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I married my high school sweetheart. From our senior year she
was the only girl I ever wanted to take out.
Elizabeth and I sat across from each other in home room. I
was shy, and the only reason I could think of for speaking to
her was to ask her if she would bake a cake for me to give to my
father on his birthday. My father’s birthday is October 13, so
it had taken me six weeks to come up with that plan. She baked
the cake, and I gave it to him.
Then I had to think up another plan. I wasn’t having any
luck, so four weeks later she asked me to go to a party with
her. This was on November 13. I remember the date, because it
was Friday the Thirteenth.
Several more weeks passed, and I asked Elizabeth to a movie. She said yes and asked
what time. I said, “Twelve minutes after seven.”
I showed up at her house driving a Rambler American. I went
inside, shook hands with her father, and we were on our way by
thirteen minutes after seven.
Before the movie I pulled into the Pure Oil station to get
gas. I rolled down the window, and when Mr. Posey came over, I
said, “One.”
“One dollar’s worth?” Posey said.
“No,” I said, “one gallon.”
We stood in line outside the theater, and I stepped up to the
window and pulled a sock full of coins out of my pocket and paid
for our tickets in nickels and dimes.
I remember these details because she reminded me of them
often.
We married and had two children, Stephanie and John. I
worked, and Elizabeth
worked. The children went to school. We had friends over, and
they had us over. We took vacations to
Gulf Shores sometimes and to the Smoky Mountains
sometimes.
Early one February when the children were little, it snowed
and snowed, and we were unable to leave our house for five days.
During that snowy time,
Elizabeth
found a small, hard mass, no larger than a pea.
That spring there was surgery. Elizabeth went into the hospital when the
trees were bare, and when she came out, the forsythia was
yellow, the Japanese quince was scarlet, and the dogwood
blossoms were pink and white.
During the following four years Elizabeth was sometimes sick, and sometimes
well, sometimes in the hospital, and sometimes home. We measured
life in good days and bad days. Then there were just days, and
we measured them in good hours and bad hours.
It was in mid December that Elizabeth went into the hospital one last
time, and on Christmas Day there were no more days.
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