A Decent Proposal (and blurry recall)

Since one of my co-workers is helping her friend surprise his girlfriend with “popping the question”, people at work are talking about it in general- gushing at the cute sweetness of it all, the various elements of surprise involved, sharing memories of how their own marriage proposals went down. I could've jumped in and shared my experiences with this, but I chose to focus on the friend in question, and when my supervisor was trying to remember which movie had the scene where the guy proposes with string, I tried to recall with her because it sounded familiar to me too. My first guess was wrong- it wasn’t "Hitch"- Google corrected me and showed that it was in fact, Stepmom.

I've had three official marriage proposals and said yes to two of them. Rather than write about all three, allow me to zero in on my first one.
I was 17 when Flaco and I met. I soon found out that he was almost 21, older than I thought because he looked more like 18. I never really called him Flaco, but it was one of his nicknames, even with his family, so I’m using that here. A few quotes pop out and stick when thinking about our relationship, and I remember those more than the words of his actual proposal.

“There goes the fake number!”

He said this to me and his friend as I wrote down my name and (real) phone number for him in the Grand Avenue/Newtown train station, where he tried to help me get my quarter back from the pay phone I was using.

I found him very attractive and exciting. And I had a feeling he might've been ‘bad’- and in a way, he was. And I'm sure he wouldn't disagree with that statement today. Now by “bad” I don’t mean he was a player, or that he beat me or even that he tried manipulating me. There was a lot of passion and tenderness within him and within us. But there was also trouble. You know the archetypal bad boy who’s always ready to fight “the world” around him- well, the “good girl” who falls for that kind of guy treasures his softer side, usually his private side, usually a secret treasure.   

He wasn't the only one who couldn't believe in the other one's interest. I left the train station, on my way home ecstatic, not believing he found me remotely attractive, and telling this to my mother.

“You have to explain words to someone you're going out with?”

My mother heard me explain what “patronize” meant over the phone and that bothered her. He happily threw the new word around every now and then, telling me not to patronize him even when he didn't mean it. I didn't feel too good about having to teach my older boyfriend words either but I figured, oh well. Nobody knows all the words to their own language much less their second one. I certainly don't.
He taught me how to make tostones just right and fried yuca. My Dominican mother didn’t teach me this, nor did her mother, nor did my Puerto Rican grandmother, God rest their souls- my Panamanian boyfriend did. He told me about Hector Lavoe, blasted 70’s salsa in his apartment just like his father Juan and sister Licky would as they drove, and explained how the violins made the music sound better than before. That this music wasn't just nice to dance to, but had beautiful, intricate sounds to really sit back and listen to and take in, as well as socially conscious, relevant lyrics.
He told me that he never finished high school and so with some practice reading materials, I became his down-to-the-wire tutor and he eventually received his G.E.D.

“You know it's him the whole time, right? He’s killing everyone dressed as his mom!”

Flaco told me this on what I think was our first night together as we caught the beginning of “Psycho” on TV when he lived in Crown Heights. That first scene with Janet Leigh and John Gavin in bed together with her bra and the hotel sheets mirrored us in a way. I didn’t know much else about the film yet, aside from the shower scene, her iconic screaming face and the exclusively violin soundtrack.  I was so pissed off at him for ruining the whole surprise for me, but he didn’t mean to. Sorry for spoiling it for anyone here.

He would talk about shows while they were on, and I loved the way he got into them. It was familiar in a way, since my dad and his family shared the same gusto for movies. Dad’s initial indignation about him sneaking and spending the night(s) with me, eventually wore off as they started to get along more. Dad would invite him to see old movies that he had on VHS, along with some wine, beer, chips, and popcorn, and then before you knew it, he didn’t need to sneak in anymore. Dad once showed him an old home video and I was embarrassed by my younger self and so I didn't want him to see it. I probably blocked the TV set at one point, giggling and screaming “Nooo!”

My dad told me to “scram” and to, “take a walk!” in his old-school, tough guy fashion. This made Flaco laugh so much. I rolled my eyes but deep down I was glad they were getting along. One old gangster film they got a real kick out of was “Invisible Stripes” because there was a character named Lefty but he’d always shoot with his right hand. Why would anyone be called Lefty if they’re clearly right-handed? It’s not until the end of the movie when he gets shot and falls to his death on his left side do we “understand”, at least that's how my dad interprets it. Man, did they crack up on that one, hitting rewind and replaying it. Flaco always addressed my dad as “Sir”, no matter how much like besties they seemed to be. And as much as he missed me when we broke up, I know that he also missed my dad.

“Yo, if you grab at them they bite you!”

