When I moved to Nashville a year and a half later, my coat came with me, though it was hard to fathom needing it in the suffocating heat of mid-August. Soon enough, the heat faded with the leaves, and the slate grey sky of winter settled over the city. I hated winter in Nashville. It was always, always grey, always, always a cold seep-into-your-bones rain falling because it wasn't quite cold enough to snow. I had wondered if I would need it, but I was thankful for my coat. By that time, it had seen better days. A button was loose, but more than that, the satin lining had worn out in the left pocket. More than once I'd dissolve into a panic thinking I had lost my keys, only to find that they had fallen through the pocket into the body of my coat. (Why I never just put my keys in my purse is beyond me). When the grey lifted and the cherry blossoms bloomed, it went back into my closet, and I thought little of the holes in the pocket which, by that time, had worn through the bottom of my coat as well.
And really, those little holes didn't matter.
Then on a frigid December night in 2005, when 8 inches of snow blanketed Dekalb and the little towns around it, Josh and I went out for a fancy Italian dinner to celebrate surviving the semester, which had ended the day before. I had gotten my hair cut earlier in the day and dressed in my best dress pants and cashmere sweater. He came to my apartment, and I slipped my camera into my coat as we left. After all, it wasn't often that we went out for a nice dinner--usually the $5 special from Pagilai's was all our grad school stipends could afford.
We went to the Zsa Zsa Tratoria, and Josh got something he couldn't pronounce, which was endlessly amusing to me. Then we went for a drive to look at the Christmas lights, and on a little country road outside of Dekalb that had barely been plowed, he pulled over and asked me to be his wife.
When I could finally pull my eyes off of the beautiful ring he'd placed on my finger, Josh and I took pictures of our happy moment. Selfies before the days of Instagram, on old-fashioned roll film, because what grad student had money for the new technology that was the digital camera? I remember thinking I would cherish those pictures because it isn't too often you get a photo of the moment your life changes forever.
We stopped by my apartment, and then headed back out for a quick stop (though for what I don't remember) before coming back to my apartment to call our families and watch Bridget Jones's Diary, the only romantic comedy Josh had. And it was as we were settling in to watch the movie that I realized that my camera was gone. There was no finding it. The satin had given way too much, and somewhere in our celebration, it had slipped out forever.
In the 8 years since that night, I have sometimes mourned the loss of those pictures. I wish I hadn't put my camera in my coat. I wish I could see how happy we were--and how young. I wish I knew what they looked like. I wish I could show them to our daughters.
Last winter, I finally bought myself a new pea coat. It is purple and warm and fantastic, and I even have a nice fleece scarf to go with it. My reliable old black coat has been retired, holes and all.
I suppose, in the end, it doesn't matter. The beautiful ring Josh placed on my finger 8 years ago tonight has been joined by a simple gold band.
Every morning, I get to wake up with him by my side (though often Elaina and Ellie quite happily join us, especially on the weekends). Every day I get to share with him, the tedium of the normal routines, the miracles of our little girls, the pain that comes with loss and stress and fear, the day-in, day-out, dirty dishes and laundry and chores and laughter and deep conversations that never seem to run out, despite the hours and hours we've talked to one another since we met. And every night, I get to curl up into the nook in his side.
After all, promises are better than pictures, anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment