The Bedtime Tales of Be287m

Things To Do In Arles

"Make a list of the things you want to do in Arles," Sarah said, passing me the folder with photocopied pages from various guidebooks. I grinned mischievously.

"I already have a list!" I exclaimed, whipping it out of my bag. I passed it to her.

"Oh my god! You highlighted my email! You actually highlighted my email!" Sarah was laughing and shaking her head in merriment.

The email was what had brought us face-to-face. We'd met online. I was just hanging out, profiles posted on a half dozen personals sites. Sarah was actively looking. I was her Bachelor #5. The email that moved me to suggest meeting face-to-face described her ideal day. It was in Arles, a town I'd never heard of, in the Provence region of France.

Now it was ten and a half months later and we were on a train from Marseilles to Arles. Sarah just laughed as I read the words that I'd marked earlier with a yellow highlighter. See the Roman coliseum. Take pictures in the historic cemetery. Sit in the old amphitheatre. Rub her back during a picnic in the park of wine, cheese, baguette, fruit, and chocolate. It was a romp, innocent and fun.

The first afternoon we were too tired though--the travel lag having caught up to us and necessitating a long afternoon nap. A siesta, right? We weren't too far from Spain. Later, after wandering the village and having dinner, we came upon the back of the old outdoor amphitheatre, being used for a ballet recital, nearly 2000 years after its construction. A flustered man let us in through a back gate to slink through the shadows and become part of the audience of proud parents and grandparents and friends.

We watched. We watched the little girls swirl and try to keep step amid the lingering long shadows. We watched the older girls trod the well worn stone, repeating patterns much older than any human observers around. We watched the eldest girls, young women really, show how it was done. Perfect precision, flowing grace. We watched it end and the proud parents swarm their offspring, no different than any choir concert in Cheyenne or play in North Carolina. We slipped off into the night.

The next day we saw the coliseum and the cemetery and bought supplies for our picnic. Sarah noticed my growing nervousness, but didn't push when I refused to explain. She's always loved me that way. We took the long route to the park, my hand firmly thrust in my pocket.

Once there, we found a bench and began unpacking our lunch. Wine, safely nestled under the bench. Cheese and baguettes spread out between us, with cherries and chocolate off to the side. Sarah, always a cheese fanatic, had already begun sampling the chevre we'd purchased. I got out the list again.

"Let's see--coliseum, check. Amphitheatre, check. Cemetery, check. Picnic with wine, cheese, baguette, fruit, chocolate, check. Oops, forgot to rub your back!"

Sarah laughed as I got up and walked around the bench behind her. She ate some more while I gave her shoulders a few quick strokes.

"Hmmm. Seems that there's one thing left to do on my list. It's not on your list, but it is on mine." I turned so I was facing Sarah. She'd just taken another bite of cheese.

"Propose marriage." Sarah's eyes grew wide in surprise. She tried to quickly finish the food in her mouth.

I dropped to one knee and extracted the ring from my pocket. Her grandmother's ring, that her mother had secretly sent me the week before. That I'd been clutching all day, afraid to lose.

"Sarah, will you marry me?"

"Oui!" "Yes!"

Then she was hugging me and crying happy tears and soon I was crying them too. Fortunately, Sarah retained more wits than I and reminded me to actually put the ring on her finger. That gave us the time to catch our breath. We kissed, long and full. Eventually I shifted back to my side of the bench.

"I told you we had things to do in Arles," I quipped. She was too happy to do more than beam in reply.

--Fin--

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