*At an Illini football game, October 31, 2009*
Every relationship has at least one really good day.
What I mean is, no matter how sour things go, there's always that day.
That day is always in your possession.
That's the day you remember.
You get old and you think: well, at least I had that day.
It happened once.
I've been doing something dangerous lately. I've been remembering.
Most of what Sky and I have right now is pain. We talk about it as if it's a commodity. I have more than you, he says. I have a stockpile, I say. We examine these coins, rub them between a thumb and forefinger, and wonder how we started this odd collection.
It seems like there were different people playing our roles when it all started. But, gosh, wasn't it beautiful? We met in the perfect way- it's something we've always agreed on. It was so sweetly serendipitous, so fated and lovely. It was kind of story other couples would kill for. It was the best. Things were rushed, but it didn't feel crazy. It felt like Romeo and Juliet, hastily claiming the other person as their own before their worlds came crashing down. The only things missing are a balcony and a full moon.
There are so many moments in the short time, so many snapshots in the darkroom- the smile on his face when we found out we were expecting, rose petals scattered on the floor, little notes on a chalkboard, having our empty apartment to ourselves the evening after the wedding. The time he brought up an engagement ring the first time, the first weekend we met, the first kiss, the first time I saw his face. I've long ago given up trying to figure out if these were real for him, or if it was my heart only that got caught up in it all. Maybe the point of it isn't whether they were his reality, because it was mine nonetheless. It was so pretty. It was so right.
These past few months, I feel like I've been having a funeral for something that I'm not quite sure is dead. Unfortunately, it doesn't play out like a sappy sitcom romance- will they get together this time? Will this be the episode? Instead, the popcorn gets stale and the audience yawns. The characters lose the plot.