Parting Seats

I told myself I wasn't going to do this. But, my husband's and my anniversary is on my mind. Along with the annoying creak in the ceiling fan. The faint headache from the one glass of red wine I've consumed. The tightness in my shoulders. The frustration with writing a blog at all. Writing a blog. What the hell does it mean, anyway?

My husband is on a business trip for the first time in our history together. Meanwhile, our wedding anniversary came and went last Tuesday, mostly uncelebrated since it's rather hard to celebrate with a person who isn't in your immediate vicinity.

Earlier tonight, I was putting up wedding photos of us. Ssshhhh. It's a surprise. And, my heart's belly flipped a little. There we were. Walking down the aisle hand-in-hand while the orchestra of crickets and faceless figures awaited our approach in the nearing dark.

The woman in that photo is clearly me at one point in her life. A thousand years ago, on the most idyllic night of her life. And yet, the whole event was a production, a party, a coming-out.

After three years of marriage, sometimes I feel like I've lived thirty years with my husband. As if, somehow we are already those two old fogies on the porch, sharing the knitted blanket so and so made us. What was her name again? That was so long ago now, dear, wasn't it?

Many other times, I feel like we met thirty days ago. He came over last night, carrying a rose for his first forgotten phone call. Then, he's on the couch, playing my old Gibson, singing his heart out. No matter that there's only this audience of one. I am in awe and definitely in serious like.

Then, we're broken up, eating breakfast on a sunny Sunday. The day is moving on, and it's getting hotter on the restaurant patio. And, I've never been this happy in my life, except we aren't together. I am just realizing this guy is my best friend and wishing I could grab his hand.

Then, there we are. In that photo. Holding our breath in, our legs somehow moving, although we aren't conscious of how. But they're taking us down the aisle. Across the cement patio, through the parting seats.

I love you like no other.