Photo by X.A Medina (http://lepoet.tumblr.com/)

I sat on the plane cupping the small box on the tray in front of me. I would open it a little, just to make sure the ring was still there. That it didn’t somehow fall out the bottom.

I pulled out my journal, and continued to work on my list. You know the one, that list. The list that no one admits to having. The list of past lovers, past sexual conquests, past one night stands.

My number was 36. Which seemed high. I was 26 years old. I had lost his virginity at 16 to Alexandra Robertson. I had been having sex for 10 years. Therefore 36 divided by 10 equaled 3.6, which if you think about it isn’t really a copious amount. That’s about a girl every 100 days. So if you put it like that, that doesn’t seem like very many. But 36 was a lot. There were a couple of girls who’s names I could not remember, so for example they were listed as, “That girl in summer from the bar in Chicago.” Another interesting fact is I had slept with 5 Lauries. Which seemed high for that name. I figured that it was a somewhat common name, but not one I would guess would be the most popular lay for anyone. I made a note to check that online with its overall popularity in the states.

Flying over the capital of Guatemala, I realized two things. One, flying is fucking stupid and overwhelmingly scary. I came to this conclusion when I looked out onto the landscape below and decided if the plane was forced to make an emergency landing the plane’s two options were jagged mountains or the crowded city buildings that fit snuggly between the previously mentioned cliffs.

The second thing I realized as I looked down on the third world country below me, was that I had no idea who my girlfriend really was. The one I was planning on proposing to. Fuck. Me.

1. westonauburn posted this