I apologise if the term, `give it a crack' does not translate outside this continent. (and it means to give something a try) I am assuming that much of the idiom of Oz is also common in UK...we speak the same language, after all.
oOo
It was late, but Harry was not prepared to go to bed until he'd finished his lists. Perhaps a list would clear his mind of the doubts which had crept into his head since he had asked Ruth to marry him. He was not normally a list kind of guy; he was a doer, not a thinker, but organising her thoughts seemed to work for Ruth, so he was prepared to give it a crack. Anything at all was better than endless glasses of whiskey, which only served to fuel the doubts and fears which threatened to engulf him. He had even considered ringing her to retract his proposal, but he also knew that would be an act of cowardice on his part.
On the table in front of him sat a glass of whiskey, barely touched, and a large sheet of white paper. In his hand he held a black felt-tipped pen. After much mulling it over, he had managed to write:
Reasons She'll Say Yes:
*I believe she loves me. I know she loves me.
*She knows I'm right (perhaps that's doubtful, since she had proved me wrong on so many occasions)
*She feels sorry for me – being old and alone (not a good reason at all, as I have no proof that this is true)
*To confound me (since she confounds me on a daily basis)
*She's curious (about what I have no idea, but surely there has to be some level of mystery to me...my body perhaps?)
*She remembers how it felt that day on the wharf (a really good reason – if she remembers this day as I do, which I'm almost certain she does.)
Reasons She'll Say No:
*She doesn't love me enough (but how is love measured? Love cannot be measured like a cup of sugar, or a half pint of bitter. Can it be measured by a look, a sigh, a touch? Surely actions count as well.)
*She secretly loathes me (unlikely)
*She doesn't really love me, but pities me (and if I can't separate love from pity, then any relationship we may have is doomed from the beginning)
*She considers me a bad risk for marriage (which no doubt has merit, given my track record)
*She can't forgive me for the way in which George died (and this will possibly serve to cancel out any of the reasons she'll say Yes.)
Harry slumped back in his chair and poured half the whiskey down his throat in one gulp. It made him feel better despite his growing depression over Ruth. There were really no good reasons for her to accept his marriage proposal – apart from her loving him, which he was sure she did. Why, even Julia had noticed how they had felt about one another, and Julia was hardly the embodiment of sensitivity and understanding of the human condition. She, whose whole existence revolved around her own needs and desires, which frequently meant climbing the ladder by stepping on the backs of others, was able to see the love he and Ruth had for one another.
Julia had told Harry to not let this one go, and he'd not acted on her advice. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he'd thought Ruth would be with him forever, and that her love for him, which so often shone from her eyes, would ensure she would always be there when he needed her.
He had taken her for granted, and no woman appreciates that. Even he knew that.
The death of George, and his own involvement in that dramatic event, sat between them always, and Harry was afraid they'd never ever get past it. It was always their own personal elephant in the room.
After another two glasses – half glasses, really – he was kicking himself for having proposed to her so spontaneously. The omens were all bad:
*he had not prepared properly - he just blurted it out without thinking, just because he was upset about Ros;
*at a funeral – bad, bad, bad.
*He had not kissed her – idiot! (He had wanted to kiss her, but he also had not wanted to push his luck. A proposal and a kiss may have been overkill. Put like that, he should have kissed her, and then considered a proposal based on her reaction to the kiss.)
*They should have been at dinner, or in the moonlight, or on a beach – that is, there was no mood at all!
His sleep was fitful, and he dreamed of her, as he often did.
Ever since Ruth had had to leave England after Cotterdam, he'd had a recurring dream where he was walking along the street, the street busy with people, all moving quickly with somewhere to go. Across the street he saw Ruth walking in the opposite direction. He attempted to cross the street to reach her, but traffic was heavy and he could not find a safe passage across. By the time he made it to the other side of the street she was gone. He looked in all directions, but there was no sign of her.
He again had his recurring dream, as well as another which disturbed him.
He was on a beach somewhere, looking out to sea, watching dolphins and a school of large fish swimming and playing. Suddenly a small boat appeared, and in he could see Ruth and an unidentified man standing and watching him. He waved to her and called out to her. She waved back, and then the boat vanished behind a wave. He sat down on the beach and cried.
When Harry awoke, he noticed the tears on his cheeks.
Life had been so much easier before he had met Ruth Evershed. There had been few of the complications he now experienced. His interactions with women had been simple and straight forward. He'd had no time for emotional entanglement. Despite that, he could not imagine a life without her in it.
She was the reason he got out of bed every morning.
She was the reason he breathed in after having breathed out.
