect to get close to said girl.
We set the date for the next Friday.
I was absolutely thrilled to have a date with this goddess, but I was realistic. Once was a miracle that would never be repeated, so I might as well enjoy my time with her. I told her to dress casual. I took her to play miniature golf, then we went go-karting. Our meal was at my favorite soul-food hangout, a place I'd bet she had never been in before, and probably never would have if it weren't for me.
I waited a week before I asked her out a second time, anticipating a rejection... and was shocked, to say the least, when she said yes again.
A second date led to a third, and a few weeks later we were a confirmed couple. We had sex on our sixth date, and I found out that night I was only her second partner. Her first had been her high school sweetheart, who she had been with for six years until he unceremoniously dumped her three months before I came along.
I was her first boyfriend since her ex blew her off and quickly left town with the daughter of a rich man. She told me she was devastated when the boyfriend vanished because they were talking marriage.
She did seem a little skittish with me at first, but by the time we graduated seven months later, I would have said she was completely over him. In fact, we moved in together after we both got jobs in the same city after graduation.
Our new careers were starting off good. Traci was in human resources at a big manufacturing company, and I was in marketing at a pharmaceutical plant with a national footprint.
I thought we were better than good both in and out of bed, so as our second year together approached, I quietly went to a jewelry store and bought an engagement ring. I made a dinner reservation at an upscale restaurant for a Friday evening.
There's an old saying that says if you're going to ask a woman to marry you in a public setting, you had better be sure of her answer. I would have said I was 98 percent sure. Obviously, I was a complete schmuck.
******
By the time I was ready to leave the restaurant... very much alone, humiliated and not engaged, I had consumed a total of six double bourbons, all but the first one sent over to my table by my well-meaning fellow diners who had witnessed Traci's denial of my proposal. I had asked my waiter to call me a cab. I didn't want to add drunk driver to my list of accomplishments for that evening.
Traci wasn't home when I got dropped off at our apartment, more than a little worse for wear. It didn't look like she had gone home after she ran out of the restaurant. I took off my jacket, tie and dress shoes and popped up ESPN on the box, hoping it would be one of those nights where Nicole Briscoe was still trying to prove she was hot by wearing clothing not quite professional. I just wanted to look at some tits and legs while I wallowed in self-pity and tried to puzzle out what was next in my life. I knew a key to that would be talking to Traci, but honestly, at that moment, I just wanted to be left alone.
I got what I wanted as Traci never came home that night, and I fell asleep in my good clothes on the sofa. That was okay, I liked my dry cleaners, and I needed to give them some business.
Because I was drinking my bourbon straight the night before, I woke up Saturday morning without a hangover. Still, the shower felt wonderful, and the coffee helped my soul as well as my brain clarity.
Traci walked into the apartment almost straight-up noon, wearing jeans and a casual top and carrying the clothes she wore at the restaurant in a bag. I was sitting on the end of our sofa in the living room quietly drinking my coffee; the television being turned off. She didn't spot me until she heard me set my coffee mug down on the coaster on the table next to the sofa.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as she jumped back when she heard me. "I didn't think you were home. I didn't see your car in the lot when Marcia brought me home. So I'm assuming you were too drunk to drive home last night. Umm... how's your head feeling this morning?"
"My head's feeling great this morning. I just didn't want to take the chance of a DUI last night," I answered. "My heart, however, feels like it's been run through a shredder.
"What the fuck, woman? I thought we were all that."
Traci walked into the living room like she was walking the plank in a pirate movie. She never once looked into my eyes.
"I... uh... I... suppose I owe you an apology and an explanation," she said as she sat at the far end of the sofa and faced me.
Traci explained about her relationship with Don Fielding and how devastated she was by his betrayal. That made perfect sense to me, until she told me that she still had a thing for him, and if he ever came back into her life, she wanted one final night with him for closure.
"Wait. What?" I gagged. "You still love him and want to fuck him one final time? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"Well... kind of," she rasped. "I doubt he would ever come back into my life, but... yes, I would want... closure. I guess if you would love me enough to give me a hall pass... on the off-chance he would ever come back... that would be the ultimate way to show me your love... then I guess I would agree to marry you."
She still couldn't look me directly in the eyes. I stared at her in shock for... I don't know how long. I finally heard her ragged breathing as we both sat in silence.
