Soaked. Okay, not quite, but significantly wet. Most things in my purse, that is–and there happened to be a lot of important things in there that day (or at least things important to me in some way): two signed chapbooks of poetry (one rather hard to come by), my Mini Connolly tarot deck (also rare-ish) and my little black writing book. Everything’s still usable, but all of these things are now somewhat soiled and warped: the chapbooks a little bit bent, bits of paper rubbing off the covers; the black book soaked through the bottom (which is thicker than the top now), the ink bleeding; and the tarot cards scattered on the carpet from drying, the deck no longer uniform.
Basically, my boyfriend took a drink from my water bottle before our Ben Folds concert and accidentally twisted the lid on crooked before putting it back in my bag, where it got water on all of these things, and my legs, before I noticed. It wasn’t until the next day that I realized how much damage it actually did (though everything’s still usable). When it happened, I believe I mentioned it once, he apologized, I said, “It’s okay.”
I’ve been examining the damaged items all week–picking them up by the corners to squint at them, squeezing water out from between the black book’s pages, curiously poking my sad, warped tarot cards. But I haven’t said anything to him about it. It’s funny, but the whole thing simply doesn’t bother me.
We got lost on the way to the orchestra on Saturday, and were twenty minutes late, and it was fine. In fact, it was great. We also got lost on the way to the concert on Monday, were ten minutes late, and didn’t see more than a sliver of Ben Folds’s backside all night because the place was so crowded. The thing I’ll remember most about that concert is sitting on the floor against a wall for over an hour, the two of us cuddling and making faces at one another. The sound was pretty good. But I had fun without it.
I figure that’s proof of love–not that I needed it. But it was a nice way to reflect on the weekend, on missing AWP for Valentine’s Day (of all things), on the ways I am glad for it. We ate good food and watched lots of Toradora. I was given great, sweet love poems (one involving wolves) and all sorts of my favorite candies. When he left I just wanted to send a piece of myself with him, so I packed some of the cookies I made (that he loved) in a plastic bag for his flight. I can’t even explain the weight of my sadness when I realized he’d forgotten them on the bed, and couldn’t eat them.
That’s life for you. Looking forward to more.
