A Proposal in Playa Arrocito

Spolier alert: she said yes

Last weekend I took a short break from the book tour to celebrate my sixteenth wedding anniversary in the exact same spot where Nuvia and I got engaged. There are a couple stories there but before I get into it, I’m officially back on the road today. I’ll be driving solo for all of these events so if you’re in the area I’d love to hear from you. I have some gaps in my schedule and room to maneuver.

June 1-3 in McGill, Nevada
I’ll be slinging books at the Schellraiser Music Festival all three days and appearing on the Side Stage Saturday June at 3pm.

June 4 Salt Lake City
On Sunday I’ll head to 9th and 9th Book & Music Gallery for a book signing, reading, and miscellaneous shenanigans at 4pm.

June 7 Tempe, Arizona
I have the honor of being in conversation with Kid Congo Powers at Changing Hands bookstore at 7pm.

June 8-10 Rancho Mirage, California
i’ll be a guest at the University of California Riverside Palm Desert Low Residency MFA.

Lastly, a piece I wrote about the intersection of punk and crime was published at CrimeReads last week. Here’s a taste:

Punk and crime go together like boots and broken glass, 53rd and 3rd, Sid and Nancy. Since the first squall of feedback ripped through an amplifier, punk rock has been associated with criminal activity.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night…

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Those were the words that sprang from my beloved’s lips when I asked for her hand in marriage seventeen years ago.

Her frustration was somewhat understandable considering the circumstances.

We had been traveling together in Mexico for about a week: first in Oaxaca City, then to Juchitán for a huge party, before finally arriving at a tiny little hotel above a rocky cove in Huatulco. The engagement ring had been burning a hole in my pocket for a week. Every time Nuvia looked especially lovely, which was often, I felt the urge to drop down on one knee and pop the question.

I fought this urge because I had a destination in mind: Playa Arrocito, a little beach a short walk from our hotel in Huatulco. So I waited.

We arrived at the hotel later in the day then we expected and not only was the sun going down but storm clouds were forming on the coast. Nuvia wanted no part of walking to the beach but I was insistent.

Playa Arrocito is not a tourist beach. It sits in a steep narrow cove that isn’t accessible by boat. It is wild place choked with mangrove trees and littered with huge boulders. The waves that make their way into the cove smash themselves to pieces on the beach. I told Nuvia to take off her shoes so we could put our feet in the water.

Nuvia didn’t want to put her feet in the water but again I was insistent.

The water hissed and swished and swirled around us, tugging at our feet while the surf thundered on the enormous rocks that had tumbled from the cliffs above.

This is it, I thought.

This is when I ask Nuvia to marry me.

My heart was jackhammering in my chest, not because I was worried Nuvia would say no, which was a definite possibility, but because if in my nervous state I dropped the ring I was never seeing it again. It would instantly get sucked into the boiling cauldron of the cove and spat out on the seafloor several miles away.  

So I suggested we get out of the water. Nuvia, certain I was fucking with her at this point , exclaimed, “Jim!” which seventeen years later I can confidently translate as, “What the fuck is going on?”

And that’s when I proposed.

This story has a second story that begins shortly before our trip.

On the night of our departure from LAX we were visiting Nuvia’s parents, Vicky and Tony. I made up some excuse to be alone with Tony in the backyard. I told him my intentions and asked for his blessing.

“You want to marry my daughter?” he asked.

“With your permission,” I replied.

He got a little misty-eyed and stuck out his hand and we shook. I don’t know what Tony’s reaction would have been had I not asked for his approval but I guessed that it was important to Nuvia.

And I was right.

As we left the beach there were fireflies twinkling in the mangroves and lightning flashing far out to sea. We went back to our hotel and sat on the balcony and drank tequila and talked about our new life together. Muy romantico.

When we got back to the states we gathered with Nuvia’s family in Valle de Guadalupe. Nuvia was telling her tias about the proposal and how I’d even asked for her dad’s blessing first.

“No he didn’t!” Vicky shouted from down the table.

“Yes, he did,” Nuvia said, “right Jim?”

The whole family looked from Vicky, to Nuvia, to me. I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into but there was only one person who could get me out of it.

I can’t remember what Tony was doing when he finally spoke up and said, “Yeah, he did,” but he probably had either a cup of coffee or a cigarette close at hand.

Well, it turns out that when Nuvia’s sister got married many years before, Tony had been left out of some of the wedding planning and hadn’t forgotten, so he decided to keep this little nugget about me asking for Nuvia’s hand in marriage to himself and never got around to telling Vicky about our plans.

Fun fact: I’m wearing the same shirt I was married in.

All these memories from seventeen years ago came this weekend when we spent our wedding anniversary at the same hotel steps away from the same beach. We didn’t renew our vows or anything like that. It was enough that we managed not to get sucked into the surf at Playa Arrocito, which is as wild and untamed as ever, although now there are condos perched on both sides of the cove.

Time marches on, as they say, and several members of our family who were at our wedding are no longer with us. My mom, both of Nuvia’s grandfathers, and Tony, who passed away a year ago this month.

Thank you for letting me share this memory with you. We returned to San Diego energized and ready for whatever the world throws our way, but you’ll have to forgive our reluctance to forecast what that world might look like seventeen years from now.

If we are lucky enough to live that long I can promise you one thing: I’ll have some stories for you…