Feb. 12 - Whelve in Posso's Prompts

Whelve (v:) to bury something deep, to hide; to roll or surge over something

I was engaged once.

The only other person that knew killed herself on Valentine’s Day last year.

I disappeared with Heather one weekend a few years ago, we were using the winter weather as an excuse to go to Vegas, because she had never seen the binge drinking, gambling, four day awake bender mess of a Posso that had only been rumored about. She had wanted to pay for the whole trip, she had had a good month at the club and pulled open her dresser door where I kept a change of clothes and a hoodie, and wrapped inside that hoodie were fist-thick rubber banded balls of cash. I stopped counting when I reached fourteen thousand dollars - knew that would be enough to get into trouble for a weekend in sin city. After pulling out the crinkled money and setting it between every flat surface we could find so it’d be easier to stack and store in a bag, there was a little jewelry box in the pocket of the hoodie. Curious to see if she had treated herself to something special, I opened the box; I could tell right away the black onyx band was surely meant for a man’s hand. She walked into my perplexed, furrowed face and said, ‘Well, this isn’t how I had planned this, but, I think I want to marry you and I know you won’t ask me anytime soon.”

We had a suite at the MGM Grand for the weekend and immediately on the plane I started drinking out of stress; I didn’t want to get married yet. Medical debt, life choices and most of all, I wasn’t even sure that I loved this girl in the way that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Heather was super excited, you could just feel her stare, taking in everything that I was taking in knowing full well that I was on a mission of total implosion. Walking by the craps table after our taxi ride from the airport, I reached in my pocket for my cash and she stopped me and handed me a brick of her stripper scented love cash and said, “No babe, make bets with this.” so I pulled ten one hundred dollar bills off of it and threw it at the stick crew on the table and wagered it all on the first roll. Anyone that doesn’t know how craps works, thats fine, lets just keep it at that in thirty minutes time, without even having walked into our room, I had $4300 in casino chips in my pocket. The lady was adamant about finding a poolside cabana to sit at, going shopping in all the unnecessary, overpriced casino stores and extravagant fancy meals.

Sunday night, I was sitting there, mowing a steak, responding to friends in Madison asking were I was from work, roommates checking in because I hadn’t been seen in a few days and wanted to make sure I wasn’t in a ditch or locked up. There was a silence at the table other than being able to hear the buttons I was pressing on my phone. I could feel the blueish green daggers staring holes into me from the other side of the table, and quietly the words came out; ‘You know, there’s a chapel right down the street. I think we should get married.” I dropped my fork.

Married? Me?

The thought of being married hadn’t ever really been serious before. Racking my brain at that time, I don’t think I could think of a girl that I was ready to spend the rest of my life with at the time. Heather and I had, (still have I think, even though she’s gone) this inexplicable bond where we both enjoyed our secretive, secluded relationship. We made each other feel comfortable and we definitely loved one another but (and even though I’m not that religious) marriage to me means I’m making a bond to be with you for the rest of my life no matter what happens. Was there really that bond there for me to do that? At one point, I think so. Truthfully, being scared of all the unknowns and the future was what really worked me up. My family didn’t know her profession; friends judged her without knowing anything other than the stories about her. The feeling that we would have to come out of seclusion to be an open couple with all of our flaws wasn’t something that I wanted to do, not then anyway.

After sitting in silence for a good minute, it seemed to her that my answer was clear. She excused herself, disappeared, and I could not find her for a full day. All of my calls were screened and ignored. The letter written on hotel parchment was in the garbage can so I knew she had at least been around. Seeing no reason to stay, or rather, knowing I wanted to run away from the problem at hand, I took off the band, left it on her luggage along with all the money we had won save for enough for a cab and food for the airports, I jumped on a flight to Minneapolis and headed back to Madison.

No one, including her friends, was ever sure when she actually came back from Las Vegas, I did not hear from her for a whole month. The next message I ever received was a picture of her and the new guy she was seeing. Clearly, that did not last.