So, V and I were officially a couple. But we were a couple with the clock ticking down on us. Because ironically, V had finally got what he had wanted all along – the green light to go home – except now he didn’t want it so much.
Already, there were beginning to be signs that we were not just coasting along being emotionally and physically connected.
There was this one time that V asked me if I ever saw myself getting married. To which I replied: “Well, I used to say never but now I’ve come to realise it’s probably inevitable. At some point.”
Or this other time, when he said he was interested to know where I saw this all ending. And then I turned the question on him. And he said: “To it’s logical end”.
Huh. How coy we were being. That could mean anything. And yet.
Finally, I finally got stoned. By that I mean I had tried to get stoned before but nothing happened. I remember smoking weed with some boys in an empty flat and getting so bored about nothing happening that I started reading the label inside the Coke bottle. And the boys started laughing and telling me I was stoned. Only I wasn’t. I was just really really bored.
Anyway, this one time I went out with V and his friends and the friends had some stuff that I smoked. V doesn’t smoke but at that time, he was very tolerant of me smoking. Not so much now… but anyway.
So, on the drive back home I began to feel all trippy. Like the car rounded a bend and I thought the road was coming up to meet us. And the lights began to take on this zippy character. And I began to giggle. Yup, I was stoned. I was so excited about being stoned that I began to sound more stoned than I actually was.
And then, I can’t remember exactly how or why, but V told me he wanted to marry me. And I stopped being stoned and hugged him.
In some retellings of this story, V actually says this is when he proposed to me. But considering there were two (other) times, I’m not sure if this one counts as the real deal.