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The racist that wanted to marry me
Until he didn’t and then he did again
I didn’t know he was a racist. I wouldn’t have accepted when he proposed to me if I’d known. It was right before Thanksgiving.
“I wish I could take you home with me,” he said as we held hands by the fire.
“I wish I could go with you too,” I said, reaching out to kiss him. But I’d already made plans to see my parents.
The next thing I knew… he was on one knee.
“I’ll bring back my grandmother’s wedding ring for you,” he told me. In the meantime, I wore his class ring, which is what he’d used as a place holder.
He was subdued when he came back after Thanksgiving, though. We went to a concert, we went to a play. We had dinner and walked in the moonlight. But when he kissed me, his thoughts were far away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shrugged.
A couple of weeks later, it finally came out.
“I can’t marry you,” he said.
“What do you mean? You proposed.”
“It’s my family,” he explained. “They won’t accept you.”
“That’s rough,” I said. “But you and I love each other, we can make it work. They will come around. I mean, they’ll have…
