It broke the horizon in Philadelphia about 20 minutes ago, and although it may be doing the same here now, no one in Pittsburgh is going to see a sun rise today. Flat gray clouds are painted thickly over the ancient blue artwork that is rarely displayed in this overcast gallery. Were there any break or imperfection in the uniformity of these neutral skies, it would be obscured by the mile of rain between us. Likewise, the familiarity of Mt. Washington’s iconic panorama is lost behind the watery veil, more gray for the distances to each landmark. The ghost of a sunken skyline whispers its presence in the valley. The morning is devoid of character.
I do not know if Aubrey has grown to appreciate this weather the same way that I do or if she simply tolerates my eccentricity, but she often comes out with me when I get the itch to walk in the rain. And I get the itch pretty much any time it is raining after work or on the weekends. Of course I get the itch at work as well, as often as I get the chance to glance out the windows at inclement weather, but my desk is an anchor in the storm.
The thunder woke us up at 5:30 this morning, and although the lightning stopped over an hour ago, the rain will keep coming down at a strong, steady pace until noon at least. We started early, and at least I will be appreciating the clouds throughout the rest of the long day. Aubrey will have my company to appreciate if she can find nothing else.
I cannot bring myself to stop fingering the foreign object so unfamiliar to my coat pocket. We walk, each under an extended hood that keeps the rain out of our eyes and mostly out of my beard. Inside of our jackets, we are a world apart, a life apart, sensing more acutely the separation because of the rain. The drops fill the space between us with an uncomfortable physicality that gives substance to any unwelcome pang of loneliness. In spite of the strength of our relationship, our love has to span and hold across a gap that is now peopled with the wet reminder of our individuality. The weather is evidence of our inescapable humanity. An umbrella might unite us while romantically separating us from the rest of the world, but we prefer to wear these jackets, whether on a hike through the lush Appalachians or a walk among these opaque streets.
To this point, we have been mostly silent. We are starting to slow down as we come back to our favorite bench on the second half of our walk along Grandview Ave, but we will not be sitting on it today. The discomfort of the rain overshadows the inconvenience of standing while we look out toward the city. Still, neither one of us truly minds standing, regardless of the rain. The benches are wet, and we don’t want to allow our shorts to soak up any more water than they already have. Of course our shorts are drenched due to the deluge, and our shirts are not much drier due to the waterproof, windproof, sweatproof shells of our coats. So we stand side by side, looking out at the subtle differences in the gray that imitate the three rivers, hills, and buildings that we know so well, comfortable in spite of our discomfort.
I’ve practiced about 20 different monologues, tweaking each until I finally discard it in favor of a stronger one. I know I’ll never find the perfect way to say what I want, but with each day that passes I know I will be able to express my feelings better and better. This is important for a man of few words like myself. I try to choose my words wisely, and I am careful to diagnose the value of each conversation before I delve in. Words are priceless, especially when aimed at and given to another, so I make sure that I say precisely what I mean. My nerves and desire to wait for the perfect moment exacerbate my usual preparations. It has now been months, and on a stormy Sunday morning, perhaps the least typical time for such a thing, I am going to do it.
Are you feeling well this morning, baby girl?
A little wet, but yeah. Thanks for forcing me out of bed.
You are most welcome. I know I’m weird, but this is the best kind of morning. I’m glad that you are starting to enjoy the rain. Or at least you are starting to see why I enjoy it so much. Thank you for being here with me even though it’s clearly not normal.
Let’s be serious, if I was concerned about normal, you would never have even got a second date. I love your weirdness. You know that.
I guess I do, huh? Well thank you anyway.
So, what are you thinking about this morning? You’ve been quiet.
We’ve been quiet. Don’t blame this all on me.
Fine. But you’ve been thinking. I can see it on your face.
I have been thinking. A lot actually. For a while now. Are you awake enough to have a real conversation right now? Cause if I am going to tell you what I’ve been thinking, you are definitely going to need to be awake.
I think I’m pretty awake now. My calves have been playing rooster for the past half hour. The rest of me is awake now and still the rooster is squawking for attention. God, I hate roosters. We need to take these walks more often. I’ve gotta build these puppies up if we are going to have comfortable, leisurely strolls without walking at a grandma’s pace.
Well maybe we’ll have more of an opportunity. I want you to move in with me.
Carter, we’ve had this conversation. It’s just not going to happen until we’re married. It’d scandalize my grandparents, to say nothing of my own feelings on the matter. It’s just not going to happen, ok?
Well, see that’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think maybe it’s time, and I think I can swing your opinion.
You’re not going to convince me, but go ahead and have your fun. Let’s hear the argument.
I love you.
That’s nice.
No, I really love you.
Yeah. Not enough.
I know.
So what else you got?
I love you too much to keep things the way they are. Whatcha think? Ready for a change?
Not if the change is moving in with you.
Fair. So how about something else? I love you. I love that you’re in my life, and I want to do everything I can to make your life better. And I want you with me all the time. You are sweet, funny, unbelievably caring. You care so much about your job, and you’re good at it. You are so passionate about your music, but never for one instance was it about making a name for yourself. You sing for the joy of others, not your own pride. You love kids, you love old people, you love people who you have no business loving, but you love them anyway. You are incredibly beautiful. When you make every effort before we go out, you look better than anyone I’ve met. Phew. Seriously sexy. And when you wake up in the morning you look just as good somehow. In the morning you are genuine, and in the evening you are exquisite.
Seriously, there is no one in this world who has wrapped me up in so much assurance and discomfort at the same time. You excite every bit of my being and calm every nerve. You are the one person who knows what’s best for me in spite of me. And you care about me too much to allow me to keep on living the way I do. You want the best for me. You want the best me. And I’d be a fool to give that kind of support away.
I never know what the right thing is in my life. I never know what decision is the right decision that is going to send me down the right path and create the right life. And I am sure that I’ve made some very poor decisions in the past that led me down some dark roads. And you were the angel the blocked my way, lit my path, and led me back home. You are home.
Aubrey, I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I doubt I ever could again. And I know I’m bad at loving you, and I am grateful for every shred of grace that you have shown to me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. And yet, here we are.
Like I said, I don’t know what’s right. But I know what feels right. And I know what I am willing to fight for. I’m willing to fight for you. And work for you. And be better for you in any way I can. Aubrey, you are the shining lighthouse in the turbulence of my life, and I am certain you are now and will forever be the best person for me to have on my side. I can’t keep going on without promising myself to you unapologetically and unswervingly.
Aubrey, if you will have me, please, take my hand. Well both hands. Right now.
Aubrey Marie Hendricks, will you marry me?
Somewhere in my rambling, Aubrey put her hands to her face, covered her mouth and looked up to the sky in some combination of emotion, surprise, realization, and joy (hopefully). And when she looked back down, it isn’t clear whether she was crying, though it is clear that she had negated the effects of her hood by looking up. She pinches her eyes shut as she nods her head and keeps repeating “yes”, first almost inaudibly and then in sobby bursts that confirms that she has started to cry. She had replaced her hands in mine after receiving her ring from my pocket, and now drops down to sit on my propped knee, hold my face in both hands, and kiss me as sweetly as she ever has. If anyone else ever took walks on rainy Sunday mornings, we would have been a unique sight, but The View is empty and ours is this sullen dawn.
Right now, more than ever before, Aubrey shines in stark relief against the featureless canvas of the gray morning, and I gladly realize that every morning, every evening from now on will be accentuated by the beauty of our enviable companionship.