1. He asked if I wanted to rent Frozen from Redbox.
2. Aware of my need for affirmation, he tells me routinely that I'm a great mom.
3. He always tries to remember which towel to use after showering.
4. When he gets home from a long day of work, he is quick to watch Ella and let me take a walk or run errands.
5. If I make even the most subtle hint about something I need or want, he will drop everything -- completely putting aside his own needs and wants -- to get it for me.
6. He speaks well of me to others; doesn't put me down.
7. He is quick to apologize.
8. He says he likes the slightly rotund, just-had-a-baby look.
9. He eats Panera and pizza for my sake.
10. He never plays NBA 2K 12 for longer than thirty minutes.
Being married for barely a little over a year and having a newborn is hard, but during the hard times I remind myself of all the ways I know he loves me.
The word “balcony”
brings to mind quaint fixtures overlooking Parisian alleyways, decorated with
blossoming flowers, drenched in the aroma of croissants baking somewhere not
too far off and golden streaks of sunlight.
Rich, happy couples walk out onto balconies. Theirs is the type of wealth that is
comfortable and understated, with no need for bragging but the slight undertone
of haughtiness. The “we have no need to
buy a palace in Versailles, although we could very well do so” type. The “let’s take a spontaneous weekend trip to
Dubai” type. The
chauffeurs and locked gateways and Persian rugs and fancy cigars type. Our balcony was not that type of balcony and
we were not that type of couple.
The realities of life
set in fast for Edwin and I. If it
weren’t for me, I swear we would have drowned in his underwear because it
always somehow managed to end up on the floor.
And I’m sure he was surprised to find himself drowning in my ever-so-ladylike farts,
especially after he made his delicious guacamole, which seemed to have that marvelous
effect on me. He and I jumped into
marriage and everyday life after having known each other for seven months, over
half of which we spent separated by the entire United States of America.
The view from our balcony
was a barbed wire fence along with some overgrown trees, which separated our
apartment building from a much nicer row of town houses. Looking down onto the ground, one saw a
clunky, black boot – laces undone, partner nowhere to be found. A wide selection of beer bottles and one
empty Capri Sun pouch. The air smelled faintly
of the cigarette smoke that wafted up from the apartments below. Weeds, weeds, and more weeds had taken over
the ground, had grown over trash of previous years. And yet, magic remained.
He was what made it
this way. Edwin was simply magic to
me. Finding the balance, this is my
challenge in writing about our life. The balance
between depicting reality, however unpleasant or rough or crude, and depicting
the beautiful magic that he has made a part of my everyday. “Magic,” I suppose, is a very elusive, blurry
word, yet explaining or defining it… explaining or defining him… is what truly
eludes me. I am faced with the question so many storytellers are faced with: With
all these winding, intercrossing, overlapping paths that finally made he and I
husband and wife, where do I begin?
As for, facts, truthfulness,
and accuracy: Memories have a way of blurring over time, becoming hazy the
longer minutes separate you from them. Remembering,
you feel emotions, you see snapshots, you catch only glimpses of what truly
happened. Sometimes, even, you re-imagine
events in ways perhaps you wished they had occurred, slightly altering the
truth. With this in mind, no matter how
hard I try, how truthful can I be? There
are secrets that only he and I will hold forever. These secrets may appear as blanks in our
story, names changed, facts slightly altered to protect us from those who would
use the truth against us. Because in our
experience, everyone appoints themself judge.
Standing on that
balcony of ours, my eyes glanced over the litter, the weeds, the ugly fence and
the “greener grass” on the other side of it.
I saw the possibilities of a future with him and all that, together, he
and I could do. Gratefulness filled my
heart. Knowing that he stood just a few
feet away from me, knowing that all I had to do to hold him was walk through a
doorway was infinite happiness. When
separation is the daily routine for so long, togetherness is given greater
value; that dingy, old balcony could have been all the living space we had, and
yet I would have treasured it with him.
This magic, this romance, this specialness was immersed in our reality
and made me feel, every day, like I was looking out onto the streets of Paris.
