Buried Memories

TODAY

We’ve shared this dance so many times before. I sometimes wonder why I even try to continue. But one look in those soft eyes, or that curve along the bridge of her nose, and another day of this routine seems possible. So I continue.

And then she comes into the room, her hands on her hips, and that quizzical smirk as she is about to say something important, like Patton deciding if the weather is right for an attack, and all you can do is wonder what could be so important at this moment and time.

And then she speaks: “I love you, and I finally forgive you.”

I don’t know what to say. I’ve been waiting twenty years to hear her say that. “Are you sure?” I ask her. It’s been so long that I can’t believe she’s serious.

She snuggles into my arms, a tear running down her face and dripping across my forearm. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the backyard. She stops us in front of the tree.

The tree stretches to the sky. Its limbs have no sense of order to them, but even in its chaotic state, there is a semblance of life and understanding.

“We planted it twenty years ago, and it has grown into something wonderful,” she says. “I nurtured it almost every day, and look at it now.” She then turns back to me. “This is why I finally forgive…