Nobody has given us a number. I asked once and then stopped asking.
I’m not measuring it. I refuse to spend whatever this is watching a calendar.
Yesterday
Peter drove him out to my house.
They got him into the wheelchair and up the ramp Peter’s brother-in-law built in one afternoon, and we sat on the porch where Jeffrey and I used to spread out our homework in 1983 with a bag of pretzels between us.
He held my hand the whole time.
And then he asked Peter to bring the box.
“I Never Officially Asked”
He set that walnut box down on the glider between us.
“You know, I never actually officially asked you.”
He was smiling.
“Ruth Ballard. Would nineteen-year-old you have said yes?”
I thought about it. I actually thought about it, because he deserved a real answer and not a sentimental one.
I thought about that girl on the football field with her pinky hooked around his, who knew and didn’t say.
