My favorite day of the week is Tuesday.
On The Tuesday I was sitting on an orange sofa with my childhood best friend, and
boyfriend of four years, Danny. I mean, I wasn’t sitting, I was pacing, ranting about some big presentation I was anxious to give the next day, and then he just declared that he wanted to marry me.
I was planning to change the subject at some point to how criminally underrated muffins are, but not to marriage. Had I thought about marrying him before? Of course. Danny is my best friend, my dance partner. The one person who never bores me, the one with the cutest smile. Of course, I had thought about it, but that would mean I’d be pleasing my mother. That thought always spoiled the daydream.
I hadn’t stopped pacing when he interrupted me to propose, and I couldn’t stop now; pacing around and around like a fallen penny circling the drain. Which probably made me look like I was thinking; I was not. I couldn’t come up with anything to say, and I found myself being escorted out of his apartment. When I finally made it home, I kicked off my boots, climbed into bed in all my winter layers, and fell asleep trying to push away the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
I've always had lucid dreams, with colorful swirling shapes, and random cameos, but on The Tuesday just after midnight, I found myself sleepwalking. My brain knew I had left my warm cocoon, but I guess it had thought I’d return. Instead, my body plunged into boots and rushed down 20 flights of stairs. I couldn’t see where I was going but I knew that the cold air encircling me meant I was outside. I made my routine grooves in the path and went to the last place I thought I’d return: Danny’s apartment.
I stumbled up the icy steps leading to his building and frantically yanked at anything that protruded from the bricks, hoping to find a doorknob. Stumbling aimlessly, and banging my wrists with fervor, my brain decided there had been enough trial-and-error and maybe I should just punch in the pin. Sadly, my sensory skills were weakening as my fingers were turning a pleasant shade of numb blue. So after 10 minutes of searching for a code puncher, I admitted defeat, and slumped, hitting the code puncher on the way down but too lazy to care.
I dreamt of nothing. I sat paralyzed, my extremities freezing, begging to be hugged, yet every part of me felt detached and alone. Time crawled on and I wondered if I cared to make it. But without warning, I felt a bright yellow light on me. It was probably a faulty street light just flickering on now, five hours later, but in my mind, it was a warm guiding light, coaxing me to rise up. I scrambled to my feet and found my mantra. I needed to tell Danny I loved him. I remembered he was on the first floor four windows to the right of the entrance. In a moment of sheer intelligence, I leapt off the steps, pushed through the snow-topped bushes, pressed my head against a window, and called, “I love you, Danny!”
I awoke screaming in fright at the sound of my own scream reverberating against the window. Staggering back into the bushes I looked around trying to make sense of my circumstance. The bushes were perfectly round, the bricks were laid vertically, and the apartment window which now had a foggy imprint of my forehead on it did, in fact, have an orange couch. I began to run as fast as I could. Who was I to show up at Danny’s apartment in the middle of the night screaming? After I let him down? I should have known right there on the spot to say ‘yes,’ and now it’s too late.
I was halfway down the block when my body reminded me of my ineptness. I crumbled on the sidewalk. I couldn’t go back home. Not after that failed attempt at whatever that was. I need to tell Danny I love him. I started to get up. But am I ready to marry him? I fell back down. The truth is, I’d never thought he’d ask. I thought I’d fuck it up long ago. I never allowed myself to think that far because even if we did get married, soon enough he’d tire of me, or I’d get petty or he’d realize how shit of a person I really am and it would all just come crashing down. I want him to love me forever but...
Every minute I sat was another minute too late. Too late to say "I’m sorry." Too late to say "I do." I wiped away the build-up of sweat and tears, and walked to Danny’s apartment, planning each word I needed to say. I made it to the code puncher, and as I put in the last number the door opened. A groggy, annoyed, yet grinning Danny stood before me, and I knew he was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Two months later, the Tuesday before New Years, we got married. We’ve had 45 great years together. We still go dancing on the weekends and every Tuesday we bake a new recipe for muffins. We’ve weathered the seasons, and experienced the struggles and joys that three kids and ten lovely grandchildren bring. To this day I wake up grateful that I get to share my love with you, and that that love doesn’t just remain in my sleepwalker’s mantra.