Last night, lying in bed, a memory came to me out of nowhere.  You and I were dating.  It was winter, just after the holidays.  It was a cold Saturday and I had come to your house early, to spend the day together.  We spent the entire day in your room, making love and talking, occasionally sleeping.  We listened to music, and laid wrapped in each other’s embrace, and I remember thinking to myself, this, this is perfection.

That evening, we finally got out of your bed.  We went out to eat, and you stopped at my car to kiss me in the falling snow.  After dinner I drove home, the snow building in intensity.  I remember seeing a snow plow on the bridge, and gratefully following behind it, relatively sure that it would be safer that way.  I was always afraid of driving over that bridge anyway, let alone in the snow.

For years, I kept that memory close to my heart, to have during the bad times with you.  My perfect day.


What I didn’t allow myself to remember about that day?  That day was an apology from you.  I didn’t let myself remember that you kept the lights off in your room, and we made love under blankets, so you couldn’t see the fresh bruises all over me.  I didn’t want to think about how afraid I was to say anything, because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and get you angry all over again.  I pretended to forget that the reason I drove home to New Jersey from Philadelphia instead of spending the night at your house was because I had seen the tell-tale glaze in your eye after the third or fourth drink that night.

You say I don’t tell the whole truth on my blog?  This is my truth.  All of it.  Is this what you wanted to see?

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