The first flowers blooms along the winding park pathway. The soft spring sun lays low over the Detroit sky line, ringed in red and gold. People move by; some going to work, others going home, still others not going anywhere at all. These just walked to appreciate the mild whether, a welcome comfort after the unusually harsh Michigan winter. Nothing about this day even hinted of disaster, I thought as I sit alone on the wooden bench, the small diamond ring still clamped loosely in my hand. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end, I thought, this isn’t how love is supposed to be.

Eight years earlier

My first day of middle school, and I’m already late, I thought, running down the now empty corridor, toward my English classroom. Why didn’t I check and make sure my alarm was set? I yank at my new locker, forgetting for the moment that you need the combination to open it. Finally, the steel door swings open. I stuff my pack into it, and grab the first book my hand comes to.

I swing the classroom door open, breathing hard, meeting the death glare of the teacher, Mr. Levassiur, and the snickers of my classmates.

“Glad you could join us, Mr. Jonathon Pratt.” He says, sighing, “Take you seat, so that I may continue my lecture.”

I search for an empty seat, finding that only one is open; and notice her for the first time. She sat their, looking up at me with angle eyes, and I know that she is my first true love.

I sit down next to her, feeling my face flushing. Mr. Levassiur begins a boring lecture at the front of the class. Grudgingly, I take my eyes off of the girl next to me and pretend to listen. Suddenly, there is a tug on my arm. My eyes dart toward the girl, who apparently isn’t paying attention to me. Then I notice the folded note on my desk. Quietly, I unfold it reading the sweat words of a first love.

“Would you like to be my friend?”

Eight years later

I walk along the flower lined path in the park, fingering the ring in my coat pocket. Today is the day I ask her to marry me, and I wanted it to be special. I wanted the memory of our engagement to be in the place we first kissed, the day I first kissed my baby.

We arrive at the spot, the spot of our first kiss. I turn to Jessica, with my arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

“Jess, you remember this spot, right?” I ask already knowing the answer.

“This is the place were we first kissed, isn’t it?” Jess answers, not looking at me.

“No,” I answer quietly, “This is were I propose to you.”

Slowly I got down on one knee, and pull the ring from my pocket.

“Will you marry me?”

Jess turns away from me, tears welling up in her eyes. My whole life depends on what those tears mean.

Quietly, Jess whispers my doom in one word, “No.”

“Baby, I thought you loved me.” I almost sob, managing to keep the ring in my hand.

“I never loved you that way,” she said, kneeling beside me, “I loved you as a friend, nothing more; I shouldn’t have played you like that. I’m in love with Alex Rodez. You remember him, don’t you?”

I nod yes, barely aware. My baby doesn’t love me. She never did. I hear more muffled sounds, but don’t understand them. Finally, Jess leaves. I get up and sit on the bench nearby.
The first flowers blooms along the winding park pathway. The soft spring sun lays low over the Detroit sky line, ringed in red and gold. People move by; some going to work, others going home, still others not going anywhere at all. These just walked to appreciate the mild whether, a welcome comfort after the unusually harsh Michigan winter. Nothing about this day even hinted of disaster, I thought as I sit alone on the wooden bench, the small diamond ring still clamped loosely in my hand. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end, I thought, this isn’t how love is supposed to be.
“Baby, I thought you were mine.”