Some memories are fluid, untrustworthy as they embellish themselves. Some are burned into my soul, so even as they hold beautiful moments, they are solid, comforting in their details. As time has passed this last year, some memories have been lost, and some have resurfaced, bringing me to tears. This is one which touched me deeply.
The memory is of tomorrow’s date, 20 November, in the year 1998. I had just turned forty and ended a relationship. The week prior, on my birthday, I had stopped by Chaddsford Winery, where I had worked for a few years and was part of the family. I had just had my tragus pierced, and was in a very good mood. My friend Suzanne said “You must have found a new love, you’re glowing,” to which I replied “Nope, no relationships, I’m taking a break,” much to the shock of the table. I had a well earned reputation as a ladies man, my friend Pete once exclaimed so loud my date heard him, “Where do you find these women?” I told her he was complimenting us both.
The memory of 20 November was inspired more by some flowers than the calendar, more on that later.
There was an event coming up at the winery, a Nouveau tasting, and I needed an escort. I found this ad in the paper.
Emma’s personal ad
This was a world before the internet, with personal ads in newspapers and conversations by telephone. We eliminated the goal of “lifelong partner,” her husky voice informing me that there were two things I needed to know about her, she was Sicilian and she smoked. Ironically, I was with her for the remainder of her life.
I picked her up at her apartment, she didn’t want me to come to her door due to her dog, a two hundred pound Rottweiler. As I waited in the car she came out and first approached another car, she later told me she had asked if he was Blake and he had said “I sure wish I was.”
I drove us to the winery, there was a light rain. As we approached I told her I knew an alternate entrance, through an open park behind the winery. It had not occurred to me how strange it would be to drive off the road and through the woods with someone I had just met in person, later she told me her hand had been on the door handle the entire time.
We had a lovely evening, I’m fairly sure she was impressed with the way we were treated by Eric and Lee, the owners. We were kissing quite a bit in the barrel room and she suggested we continue at my place. I did not need to be asked twice. When we reached my room in South Philadelphia, a “trinity” with a winding staircase, she looked around and said “This won’t do at all” quite severely. I wasn’t sure what she meant, until she continued “You’ll have to move into my place.” I had been in her presence for about three hours, but had no reason to argue. I went down to the kitchen to get some food, and returned to find her on my bed in a lovely corset. At some point we slept, we awoke intertwined.
I drove her to a little pancake house near her place for breakfast. I had Belgian waffles, then I dropped her off and went to my weekend job at a florist North of Philadelphia. When I arrived at work my friend Beverly picked up my vibe and was ecstatic for me, preparing a bouquet for my new date that evening with Emma. Emma brought her handcuffs. It took almost a week to move into her place in Delaware county.
Now the flowers.
About a month later we traveled to Bloomsburg Pennsylvania to see my oldest son Leyland in a “A Christmas Carol.” The next morning she suggested we “stop by” and visit her friends Catherine and Bill in Staten Island. She never was much for directions, but my ex-wife had been rather rude the night before (she was under the impression I was coming to see her) so I was seeking a way to sooth her.
We finally located Catherine and Bill after dark, and had quite a bit to drink with them. At one point Catherine reached over and broke a piece off of a plant about six inches long, telling Emma it would root if she just stuck it in some dirt. Last month, eighteen years later, that plant finally died. It had flourished, and had been shared with several friends through the years. It is called “Crown of Thorns” and produces small pink flowers. At least ours did, no one else ever saw them, and Emma felt she had an intimate relationship with the plant, which was producing the flowers just for her.
When Emma was in the hospital, just a few days before her death, some friends brought a plant. It had a much thinker trunk, but it was the same species, Crown of Thorns. I have had that plant for just over six years now, and the other day it produced flowers for the first time. I was so excited Sam heard me in the other room. These flowers are white, but apparently there were pink ones previously, the petals remain nearby.
These flowers remind me of the entire story. So far the majority of my rediscovered memories have been pleasant, I always had trouble remembering bad times. I know Emma and I had disagreements, but we usually ended up laughing, like when she threw a spoon at me and it bounced off my head and embedded into the ceiling.
I worry sometimes that I dwell on Emma. Right now exploring memories feels safe, I don’t focus on a single moment and repeat it, I just have a wealth of pleasant moments with Emma. I have no desire to live in the past, I’m just glad I remember it.