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Billy Bob was starting to get up at that point but when I took a step toward him he raised his hands in surrender and I called it good.
CLAP!
CLAP!
CLAP!
Wes walked onto the mat, smiling.
"Even?" he asked.
"I'm good," I said.
"Well then," he said, "one more thing."
As he reached into his pocket and dropped onto one knee I started crying.
"Susan Morgan," he said very formally, "you have captured my heart. You are my soul mate. You know we are meant to be together. Will you marry me?"
I was bawling as I managed, "yes."
He stood, put the ring he had offered onto my finger, and said, "now, let's blow this pop stand. These guys have cousins and as good as you are, you can't handle all of them."
I giggled.
We left the dojo without a backward look, leaving those Bozos to take care of themselves.
At the house, I loaded my few belongings into my little PT Cruiser convertible and helped Wes load his more extensive accumulation of stuff into his car and my trunk. We were on I-25 heading south by noon and back in Denver by 3:00. My old house on Capitol Hill was still there and well maintained - I had set up an automatic account before I set off on my fuckfest - and we were settled in by that evening.
All of that was 27 years ago now. Wes runs his self-defense school and I still help out when needed. I run the gun shop. All in all, it's been a good life even if we did take an odd route to finding each other.
Oh, and I still don't know, to answer that first question he asked, what I was trying to prove or to whom I was trying to prove it. But I'm glad I did. It led me to him.
Thanks for listening.
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