Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye

"I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm"

In large beds in Seattle, New York, Riverside and Renton I would wake on weekend mornings, Jenny beside me asleep--for I have always been an early riser and she a late sleeper--I would turn to gaze upon her. Her summer lightened hair--flaxen-colored from the sun's rays--I would softly and silently stroke, knowing only I would ever know of such moments. She would wake,  a pixie smile would come across her face. We would hug, cuddle, and begin to plan the day. It seems those moments were plentiful in NYC. Despite the troubles we had in Riverside, there too our weekends were filled with fun and adventure, if not  the feelings of love I remember elsewhere. 

 

Memory is tricky, though. For, I know that in NYC and elsewhere Jenny's mercurial temper could show up out  of nowhere.  It would appear like a process server pulling up in their car at the house while you were sitting at the picnic table in the front yard, unable to retreat--unwelcome and unavoidable. I can still hear her screaming at me as we were a block from the Museum of Natural History, approaching it from the rear in the north side of the street. The issue that had arisen, I don't know. Leiney was in her stroller, less than a year old, Jenny pushing the pram while haranguing me. I walked beside her on the outside of the sidewalk . It was a Saturday. We must have been living in Inwood, since Leiney was big enough to be in the stroller.  I think it was close to the end of our time in the City, and it must have been because I recall we were in shirt sleeves. Why was she mad? I just don't know. It could have been any of a 1000 things. It could have been my fault. I mean, it could have been my stupid self having said something or done something of which I knew or should have known better. It is also possible--it happened a lot--that while the above is still true--that it was actually something no one not in a relationship with her could have foreseen as a trigger for explosive anger. To be fair, I am perfectly able to do something angering and her anger may have been an understandable response. I just can't remember. What I do remember is that she was screaming at me, screaming at me, SCREAMING at me as we approached the museum. In public. Who does that? I don't know how it resolved. I remember walking away. Did we go to the museum that day? I don't know, it was 21 years ago. 

The Fish's Eddy Incident

Around the same time, as we were preparing to say goodbye to this city we loved, we decided to go shopping at Fish's Eddy, a local Manhattan store that sold hip dishes and other kitchen and dining accoutrements, many Manhattan themed. We already owned a set

of salt and pepper shakers--one remains--from there. We loved their stuff. We had Leiney with us, this time I was captain of the stroller. We must have purchased 10-15 things to take back home to Seattle--we were trying to cope with abandoning the City we had come to love so much. The clerk put everything in one bag, a paper bag-the kind with stiff jute-like material for a handle. Jenny was carrying the bag by the handle as we left the store walking on Broadway and turned right (where were we going?) and began walking down 19th. We hadn't even gotten out of the footprint of the store when the bottom of the bag broke and all the contents shattered onto the concrete. The clerk had put everything, several hundred dollars worth of stuff, in one bag that couldn't handle the strain. We were in shock. Somehow, this was my fault. Jenny's anger was directed at me. She is in anger overload, yelling at me to help her pick the shards up off the ground. I am doing my best to help. I am stupidly trying to problem-solve, we should go back inside and get them to give us new stuff-this is their fault I suggested. Jenny refused to do it--I never understood why. I offered to do it, she wasn't interested. But she was mad. As a hornet. At me. Maybe she thought she should have been pushing the stroller? I don't know. All I am certain of is that in her eyes, I had failed more than the bottom of the bag, and was responsible for the broken dishware and the loss of hundreds of dollars. 

The memories that stick, often are the ones in which you feel ill-used or embarassed. We don't choose our memories, but we can predict what is memorable. Treat your loved ones with that in mind.