It's hard to believe that we once lived in a little old apartment above a law office. When I moved in, you tried to dress it up a bit by adding lace curtains and a fake plant or two. I could tell by the way your sheets pilled that they weren't an acceptable thread count. You didn't mind that I upgraded them. I tried to open the windows but they were painted shut. I asked for some fresh air so you spent the better part of one afternoon with a hammer and screwdriver prying them open. We couldn't afford a large grill, so we set a tiny charcoal grill on the rooftop and enjoyed shish kabobs out there.
I worked as a life guard at the local pool and you worked at an iron foundry. In the summer evenings, I lay in bed with you, ate avocados with lime and read aloud to you The Catcher in the Rye. It was then that you told me you wanted our first son to be named Holden.
We had no ATM card. We had a metal filing cabinet with a bank envelope full of cash. When we needed money, we went to the filing cabinet, not the bank. We had no credit, so when the envelope was empty, we had to wait until pay day. We had fights at times, "Who took the last $20?"
On weekends, we sometimes camped at bluegrass festivals. One year, our tent almost blew away with us in it. A tornado had touched down just miles from us. The wind was blowing hard and the rain was pounding with such force that it was leaking heavily inside. You couldn't tell the rain from my tears when I screamed that we were going to die. You held me, laughed uneasily and told me it will pass us soon. And it did. The next day, I was tired, looked disheveled and smelled like mildew. You were wearing your camping/Huck Finn blue jean shorts. We ate breakfast at the Cracker Barrel anyway.
Your surprised me often with small gifts: candles, chocolates, or cards. If we had the money, you surprised me with bigger gifts, like a trip out of town. One of those trips was to an Econo Lodge just 45 miles out of town. You were so proud. A night of HBO movies, pizza and beer. An ice storm took the power out so you scooped the snow from outside into our ice bucket and dumped it and the beers into the sink. We ended up playing cards by candlelight.
I worked as a life guard at the local pool and you worked at an iron foundry. In the summer evenings, I lay in bed with you, ate avocados with lime and read aloud to you The Catcher in the Rye. It was then that you told me you wanted our first son to be named Holden.
We had no ATM card. We had a metal filing cabinet with a bank envelope full of cash. When we needed money, we went to the filing cabinet, not the bank. We had no credit, so when the envelope was empty, we had to wait until pay day. We had fights at times, "Who took the last $20?"
On weekends, we sometimes camped at bluegrass festivals. One year, our tent almost blew away with us in it. A tornado had touched down just miles from us. The wind was blowing hard and the rain was pounding with such force that it was leaking heavily inside. You couldn't tell the rain from my tears when I screamed that we were going to die. You held me, laughed uneasily and told me it will pass us soon. And it did. The next day, I was tired, looked disheveled and smelled like mildew. You were wearing your camping/Huck Finn blue jean shorts. We ate breakfast at the Cracker Barrel anyway.
Your surprised me often with small gifts: candles, chocolates, or cards. If we had the money, you surprised me with bigger gifts, like a trip out of town. One of those trips was to an Econo Lodge just 45 miles out of town. You were so proud. A night of HBO movies, pizza and beer. An ice storm took the power out so you scooped the snow from outside into our ice bucket and dumped it and the beers into the sink. We ended up playing cards by candlelight.
Today, we pass one another briefly while I am leaving for work and you are getting home. It has to be this way, for the almighty dollar. It has to be this way so we can stay at 5 star hotels. It has to be this way so we can dine in upscale restaurants and drive nice cars. We aren't hungry anymore; but I miss the hungry years.
I love this. I love you. T
ReplyDeleteI love you too Tommy.
ReplyDelete