This has been a week of moments.  I usually like to try and keep my life at a constant hum (not roar, not anymore) of content.

This week was so full and so vibrant I can actually feel it fading in my brain.  It’s like watching cream swirl into a new cup of coffee: the swirls at first are so distinct, perfect little spirals, that fade and blend into a solid tone of goodness.

**

The neighbors are watching TV with the windows open.  I can just make out the muffled tone of the news over the thumping grind of the dryer and the soft dissonance of the rain.  There are tires squealing, people in such a hurry, and the feel of my phone.  I want to stop and take a breath, to breathe in the rich dark smells of the earth and laundry.

**

He wants to marry me.  He grins wide and sparkly, like a toothpaste commercial that’s mine.  He smells like home and feels like a warm bed I never want to leave.  He makes faces at the freckled boy waving skinny arms in delight as the Lightning score the winning goal.  It was his birthday yesterday and he kissed me awake.  We decimate two pounds of crab, flinging bits of juice and succulent meat about the table in our frenzy.  His fingers are slick and I can’t look away from my intent claw cracking to file his face away at that moment, just his fingers.  It’s really good crab.

**

I found a dress.  It’s white and flowy.  It’s not lace and princess, just simple and me.  I show it to Maria and she agrees.  It’s my dress.  She also asks if he’s actually proposed yet.  I shrug, because it’s not official.  He just put his nose in my hair while I made coffee and asked when I wanted to get married.  Like it was no big thing.  Like I hadn’t been wanting just that question secretly most of my life.

**

My grandmother’s ring is nestled at the bottom of my mother’s underwear drawer.  I remember pawing through her underpants to pull out the black plastic box with art deco scrollwork.  It’s a simple band, but my grandfather worked for years driving Greyhound busses to add a new diamond with each promotion.  They’re small, but it means so much.  She wanted me to have it.  It’s been waiting for me for years.  It’s still at the bottom of my mother’s drawer.  It’s still waiting, but it’s waiting with purpose now.

**

It’s March and the world is waking up.  I opened my windows and cleaned my apartment.  I filed my FAFSA and am putting in my college applications.  I’m going to be someone.  I’m going to do something with myself.

**

It’s been a week full of walking Walmart to keep my head from sabotaging me.  It’s been a week of coffee drinking and laughter.  It’s been a week I will never remember fully.  It will be spaced out with elipses and parentheticals.  It will be a week of punctuation.

I wrote a poem on accident the night we fell asleep with him finally 29.

You smile like your face will crack

when you fart in my apartment.

You write epic love poems about your car

and call me Babes the monkey.

That’s all for now.

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