Butterflies
On our twentieth anniversary, she has me sitting on the bed for half an hour, waiting for her to pick out a dress. When she finally steps out and looks at me, I feel butterflies. She gives me a small smile, turning and pulling her hair up. Zip me up. She looks over her shoulder at me as I walk toward her, tells me she's looking forward to a real fancy dinner. My fingers skim along her bare back as I pull the zipper up upup, and when I reach the end I sweep her hair back and run my fingers through it. Beautiful, I whisper. The butterflies agree.
River
They brought him to the country during the summer of his tenth birthday. The three of them took walks together in the forest, and on one such walk they stumbled upon a river. The boy loved it there, splashing around through the water and balancing on the rocks. They had picnics right beside the river, and she would read to him with his head in her lap while they kept an eye out to make sure he didn't fall because of the slippery rocks. Two years later, they went back to find the river dried up.
Water
We made plans to eat lunch, and because traffic was far better than I had expected I arrived fifteen minutes early. With plenty of people, I would have uncomfortably waited in the car until it was closer to when we'd agreed to meet. With him, though, I got out of the car and went up to his apartment without a second thought. When he opened the door, he had nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and water dripping from his hair and down his torso. He grinned and stepped back as though seeing him in such a condition was an everyday occurrence. I apologize for being so early, but he waves this off and says he was almost ready anyway. The image of water sliding down his chest stays vivid for days.
Rock
When it comes down to it, he doesn't listen to my rock music or her odd indie stuff. He can't seem to stop listening to jazz. I bought him a drumset, hoping that he'd become the next great rock legend, but instead of bringing home friends who play guitar, he brings home friends who play saxophone, upright bass, trumpet. Don't get me wrong—I love that he's passionate about music. He tells me one day that he wants to grow up and be a band director at a high school. And I love that, I really do. I can't help but wish, though, that we could rock out together while we're in the car and I'm teaching him how to drive.
Tree
On their tenth anniversary, they went on a picnic, sat under a tree in the middle of a field. She agreed to prepare the food, with him supervising of course. They laid in the shade of the tree for hours, fingers linked and talking off and on, but for the most part just taking in the fact that those first ten years certainly seemed to fly by. She dozed, and when he looked at her he couldn't help but smile.
Lions
Both of them love the lions. The two of them rush there first thing on our trip to the zoo, one sitting on the other's shoulders. I laugh at their maniacal grins as he points and he squeals in excitement. The sight of it makes me smile, my two boys together. We walk through the zoo together, both of us holding a hand of our son and swinging him up in the air. One our way out, we stop by the store, and pick up two stuffed lions—one for each of them. Both of them cling to their own for the entire drive home.
Gum
She likes to chew gum when she drives. She always has about five packs in the glove compartment, and eventually it gets to the point where I can determine what mood she's in purely based on the gum that she's chewing. My favorite days are when she chooses mint—it means she plans on kissing me. A lot.
Packs
The children are running around in packs, and it makes both of them glad that they have a big yard. Five years is big for him, and he's delighted that he has so many kids over to celebrate it with him, but while they're in the kitchen slicing the cake they acknowledge that they're never having a party anywhere near this large again. When he slams his face into the cake, they agree that perhaps they should also find a slightly less sticky alternative for next year.
Tangerines
When we go grocery shopping for the first time, he and I argue about whether we should buy oranges or tangerines. He's always preferred oranges because he says that they're bigger and more filling, but I protest that the taste of tangerines is far superior. Eventually, we agree to buy both. Over the next week, I eat an orange for breakfast every morning, and he makes sure to pack two tangerines for lunch every day.
"Always & Forever"
I look at her, really look, for the first time since I met her. I take in her shimmering eyes, her flaming hair, her smile and her opalescent skin. I try to memorize the expression on her face as she examines me thoughtfully, in exactly the same manner. She smiles at me, reaches up and brushes my cheek with her hand. I lean in and whisper in her ear. I love you. Always have, always will. Always and forever.