January 2000

I squeezed Hans’s hand and bounced on my toes as we rode the escalator back in time, back to my favorite city beneath a city. Our city.

That December, I’d decided that going to school downtown was the worst fucking idea I’d ever had. Not only was the city hotter in the summer because of all the asphalt, but it also turned out to be colder in the winter because the tall buildings blocked out the sun and turned all the sidewalks into wind tunnels. And speaking of wind tunnels, the outdoor subway platforms were even worse. The train only ran every fifteen minutes, and I’m pretty sure its only heat source was the anger radiating off its passengers. Between waiting for the damn train, riding the damn train, walking from the goddamn train station to campus, walking from building to building between classes, and then doing it all over again in reverse, I was spending waaay more time freezing my ass off than I’d ever thought possible.

But that was December.

This was January. And in January, Hans started coming to school with me. We could have been in Alaska, for all I cared. I had my big, hard-bodied teddy bear to keep me warm.

Hans smiled down at me as the smell of candied pecans hit my nose. With our fingers laced together, we stepped from the modern moving staircase onto the vintage brick-paved street of Underground Atlanta. All four of our backpack-burdened shoulders relaxed as we strolled past the ornate light posts and shop fronts toward the sound of saxophone music.

When Hans ran his thumb over mine, the moment came full circle. I lifted our joined hands to my lips and kissed his thumb, which always landed on top of mine.

“The last time we were here, the only thing I could think about was how bad I wanted to hold your hand,” I admitted with a wistful smile. “I can’t believe that was only six months ago.”

Hans’s dimples deepened, and his cheeks flushed under his five o’clock shadow. “You want to know what I was thinking about?” he asked.

“What?”

“Don’t laugh.”

I pressed my lips between my teeth to secure them and gave him my most serious face.

“I was wondering if anyone had ever gotten married here before, or…if maybe…we would be the first ones.”

My eyes began to water, and my tightly drawn mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Hans stopped walking and turned to face me. “I know you’re still too young, and I don’t want to freak you out or put any pressure on you, but—”

“It’s perfect,” I whispered, gazing up at him through blurry, waterlogged eyes. “It’s so fucking perfect. I wanna do it right now.”

Hans smiled in relief. Then, he leaned forward and kissed my goofy grin. “You’re not even old enough to buy cigarettes.”

“Pssh. This is the South. I can get married with a forged note from my parents.”

Hans laughed. I watched his eyes shift to something over my shoulder. Then his face lit up. “A forged note and a ring. C’mere.”

Taking my hand, Hans led me to an old-timey cart in the middle of the street that had been converted into a jewelry store kiosk. An older man with a bushy gray mustache was sitting on a stool on the opposite side, reading the newspaper.

“Pick whatever you want. It’s just for now. I’ll get you something better later.”

The man glanced up from his paper and scoffed at Hans’s comment.

We snickered under our breath as I perused the cases of rings. They were fancy. Signs boasting 14k Gold and Real Diamonds surrounded the merchandise. I didn’t really wear jewelry, other than my piercings, so I was at a total loss.

“Will you pick one for me?” I asked, hopeful. “I can’t decide.”

Hans smiled and tapped on the Plexiglas above a small white gold band with a channel of inlaid black diamonds going across the front. “I like this one,” he said. “The black diamonds are kind of badass, don’t you think? And, after I get you an engagement ring, you could keep it and wear it as your wedding band.”

My beautiful, backward boy.

Only Hans would give a girl a wedding band as an engagement ring and an engagement ring as a wedding band.

And it was black and white, just like him.

“I love it.” I beamed up at him.

Hans leaned over and gave me a chaste kiss. “I love you,” he whispered.

The irritated man measured my finger and pulled a size five version of the ring Hans had chosen out from a drawer on the back of the cart. As I slipped it on and admired the way it looked on my left hand, Hans handed the man his debit card and signed the receipt.

Arm in arm, we continued on toward our favorite Mexican restaurant. I pointed out good places to take wedding photos along the way, making sure to point with my left hand, and Hans occasionally leaned over and kissed me, mid-sentence. At the restaurant, we tossed our backpacks and coats onto one side of the booth and sat on the opposite side together, drunk on love and dreams and saxophone music.

Hans ordered every taco on the menu while I drank in the sight of my ring for lunch. We went over his schedule, strategized the best places to meet up for a cigarette between periods, and laughed about the Women’s Studies class I’d signed him up for as an elective.

Life was good underground.

Too good.

When I finally tore my eyes away from my ring and looked at the clock on my cell phone, I realized we were going to be late to our one o’clock classes.

Hans waved over our waitress and handed her his card. Before we even finished pulling our coats and backpacks back on, she returned with an unhappy look on her face.

“Your card was declined.”

Hans furrowed his eyebrows. “Really? Will you try it again?”

“I tried three times, sir. It won’t go through.”

I laughed and took the card from the woman’s hand. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my wallet and handed her my own debit card, tucking Hans’s worthless piece of plastic into the slot next to it. “That’s it. I’m keeping this,” I said to Hans with a teasing smile. “You cannot be trusted with it.”

The woman disappeared.

“Damn it. I meant to deposit that money my mom gave me for books yesterday. Shit. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, accepting the receipt and a pen from our waitress. “But, from now on, I’m keeping up with your checking account. You’ve overdrawn that thing three times in the last month.”

Twenty-five bucks plus tax just for tacos? Ouch.

I signed the slip of paper and handed it back to her with a smile.

“C’mon. Women’s Studies waits for no man,” I teased, grabbing Hans’s hand. I laced our fingers together as we speed-walked toward the escalator that would lead us back to modern-day Atlanta.

I became aware of the ring on my fourth finger as it slid between his knuckles.

I also became aware that my thumb had landed on top of his.

It never landed on top.

Something new and exciting and something nagging and uncomfortable were both competing for my attention in that moment.

Guess which one I chose to ignore.