She remembered the day they met as if it was...well, if she was being honest with herself, as if it was a couple of decades ago, and at a time when she was possibly under the influence of either alcohol or something stronger and illegal.
He had thick black hair back then that he preferred to keep short, until she convinced him he would look much nicer if he grew it out to at least shoulder length to allow for the natural waviness of his locks to show.
She thought hard for a moment, trying to decide if he was wearing blue jeans or just a pair of dark pants that day. His shirt was yellow, of that she was certain. Light yellow, maybe closer to a wheat color.
And it had the name of a band she liked screen-printed on the front, but it wasn't a concert tee - it was probably bought at Mervyn's (momentarily she interrupted her nostalgic reverie with the intruding thought, "Mervyns? Wow...is Mervyn's around anymore?").
That was what actually prompted their initial conversation, the name of the band on the shirt. She loved The Who, at least back then, and that particular shirt with the image of Pete Townsend stabbing at the air with his guitar and Roger Daltry raising the microphone high over his head while Entwistle stood off to the side like a statue, and all three of them obscuring either Moon or Jones on the kit behind them, was a truly great shirt.
She wondered for a moment whatever happened to the shirt...she clearly remembered taking it from him. Maybe she still had it in one of the boxes stored in the garage...someday she was going to have to look for it.
"What was I wearing?" She asked herself. "Was it the crocheted dress with the bright floral pattern that I bought in Huntington Beach? It must have been, I can remember him staring at me trying to see if he could see my body through the gaps in the loops."
She forced herself to stop trying to recall the moment they met and looked back down at the newspaper on the table, open to the Life & Culture section.
She re-read the marriage announcement, nodding her head as her eyes scanned the multiple paragraph description of the bride's and bridesmaid's dresses, and the listing of the names of the bride's father & stepmom, mother and husband, and the groom's father & deceased mother.
She stared at the name of the groom for longer than she wanted to, telling herself repeatedly to just turn the page.
It was a long time ago when they shared that little apartment. All those conversations, all those shared dreams, all those plans...all now just brackish water under a burned-down bridge.
"What are you reading?" A strong voice asked.
She looked up at her husband as he walked out onto the patio and smiled. "Oh, just the wedding announcements," she replied. "Cannot believe what some of these women consider appropriate to wear on their wedding day. Who in their right mind gets married in pastel taffeta these days?"
"Huh. Anyone we know tying the knot?" She looked back down at the paper as he said that and answered him while turning the page, "No, just a bunch of kids who probably don't have any idea what they're getting into..."
great post
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