Letters to Adonis

Chapter:: Eighteen

Dear Adonis,

A week after my mom left, I was back to normal again. My dad was too, I’m guessing, because we went on how we always have since she left. He came into my room, knocking twice before swinging the door open quickly, telling me that I have an appointment with Dr. Edgar tomorrow. I try to keep the sigh away, tell him thanks, and to close my door on his way out.

Usually he listens, but this time he stares at me. “What are you staring at?” I ask him, noticing his casual slouch against my door frame.

“What are you making?” he avoids my question with his own.

I drop my scissors and the pictures I was cutting; making sure the glue hadn’t fallen over as he plops down on my bed. “I’m creating a collage of people in my life,” I tell him as I stare at the pictures. Most of them were of you and I, but he didn’t comment on that part. There were a few pictures of Elody and I from Halloween, Easter, and each other’s birthday parties. It made me ache for the past even though I remember it clearly. “It’s so when I start forgetting people, I have a cheat sheet.” I explain to him as I point to the little bullet point notes I made at the bottom of each picture. I scribble the name, date, and what the people in the pictures meant to me.

“That’s a smart idea,” my dad whispers as he runs a picture over him, mom, and I on a camping trip to Yosemite. I wrote ‘mom, dad, June 2009.’ I didn’t bother writing what they meant to me; since it was pretty obvious they were my parents. I watch him glance at the other pictures, taking a few minutes on random ones. When he looks at a photo booth printout of four pictures of you and I, one in which we’re kissing, my face heats up. He stares at my bullet points on those pictures, ‘Adonis Johnson, February 2013, love of my life.” He looks up to me, “so you and Adonis are doing good?”

“Yeah, dad, we’re doing fine.” I drag my knees up to my chin and watch him, wondering what he’s getting at. “Him and I actually have a date tonight, I have a while to get ready though,” as I say this I look at the clock and realize I only have an hour until you show up. “Where did the time go? I only have an hour! Dad, I need to get ready so you need to get out,” I exclaim as I get up quickly; ignoring the rush of blood to my head.

I shower, shave my legs, and any other luxury I can think of as quickly as I can. I’m curling my hair when I hear the doorbell ring. “Ariel, you know who it is!” my dad shouts up at me. Even though I know it’s you, I still get butterflies in my stomach. For a second I wonder if I’m wearing too much make up. I wet a washcloth to wash it all off and restart when I see you come up my stairs over to the bathroom.

“Don’t look at me!” I cry out as I close the bathroom door quickly.

“Ariel, what is your problem? You never take this long to get ready, we won’t be able to make our reservation!” I hear you reason through the door. For some reason this date feels special. It could be the fact that you told me to wear my nicest dress but also shrug it off if I try to guess what is going on.

“You made me nervous! How do you expect me to get all dressed up in such a short amount of time?” I tell you as I rub some pink eye shadow on my eyelids.

“You’ve had all day! How is that a short amount of time?” you remind me, and I cringe at the fact that you actually expected me to remember to look at the clock today.

“I was busy making a collage all day, and you expected me to sit around watching the clock to hit the right time? Yeah, right.” I rub lip gloss on before perfecting my mascara then open the door so I can see you.

You’re standing there in black slacks, a blue button up shirt with your sleeves rolled up and a sunset pictured tie. You look perfect and all I can do is try to avoid the look of complete irritation at me. “I expected you to keep track of your time because I thought you’d understand that this is an important date,” the look on your face breaks my heart. A mix of anger with a touch of sadness, like I let you down.

“Adonis, why do you have to make such a big deal out of this? It’s stressing me out! Seriously, look at this,” I take my cardigan off that was protecting my upper arms. I show you the splotches of a rash I get only when I’m nervous. “I first saw it before freshmen orientation,” I explain.

Now you give me a look that is filled with the deepest concern. “Well, Ariel, I guess we don’t have to go out to a fancy dinner with champagne and a nice violin as background music. I wanted to take you out tonight because I wanted to do this,” you pull a little bit of your pant legs up on each leg like men do when they’re about to sit down, except there isn’t a chair and you get down on one knee. I can’t believe my eyes, I’m speechless. “Ariel Marie Smiley, will you be my wife? Despite your stubbornness, like the fact that you can’t even wait for me to take you out to a nice place to do this, and the fact that you hog the blankets. Also, the fact that you can never finish a drink; which drives me crazier then you know; I want you to be mine as long as you’ll let me.”

I started crying as soon as your knee touched the carpet in the hallway. Such an imperfect place to propose, yet here I am crying tears regardless. I was glad for the walls of my familiar house, the house I grew up in as I worked out a ‘yes’ between my happy tears.

“You had it planned out so well and I ruined it,” I laugh while sniffling as we’re hugging. It’s a perfect moment, and I’m unbelievably happy until I realize I’m not eighteen, so my dad has to sign for me to be able to get married. “What about my dad?”

You smile at me like I asked the stupidest question ever. “What do you think he talked to me about? I left him a voicemail while he was in Alaska, and he was getting back to me.”

The fact that you asked him first, despite the legalities, makes me start crying a few more tears as I kiss you.

Love, Ariel