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10
JAK. A three-month anniversary may be nothing measurable to most people, but to me it was as significant as landing on the moon. Karter was scheduled to leave town and make an appearance at an art exhibit in Dallas, Texas over the weekend. Although I would have loved to accompany her, the tight schedule for the event and the fact my mother’s air conditioner was broken would prevent me from going with her. We agreed the two days away from each other would serve the two of us as a reminder of the depth of our love and affection for each other.
Soon it would be fall, and the outdoor activities would shrink as the weather cooled and the days became shorter. As strange as it seemed to say, I looked forward to autumn and winter with Karter. Spending time with her in her home made me feel as if we were an actual couple. Having a life with her outside of eating, movies, and social activities would be satisfying on an entirely different level. Having a home life with Karter would satisfy me greatly.
The waitress smiled as she removed our plates from the table. Karter sat back in the booth and sighed as she rubbed her stomach. Adrian’s had become our preferred place to eat out. Having felt guilty for leaving before we actually ate the first time, we soon returned. The meal was fabulous, and the service was second to none. Each time I asked Karter where she wanted to eat, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Adrian’s.
Nervously, I leaned into the center of the table, “So are you excited about this weekend?”
“No. I’m damned near sick about it. Do you realize since the day we met, the very first day, we haven’t spent so much as one day apart?” she shrugged.
I was well aware. To think of her being away from me caused me to feel uneasy. Karter had not become a part of my life or even my significant other; I needed her to simply survive. To dream of being without Karter was not to think of being alone, but to think of not even being. Karter had become my life support system.
“I’m well aware. That’s what makes your weekend good and bad both. It’ll be good for us,” I sighed.
“Whatever. Good for you. Fine. Speak for yourself. It’s going to kill me. I hate to even think of doing this. I used to love art shows. Stupid fuckers will come up to me for the entire weekend and hit on me. They always do. I’ll just tell them I’m spoken for,” she sighed.
I swallowed a lump which had developed in my throat and reached into my pocket. As I pulled my hand out and rested it into my lap, I took a shallow breath. She was shaking her head lightly and looking around the restaurant as if the thought of being away disgusted her. I reached my cupped hand over the center of the table and curled my index finger toward my palm. At some point in time, each and every time we ate at Adrian’s, this had become my signature. Me motioning her to the center of the table to whisper in her ear and kiss her. As Karter smiled and leaned into the edge of the table, I moved forward in my seat and met her in half way. I puckered my lips and closed my eyes slightly. As her soft mouth met mine and we embraced in a shallow kiss, my body tingled from head to toe.
She’s the one, Jak.
The only one.
I uncupped my hand and pointed into my palm, “Wear this if you’ll honor me by doing so. It may keep them away for a little more than the weekend.”
The diamond engagement ring glistened in the dimly lit lighting of the restaurant. She looked into my hand and stared.
“Jak?” she raised her hands slowly to her cheeks.
“Jak?”
I swallowed heavily again and looked up, “What I feel for you defines love in the purest sense, Karter. It’s inevitable. We’re destined to spend our lives together, forever. Begin forever with me. Karter Wilson, will you marry me?”
The words came easier than I expected. Karter reached toward my palm and hesitated. As she looked at me, her eyes glistened. They were brown tonight with green specs, her natural color. Slowly, her mouth formed a smile of deep satisfaction. Her fingers hovered over my open hand. As reassurance, I nodded my head slightly. She carefully pinched the ring between her thumb and forefinger and held it in her hand.
“If it’s not what you were expecting…”
“Just stop,” she sighed as she wiped the back of her free hand against her eyes.
“Yes. Shit Jak, I’m sorry. I forgot to answer. Yes. Fuck yes, I’ll marry you. That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard. Will I? Jesus. I was placed on this earth for you. You and I both know it. Now aren’t you supposed to put this big fucker on my finger?” her voice cracked as she attempted to speak.
I reached out and took the ring from between her fingers and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. As she leveled her shaking hand over the center of the table, I raised my eyebrows and slid the ring onto her finger, “So it’s a yes?”
“Yes,” she sighed as she looked down at the ring.
The best and the worst life offers are separated in our mind as differing memories by our brain’s ability to recollect them accurately. Our mind simply categorizes the various events. In a mission in one of Africa’s small countries, we were dropped onto the roof of a large compound. It was to be a simple extraction of a military official who believed genocide was the answer to the countries level of poverty.
As I entered the window of the upper floor, a young man no more than eighteen reached for an AK-47. My training and experience took over and I reacted. A single round entered his skull above the brow line. He was fifteen feet from me. In the very well lit room, I watched as his head exploded. It was my first kill. My mind recalled the memory of it nightly until I killed my second. By the time I had so many kills I was either incapable of counting or no longer felt the need, I stopped recalling it on a steady or daily basis. It still lingered with me, as it should. It now lingers, however, as a memory. Without a doubt, the first person I killed was the saddest day of my life.
The best, and arguably the proudest day of my life had been the day I graduated BUD/S training and became a Navy SEAL.
Until now.
Karter accepting the request to become my wife far exceeded any level of pride I had ever felt or could ever expect to feel again. Comprehending her allowing me to be her husband was close to impossible. For now, I chose to simply accept it and wallow in the thought of her being for me as good as I knew I’d be for her.
“I love you,” I smiled.
