Best Day
When July 4th rolled around again, Eric’s and my anniversary, my mom said, “Your wedding! That was the best day ever!”
If I was a cartoon, you’d immediately have seen several thought bubbles pop up over my head, pondering:
If I had the super-power ability to wipe July 4th off the calendar, would I do it? As I wrote last year, it’s a hard day to ignore, what with the public holiday, fireworks and general revelry that go along with it. Might be handy to erase those 24 hours annually and not get memory-bombed….
This year would have been our 23rd anniversary. I Googled “what is the gift for a 23rd anniversary,” and it’s air, according to Hallmark. That’s exactly what dead Eric gave me! Weird, because we never got each other anniversary gifts when he was alive. Not that we didn’t celebrate the day, but being well and together was gift enough.
Was our wedding the best day ever? Eric and I used to joke about it. He knew I had other contenders. Like the Saturday my brother and I – home alone as kids – poured giant bowls of Lucky Charms, dumped extra sugar on top, added soda instead of milk, and then watched cartoons for hours. Hard to beat when you’re eight. Then there was Dark Lord Day 2012 at 3 Floyds Brewery, when heavy metal beer geeks from around the country gathered for a special-release stout. I was writing a story about it, so Eric and I got to jump the queue, take a prime seat at the bar, and drink rare brews. Glorious.
The wedding was too self-conscious a day to be the best ever. Isn’t the best day ever more likely to be unexpected, one that sneaks up on you? Maybe you drank an IPA on the back deck while watching fireflies flicker over the yard, and it’s only later that you realize: that was the best day ever. But what if there was another best day ever and I missed it because I wasn’t paying attention? Is there one best day (as the semantics imply) or can there be many? Is the best day ever in the past or in the future?
The thought bubbles continue.
I went to Boston over July 4th and it was all holiday’y with fireworks and merrymaking. It prodded sadness, but it was also nice – familiar, the way things should be on the 4th. Maybe I wouldn’t erase it after all.
When I got home the next day, I was unpacking and a little piece of paper fluttered out of my backpack. I was about to toss it in the trash, and then I noticed it was a taxi receipt from the Novotel Hotel in Bucharest – a ride to the airport dated August 24, 2016. Being a romantic, I like to think Eric really did give me an anniversary gift. The air lifted that scrap out of my bag after being stuck there for nine years to remind me of our brilliant trip to Romania, to remind me of all our dream-dusted travels, to remind me of all the best days.
Nice piece, Karla! Good thoughts to you, as always.
I don't know if your wedding day was the best day ever, but I'm gonna say there are several days tied for first, or at least lots and lots of days jammed into a theoretical top 5. And it's in there.