Three

I stood essentially paralyzed on the cool white tile of a Kroger store.  In my car was a diamond engagement ring I had just picked up.  The evening was growing late, the night sky clear, dark, and lacking moisture.  It was early December.  In a matter of weeks, I would be asking the woman I'd been dating for nearly three years to be my wife. 

I had stopped in for some ice cream as I was craving a late night snack.  I was high on adrenaline and satisfied with how my plan was unfolding. 

And then, I was paralyzed.  M was there.  Walking out as I walked in.  Her dark hair framed her face and her darker eyes shone brightly in the harsh store light. 

We met through a campus organization.  She was still involved and I was working my first "real" job.  I attended the meetings for the sole purpose of seeing her there.  On the rare occasions she wasn't, my heart felt heavy.

We'd also run into each other in the library.  I used the college's computers as I didn't have one of my own.  We also had pleasant, if not intense conversations around school, politics, and our work/school activities. 

At that moment, I was paralyzed.  Immediately, I wanted to take the ring from my car, get down on my knee, and ask her to marry me.  I could think of nothing else.  I don't recall what I said.  I certainly didn't mention the ring in my car or my plans.  Though I know she knew of my girlfriend.  I recall the look on her face the day she asked me what I was doing one weekend and I told her I was traveling to see my girlfriend.  She made a few pleasant comments and then left.  She never mentioned the topic again. 

I still remember the overwhelming feeling in my heart -- that feeling that said beyond doubt "you should marry her." 

As she walked out, I stood for a moment in awe of her presence and the intensity of my feelings.  I walked to the ice cream freezer.  Made a choice.  Walked back to my car.  I did these things without thinking.  The cold night air brought me to some sense of reality.  In the car, I admired the ring I had purchased.  I thought about the night I would ask my girlfriend to become my wife.  I thought about M. 

M and I continued to be friends.  To exchange emails.  She once invited me to a dinner with her sister.  But I didn't say yes or no and on the day of, sent her a message saying I couldn't make it. 

She told me of her life, of her family, of the sometimes dates she would have. 

And then in my inbox, some seven years after I'd met her, there was a message.  It was from her account. 
It was her mother.  M had been killed in an apartment fire.  She had lit a candle in her bathroom and apparently gone to bed with it still burning.  The flames ignited the shower curtain and the bathroom and apparently she was unable to get out before it overtook her room.  No one else in the apartment building was hurt.

Her mother noted that I was among a group of friends she had spoken of favorably and often. 

I re-read the message again and again and again.  I cried.  I took a long walk in the summer sun.  I cried more on the way home.  I cried the next day as I opened my email inbox and saw the message, with her name, sitting there.

I still have that message.  I read it from time to time.  And I'm reminded of the poems we shared, of the clear connection we had, and of my inability or unwillingness to act "in the moment" at that Kroger store. 

Going out, getting the car, getting the ring... asking her.  Then explaining why I even had a ring in the car and why I felt the way I did would have been too much.  It was a door too heavy to open.  I didn't even knock.  Didn't even indicate I wanted to come in.  Stayed at a safe distance. 

Because knocking might have meant a messy situation.  A breakup with a woman for whom I had strong feelings.  A period of uncertainty.  A response that I didn't want to hear.  It seems unlikely that M would have said "yes, I'll marry you."  But it certainly seems possible that just by asking, more might have been offered.  Or, that I ignored a clear, strong feeling of the heart and should have followed its messy path to explore the potential of M. 

As long as she was alive and there were emails and meetings, there was hope.  Maybe some circumstance would bring us together.  And of course, my life with my wife was going amazingly well, so the need to follow that call grew weaker. 

Now, I will never get an email from M.  Never hear her voice or stare into her deep, brown eyes.  I had a moment.  I was given a chance.  And I froze.