class of 2013 ✓

17 | self-actualization

"Do you believe in marriage?"

The question catches me off guard, mostly because what we're currently doing right now—you know, cleaning up scraps of paper from a mostly failed science experiment—doesn't exactly warrant this type of discussion. That, and because it's him of all people asking me. No offense, but he doesn't seem like the kind of person to think about marriage enough to consider its legitimacy.

Blinking rapidly, I deliberately take my time removing the clunky clear goggles from my face, using the sleeve of my bomber jacket to wipe the already clear lens. Meanwhile, he looks at me in disapproval, scoffing as he motions for me to answer.

"Is this your way of proposing to me?"

He looks at me flatly, pinching his nose bridge. "Really?"

With a small smile, I continue to sweep the eraser shavings on the table into the garbage with my hand. There's nothing necessarily funny about this situation, it's just kind of ironic. He really waited for the teacher to go make copies of a worksheet to ask me this. "So is that a yes?"

"It's a no," he clarifies, pausing to take a seat on top of a ledge by the window where there's a built-in ventilated heater, "...unless you want me to."

"I was joking, stupid. I am not getting proposed to in a shitty high school classroom," I tell him, fake gagging for comical effect, "Especially when I look like I've just been electrocuted after rolling around in muddy pond water." The thought alone sends shivers down my spine.

"I was joking too. I'd rather lick the bottom of a shoe belonging to someone that has walked across America," he reassures me, resuming to wipe off the now-cleared desks with a wet rag, "c'mon, though. Answer the question."

I sigh, letting the beakers clink together as I put them back into their proper racks. We're almost done cleaning. Just need to let the test tubes dry off before we organize them. Unlike the rest of the classrooms in the STEM building, this one's a lot more compartmentalized—with only two main lab tables sandwiching a projector and the teacher's swivel cushioned swivel chair. "Why are you asking me this? Where is this coming from?"

In response, he simply shrugs, patting the top of his head to fix his disheveled hair. Somehow, through all the kneeling and slouching, the strands fan out, covering the majority of his forehead. "Dunno. I'm doing a research paper on it for English. Just curious about your take."

With him so close by, I step backward, increasing the amount of space between us. "What do you mean by 'believing in marriage'? Like if it's real? Because it is a very real phenomenon. People do actually get married."

"I guess I mean if you think it's valid? Or do you think it's a social construct? Or a capitalist ploy?"

Chewing my lip, I take a moment to process his words. To be transparent, I'm not sure of my stance on this issue. Guess I haven't given it much thought because I've learned to accept constructs and norms as they are without challenging them. "I mean, yeah what isn't a capitalist ploy these days? But that doesn't mean it doesn't have value. I think marriage means more symbolically to some people and cultures."

Slowly, he nods, training his gaze to his feet that are an inch above the ground which he swings back and forth like a pendulum. "In what way?"

I inhale deeply, deciding it's probably the best time for a break, I sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him, the gritty sand that hasn't been swept sticking to the back of my bare thigh. "It's such a grand romantic gesture. A testament of your trust in them, if you will. Being linked to someone for the rest of your life through thick and thin isn't an easy promise to make. It's like saying you believe your love for each other is enough to conquer all obstacles."