Oranges, Shoulder Blades, and Windsor Knots
Written by Kelly on March 22nd, 2010Each day was like an avalanche. Paper cut mornings and parking ticket afternoons. His week was fashioned like a Windsor knot around a starched collar, stiff under a three-piece suit. In the evenings, he came home from work. The house was clean. The children were in their beds dreaming. A still-warm plate of lasagna was on the counter wrapped in foil. There was a cold beer in the fridge. He carried the beer and generous plate into the den. He found his wife asleep on the sofa.
She was still wearing her running shoes. He tried to wake her, couldn’t. He placed the plate of lasagna and cold beer on the floor. He untied the laces of his wife’s shoes, removed them. He peeled back her socks to expose her soft skin. She recently had a pedicure. Her toes were painted a bright orange color. He held her right foot like fire cupped gently in his hand. He felt like Prometheus, or like the lines of the Gary Soto poem his English teacher had read to the class in the seventh grade.
He was reminded of the summer he and his wife rode their bicycles to the beach on Block Island. She wore summer dresses in floral prints. Those dresses were tied around her neck with ribbons of thin silk. She piled her long dark hair atop her head, leaving her shoulders and neck bare and freckled. He spent an entire summer riding behind his wife, beautiful on a bicycle. He worshipped her shoulders that summer, her shoulders as thin as grace.
The man was exhausted now. He closed his eyes. He leaned his body back against the couch. He inhaled. He exhaled. The arch of his wife’s foot was still warm against his palm. He placed it atop his lap, tenderly. He loosened his tie. He reached down to grab the cold beer. He popped the lid. Taking a great big swallow, he smiled. He wished that his wife was awake to see it.
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Those remembrances are why I will be with my wife until the end.
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Not far from the truth. I still worship your beautiful shoulders every day, always have, always will.
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“Her shoulders as thin as grace.”
Damn.
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perfect.
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Perfect. Indeed. *sighs*
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To be loved is a wonderful thing.
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Love the title, love the post. Thanks.
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I hope you’re writing a book or shopping around these vignettes for publishing because they always take my breath away or leave me with a lump in my throat.
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really lovely.
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Great piece, great blog.
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I can see her now.
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Someone else quoted, “her shoulders as thin as grace” and I thought, but I want to quote that and say how much I liked it. So, I will. It’s gorgeous.
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“her shoulders and neck, bare and freckled.” In my life there have been many women, and more than one is an impression of shoulders and neck, bare and freckled. Thank you, for stirring all those old memories.