1 Prelude

I watch the autumn air turn over leaves with a handful of crumbs. It's our Wednesday routine, my husband and I's. We come to the same wood paneled bench just west of the Washington Monument, carrying a Ziploc of the same unsalted broken pretzels, feeding the same overweight and over-domesticated squirrels. Or should I say we have regulars: Rosko, Evelyn, Jasper, and Levy. They find us steps before we even take our seats, knowing the punctual arrival of a middle-aged couple (I wonder if they have names for us too) and the sure amount of delights stored inside their pockets.

I see my husband approaching now. He took leave for a hot dog stand after we finished feeding the squirrels. I watch as he carefully cradles an aluminum-bagged corn dog in each hand.

"Here you are, love," he says as he hands me one of the dogs.

"Thanks Noah," I say.

He arcs a brow at me. "You're welcome."

After I unsheathe my corndog, I follow an impulse to raise it in the air and shut one eye; I then extend my arm to bring the dog into a sizable approximation next to the Monument.

"What are you doing?" Noah asks, a smile transferring to his green eyes.

"Starting a cock fight."

He laughs. "With the Monument?"

"Of course. How can you sit here and not want to challenge its erectness?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit out of your dog's weight class."

"Not from my perspective." I turn my viewing to show him, adjusting the corndog to match the length of his head. Then I start smacking his would-be temple with the butt of the dog.

"You're such a child sometimes," he laughs.

I retract the corndog and bite off its head with a smile.

After all these years, I still feel utterly in love with him. I remember when it was after I turned thirty that things started to turn upside down – after learning that kids were no longer an option. But things got better after therapy. When it came to the end of our sessions, seeing him seated next to me, so strong and committed, that's when I really fell in love with him. And even though there were some large obstacles afterwards, it didn't matter then. And even though subsequent amours still tried to impose themselves, it didn't matter then. My trust in our bond was too strong to ever feel that they could come between us.

But that was back when we lived in California. We're at such a different place now than from when we started (literally and figuratively). We had to basically pack up and move our whole lives away. All because someone had to die. Someone needed to die.

Noah's whistle suddenly startles me. He's calling over one of the fat squirrels as if it were a dog.

"Come and get it Evelyn," he says while holding out his corn dog stick - with nothing on it except for the overly fried corn crust stuck to the middle.

Evelyn prances over and inspects the stick with her nose. Her black eyes glitter in the low light of a cloudy day. When she finally takes her gift, she lets it drop after only having taken one bite (a privileged squirrel move).

Somewhere near the Lockkeeper's House the siren from an ambulance screams. The wind stirs up too, then mellows with the fading siren.

"It's good. It's good," I whisper.

I feel Noah looking at me. "The corndog?"

I nod. "It's good," I repeat, trying to bring my attention to the corn dog that's only missing one bite; but I feel his gaze. I know he's questioning me. Analyzing me.

"We're good," I say, looking into his face in a way that added a question mark.

He puts an arm around me to comfort me. He knows when I get scared. Even slightly. But he doesn't say anything.

I kiss him softly on the lips. I hope we're good, I think.

When I say this, it's not a question to Noah and I's relational standing. I know we're good. So no, It's not about that. It's about what we did. Or really, what I did.

That was the only thing that could utterly destroy us.