When Are We Gonna Get Married?
Larry and I sat on the couch in our tiny cinderblock motel room, as we often did: him with a guitar, figuring out how to play whatever new country song he heard on the radio, and me with a can of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, waiting for him to figure it out.
I was pretty happy. Life without parents was easier than I’d expected. I only needed to roll over and grab a smoke in the morning, figure out where Larry was (usually getting coffee) and wait for him to come home so I could start drinking again.
Oddly, I don’t remember any hangovers during this summer. I ate food whenever I wanted it, drank beer whenever I wanted it, and didn’t feel quite as compelled to get completely wasted every night. Looking back, I believe it’s because I knew that “tomorrow” I could do it again. Even though I wasn’t yet of legal drinking age in Pennsylvania, beer was always available.
I liken this to the many times I planned to diet “tomorrow.” If my diet was starting on a Thursday, I would eat absolutely everything in sight on Wednesday – especially pizza, candy and ice cream – so that I could “get it out of my system” before starting my carrot-and-lettuce starvation diet the next day.
Obviously this never worked – not with food or alcohol. But I felt content with Larry in this little room. I drank all the time, but not as much to excess.
I was contemplating my contentment when Larry leaned over his guitar to grab a Winston from the half-crushed cigarette pack on the table. He looked at me and smiled as he lit it.
“So,” he said in his gravelly voice while exhaling smoke. “When are we gonna get married?”
I nearly choked on my beer.
Married?!? I thought. We’d been living together maybe two weeks. Why on earth would I ever MARRY this guy?!?
It had never, ever, ever occurred to me that I should be thinking about marrying him, nor did I understand love. I was barely getting my bearings as an independent young adult.
In fact, I wasn’t really getting my bearings at all. I was just finally able to enjoy my life without parental supervision.
“I don’t know,” I said. “When do you want to get married?”
“Whenever you want, Baby,” he said. “Just tell me what you want from me, whatever you need so we can get married.”
I couldn’t think. I didn’t “need” anything except beer and cigarettes. What did I actually want?
“Okay,” I said, believing I was presenting Larry with the world’s toughest challenge. “If you learn to play Top of the World by the Carpenters on the guitar, then I’ll marry you.”
“Deal,” he said, and he actually shook my hand.
I laughed and forgot about it, thinking he’d never actually learn a piano song.
A week later, Larry sat me down on that same couch and said, “I’ve got something for you.” He pulled the guitar onto his lap and started playing and singing: “Such a feeling’s coming over me ….” It was Top of the World.
Larry played and sang it perfectly.
I had no idea what to do or say. He’d worked hard to do this for me, obviously, so I made a big fuss: “That’s amazing!” I said. “How did you do that?!”
He handed me the guitar and taught me how to play it.
It was many moons before he mentioned marriage again.