100 Proof

We had just finished dancing to “Angel From Montgomery” when she approached us.

You guys have the mutual true, she said. I just made that up.

The mutual truth? I asked.

No, the mutual true. Like, you truly love each other.

We do, he said.

Someone asked me once what I would include in a book about relationships.

When your friends are all ‘meh’ about the person, it’s not good, I said. I blasted right past that red flag.

And, I said, when you stick to a plan with no regard for what’s really happening, it’s a really bad idea.

And, I said, if you’re asking yourself whether this is the person you should marry, and you never get an answer that satisfies you, you probably have your answer right there.

OK, how would you illustrate it? he asked me.

Wine is not a good thing for you today, he said at the end of a long silence. There has been a lot going on.

That’s ridiculous, she said.

You’re a little upset and wine is a depressant. You shouldn’t be drinking wine. He stood, then, and gathered the sections of his newspapers. I have a key to the room—you do whatever you want.

Well, I guess I’ll go to the room, too,, she said. But he left her there anyway. She stared into her glass, trying to decide her next move.

In still moments, I hear it: the small voice of who I was, once, for four weeks. It was winter, then, and we know how I hate winter, but even in snow, I could have reached out at any moment and touched the rough wall of a building filled with art.

On those short winter days, I read, and napped, and walked, and wrote and wrote and wrote. On those long winter nights, I drank wine and played cards.

It was perfection, and when i’m still for a minute, it’s the thing I want most.

My uncle picked an Irish hymn for his Jubilee Mass, and as I listened in the front row, I sobbed, nearly uncontrollably. My then-husband patted my knee, unsure of the emotion’s source–and I could not explain it to him.

“It’s old music,” said my cousin, some time later, when we spoke of this. “It touches something ancient and deep.”

I hear that hymn now, in my uncle’s cavernous absence.

Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray
your love in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day.

I understand the tears, this time.

Some days build like the whistle of a tea kettle, starting quiet and ending at a full-on shriek. But any day’s challenges will eventually boil over and away—it’s time’s guarantee.

The sun will set.

Even if hidden by clouds, the stars will emerge. Rest at the sight of those small beacons.

The sun will set.

When there are no wires, light candles. Let flame chase shadow so you don’t have to.

The sun will set.

As the quiet settles, invite it to stay. Cease conversation. Be still.

The sun, it will most definitely set.