Runner up

Previously Engaged

By Amanda J. Mianecki

It had been a typical July evening.  Scott picked me up after work, and we
set out cruising aimlessly in his teal Cavalier.  After dating him for four
and a half years, I had gotten used to our destinationless drives and
ambitionless summers.  I was grateful to at least escape a mind-numbing
evening of vegetating in front of the TV.

On this particular drive to nowhere came Scott's pivotal remark, ”I would
check the box for Engaged if there was one.”  Engaged?  An increasingly
familiar nausea began to flush through my body.  Simultaneously, a
plethora of thoughts fired away in my head, and all the roller-coaster
events of the past year replayed themselves in a fraction of a second:
“Your mom is full of shit.”

Stunned, I sat unable to respond.  Finally, “Do you know what respect is
Scott?” is all I could squeak out.

“It's not about respect.  I'm just telling the truth.”

“Could you be more vulgar about it?” I spat back at him.  Then came the volleys of vulgarity.

“Damn it, Sophie.  Would you listen to me!”

“Don't yell at me.”

“I'm not yelling!  . . . My voice just projects.”  As if I had ever
accepted that reasoning.  As if that made it better.  I turned away and
focused my attention on the raindrops that were tracing tiny paths down the
window on my side of the car.  Half wanting to go, half wanting to just slap him and not knowing what else to do, I rolled down the window
and let the cold raindrops tickle my fingertips.                                                     
                                                                            
I glanced at him.  Something was very wrong.  I was hurting enough to cry in front of him and he didn't care.  Yes, something was very wrong.  And it wasn't just him.  I was waiting for him to reach out: a hug, a smile, a finger to wipe away a tear.  I was waiting for him to reach out and he was waiting for me.  And so we sat in silence, both needy, concentrating on the wind and the rain raging outside, ignoring the storm inside.

The dozen roses he delivered the next day didn't help, not in the long run.  A sucker for romance, I took them and put an ounce of faith in his promises. His first words that day were “I was wrong.”  Of course you were , I thought.  But so was I , I reminded myself. And that kept the wheels turning inside of me for the next two weeks.

“You're different.  Every time you go on a retreat or talk to your
religious friends, you come back different.”

“Well, that's how it works.  Retreats are a time for assessment.  I
guess I am different, if that's how you want to look at it.  Is that so
bad?” I asked.

“When you come back and tell me all the stuff you learned, it means our
relationship is going to change.  I like things the way they are.”

“My faith is important to me, Scott. You know that.”

“Don't you think my faith is important to me?”

“Of course.  I didn't say that it wasn't.”

“Well, you sure make me feel like I'm no good compared to you.”

Our truce hadn't lasted long.

“I didn't mean that,” I replied, his comments gnawing on my nerves,  “I
would never say that or make you feel that way.  Look, we're just at
different places with it.  And, if your faith is so important to you, why
are you giving me such a hard time about this retreat stuff?”

“You know, Sophie, sometimes you just put yourself up on this religious
pedestal. . . .”  Yadda, yadda, yadda. I tuned him out.  I wasn't
in the mood to hash this over again.  Did I really want this
roller-coaster for the rest of my life?  What I want for the rest of my life
is a guy motivated enough to finish college in the near future, preferably
with decent grades.  What I want is a guy who can get a stable job so we can
get married and start a family.  What I want is a guy who will not only
respect my religious beliefs and way of life but will also want to share it.
What I want is a guy who treats me, my loved ones, and even complete
strangers with respect.

As I assessed my priorities, I realized that Scott had clearly
demonstrated incompatibility with my priorities.  He already expressed his opinion of religion.  As for family, he says my mom is full of shit.  School? He's lucky if he can get up for a ten o'clock class.  In fact, he should have graduated last year.

But he has family problems , I reminded myself.  I know he loves me.  He's
just rough around the edges.  He needs someone to understand him.  I
understand him.  I need him.  I'm such a handful myself.  There's no one
else out there who can understand me.  I'm sure of it.

But you can't accept him for who he is Sophie, I argued with myself.  You
nit-pick him to death .  “Scott, do you have to be so vulgar?”  “Did you do
that paper yet Scott?”  “Just be the mature one, Scott.”  “Don't talk to
your mom like that.”  You treat him like a child.  You know what you have to do.  But I can't.  I just can't .

“I'd check Engaged if there was a spot for it,” Scott said again, smiling. He was talking about a questionnaire for his five year high school reunion.  He gazed at me with admiration in his eyes.  While he was seeing a bliss-filled future, a monster of doubt was creeping over me.  I see-sawed between guilt and reason.   Sophie, do you want this for the rest of your life ?

Finally I grasped on to the tiniest shred of courage. “No honey, that's just it.  I don't know.  I'm, um. . . I don't know about the future anymore.”  It was as if I was outside my body watching myself say the words.

That joyful glimmer in his eye vanished; his face went ashen. “What?”

I didn't plan for it to happen then.  Deep down I didn't think it would
ever happen.  But it was suddenly clear.

“We need some time apart.”

“Wait.  What?”

“Scott---”

“I can change!  I'll do anything you…”

“Scott, we've been doing this too long.  I love you, but this isn't
right,”  I said.

“It's Nick, isn't it?” he said.

I sighed.  He was grasping at anything. Still, I couldn't deny the idea
that dating Nick Jeffries was enticing.  Scott was my first serious
relationship, and I didn't want to make a lifelong commitment to him if
there was a chance I may want to date someone else on top of all these
doubts.  And Nick was the opposite of everything I detested in Scott.

“It's not Nick, exactly,”  I finally said.  “I can't believe I feel this
way, but I've been thinking a lot about how I've never seriously dated
anyone else.  That's something to consider before committing to marriage. 
And I don't think our relationship is exactly healthy.”

“I said I'll change.” Scott insisted.  Then he stopped.  Tears formed in his frightened brown eyes and then spilled down his cheeks. 

“I love you, Sophie.  Don't do this to me.”

My heart ached too, but I knew I was doing the right thing. Wasn't
I?  I can't be with someone who brings out the worst in me, who refuses to
see the best in me.  Four and a half years doesn't guarantee forever, does
it? A single thought confirmed my original feelings, giving me the firm
resolve to continue:  What if we had children who turned out exactly like
him?

“Please take me home,” I whispered.

Now too stunned to speak, Scott didn't protest further, but I could see
him struggling to arrive at some way to remedy this.  Not knowing
what more to say, I silently willed the drive to go quickly.

“I think it would be best if we didn't speak or see each other until
classes start in the fall,” I said as he parked the car.

He looked as if I had just punched him in the stomach.  “What then? Is there a chance we can get back together?”

“We'll see,” I answered quietly, thinking that it was unlikely.

Half in a daze, I eased opened the car door.  I wanted to stop and give him
a huge hug.  Kiss him.  Exclaim how sorry I was to hurt him.  But I
shouldn't be sorry, not for doing the right thing.  I knew he didn't
understand.  I had shocked him, had pulled this from nowhere in his eyes.  I
had shocked me.

As I walked toward my house, he just sat there.