It's just the turnpike but not knowing where I am is haunting fear.
So I reach to find my husband's leg and the warmth of his hand covers mine. Always warm, his hand covers mine - often he lifts it to his lips offering a kiss. Then, the grip releases; the constriction ceases and I inhale.
We went to the movies last month as movie dates are a favorite. We found our seats, threw the armrest that sat between our two chairs up, and I nestled beneath the brawny bend of his right shoulder so the warmth of him covered me. The previews played and we ultimately offered approval or not and planned the next movie date. Sadly, that evening, the majority of the previews failed to capture our interest. They were dark, or supernatural, or dystopian, or clearly about death and I leaned into the strength of his chest and shared a disappointed whisper, "What happened to writing just a good story?" letting my head rest on the width of his shoulder.
"We are the good story, babe" and he kissed my forehead.
We were engaged 26 years ago tonight, and while I cannot remember our wedding vows verbatim, I do know that we have found those places in between sickness and health, in between better and worse, in between want and plenty. We have traveled those dark stretches of unknown highway where the land of a common place seems foreign and where oxygen exists in plenty but remains impossible to breathe in.
Still - "We are a good story"
"That’s why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife. The two of them become one." Genesis 2:24