WE'RE GETTING MARRIED

I was 17, she was 16. Her locker was three to the left of mine. We had AP US History together. I didn’t pay attention to the teacher. It was three weeks before homecoming and all I knew was that a glimpse of her smile made my entire day. I stood at my locker one Friday afternoon, game day, with my football jersey on. Caroline walked up to her locker. I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, my glazed eyes reading the spine of my textbooks over and over while I tried to look without looking. “Hey! Good luck tonight,” she called out. I smiled. “Thanks!” “What number are you?” I glanced down at my jersey with a big, bold 42 on it and said “42.” “Great! I’ll be looking for you, good luck!” I will never forget the sparkle of her eyes or the color of her cheeks as she closed her locker and walked away. One of our good friends had been trying to figure out who I would be asking to homecoming. I mentioned Caroline but said I wasn’t sure if she liked me. I was met with the hasty response, “Oh, trust me, she does” and it was decided then and there. I had planned it all out. I wanted to be sure I included the things she loved most and the things I loved most. I took my Berkeley football shirt with my name and number on it to the Flex Studio Theatre (where she had her morning drama class) and placed it on her seat with the following note: “Caroline, will you go to homecoming with me? If yes, wear this shirt so I will know. If not, throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.” (This was a drama class, after all) As I walked into our daily convocation later that morning, I was breathless. Would she have the shirt on with my last name and number proudly stretched across her back or would she be in her normal clothes and would I never see my beloved shirt again. I walked in and searched the auditorium. There she was, stunning, with “Kennedy 42” on her back and as she turned, she smiled the sweetest smile. My heart would never be the same. Written by John J. Kennedy

Fast forward 6 years, four college degrees, three cross-country moves, thousands of miles driven, five states and four countries visited, ups and downs and constant laughter. It is the summer of 2018. I am working constantly, and Caroline has been traveling for shows but is finally back in New York City for a few weeks. I told her that we have a “work event” to go to this Saturday night. My boss will be there so it is very formal so I suggest that her mom could send up one of her old Prom dresses and she could get her nails done. I can tell she’s nervous to meet all of my co-workers and my boss but I want to tell her not to be nervous about that but something much bigger. I hide the box in my suit pocket – it seems so obvious to me sticking out inches from my chest but I just can only hope she doesn’t notice. We arrive at The Bowery Hotel in the city. As we walk in, I mention to the woman at the front desk “We’re here for the Deutsche Bank event” and she replies “right this way.” The plan is working. As she leads us up to the penthouse my heart beats a thousand miles an hour. As we approach the door I hear the sweet sound of a violin emanating from the room. I try to breathe. I open the door and lead her in. The ground is covered in rose petals and candles and the glass doors to the terrace are open as a light breeze ruffles the curtains. Sweet violin music fills the air. I take her by the hand and lead her over the middle of the room, slowly getting down on one knee. As I looked up and through misty eyes I see the same sparkle I saw on the very first day looking back at me. I see my future looking back at me. “Caroline Huerta, I love you so much, you are the love of my life and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, will you marry me?” Written by John J. Kennedy