We were at the beach with his family and Flaco was in genuine awe at how seagulls would defend themselves. I laughed with his father about this, imagining him actually trying to grab a seagull and just wondering like, why would he even do that in the first place. His father kind of laughed back and shrugged as if to say, “Yeah I don't know, that's my boy; that's my aggressive, violence prone, problematic boy!”

Early on in our relationship I had a big fight with him and we broke up. The next day my mom’s tires were slashed and I was afraid that he had something to do with it even though I couldn’t prove it. He denied it but that didn’t diminish my suspicion of what he might be capable of. I reconciled with him shortly afterwards. Did I possibly do that out of fear? You bet. But mixed with that fear was an undeniable affection for him. What can I say? Love gets twisted sometimes, the heart can be a messy organ- throbbing, melting...

“Nothing makes a man feel better than a woman!”

He practically enunciated these words in earnest after we made love one time, totally convicted in what he was declaring. I wondered if he was deliberately quoting Method Man and Mary J. Blige's, “You're All I Need” or if he came up with that on his own -which is a remake of the Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye song of the same name- whatchu think, I didn't know? ;)

I liked putting on 98.7Kiss FM’s “Kissing After Dark” on while we made love and fell asleep. He would tell me all sorts of beautiful things afterwards, some very profound thoughts about life and humanity. Sometimes he’d just recount memories of him and his family. I loved listening to him reflect.

There was one night though where he was so upset that he didn't fight back with someone earlier in the day or week. He hated it and felt ashamed of how soft he was apparently becoming. I took all this in, him crying out his shame, tears and bawl.

One morning when I should have been at my high school internship, we spent the day together and went out. He was already in a hostile mood so what followed was probably a build-up of whatever was festering inside- because it basically exploded. He bumped into someone on the street; words were exchanged. They were both angry, young men while one fed up young woman (me) had had enough and kept on walking. I looked back and saw Flaco still arguing with this stranger. Aggravated, I decided to keep on walking and head to work because it was almost time to clock in. I got a phonecall later at work telling me that he had been arrested- my world came crashing down. Apparently both men had weapons and messed each other up real bad- but the other guy was cut worse. They threw Flaco in Rikers Island and the following chapter of our relationship consisted of L-Z visits, timed phone calls, appointments with lawyers, and our handwritten letters. Sometimes his mother Tina and I would visit him together. I loved his mother. She’d often call to chat and aside from being able to practice my Spanish with her, ever so patient and giving, I definitely felt the love. I read Helen Keller’s “The Story of My Life” on these bus rides to Rikers, taking refuge in a well written book’s ability to provide mental and emotional escape.

Flaco proposed soon after he got out of jail. We were on my block that night, probably on our way to his house. He matter-of-factly explained that he needed his green card. I never knew this about him, but since we’ve already grown so close these past couple years, I said yes. It wasn't for money, I had no plans of divorcing, and I felt excited to help him out in this way. He never went down on one knee, we just kept on walking- walking and talking. We got married in City Hall with one of his friends as the witness. I was 19, the same age as my paternal grandmother Lillian when she got married. One time we left his house at the crack of dawn, I can’t remember where we were headed; probably to City Hall to hand in papers. I was trying to keep up with him and he caught glimpse of this through our shadows reflected from the street lamps. He thought it looked so cute and it made him laugh, or at least my shadow being so much shorter than his, all bundled up, walking fast and bouncy, trying to keep up.

Eventually his mother got sick and she went back to Panamá. Flaco wanted to go back too and he wanted me to go with him; I half considered it. He thought I could get a good job there since I spoke English. I felt like I couldn't take that leap. My mother was getting ill too, and my little sister was just a child at the time. And I was falling for Joe, but that is another blog entry for another time.

Writing this made me miss him more than I thought I would, even while fully remembering all the stress and heartache involved. We officially divorced years later with Juan’s help since he was never able to come back to the US. I feel drained right now just recalling all of this; it's amazing how different my life and mindset are now. I mean, I’m still the same ol’ Tennille in many ways but… it’s concurrent. Like that meme says, You can miss someone and still not want them back in your life.

And after all that, it’s a miracle that I've been able to embark on my new marriage that definitely has its own backstory but that has so much beauty, love, and hope.  Sitting in the patio of his house in D.R. with a lot of his family present, someone clicked on Alicia Keys’ “No One” on the computer and turned it up as he got down on his knee and presented me with the ring and popped the question. And when I responded with the ‘yes’ that everyone already knew I would say, they cheered and applauded just the same. I smiled, nodded, hugged him and thanked God right then and there. Sometimes that's all I can do in any given moment.