She carried the weight. All of it. Nurse, mother, wife to a husband who was always coming and going.
Six years my senior, her eyes still sparkled the way they did that night I first met her.
Crying outside of the bar in her scrubs, in a city she barely knew, recently single. I was twenty- three, stupid and brash. I had just finished a marathon band practice. We had a six week tour coming up, it was going to be a big one for us.
I couldn't help but notice her, my eyes followed her inside, being consoled by other women in scrubs. When she went outside, I went too.
I was careful. "Do you have a light?"
She looked up at me, and I swear my heart stopped.
She handed me her lighter without a word.
I lit my cigarette (it was 2008, different time) and handed it back to her.
"You're a little too young to try to be a knight in shining armor, aren't you?", she asked, taking her first shot at me through an adorable northeastern accent. She knew what I was doing. It would be the first of many times she saw right through me.
"I'm old enough to be here right now", I thought I was slick.
We spent the rest of the night talking.
A few nights later it was dinner.
Then she's at my show. And the next one, and the one after that.
I'm suddenly taking trips from one part of the city to the other to meet her on her break.
Every night of the tour, my first move after our set was to my phone. I suddenly wanted to be home as much as I wanted to be on stage. This was new.
She met us in Boston, and took me to the next night's show in Hartford. She gave me a break from sleeping in the van, but she did not let me sleep much. I wished that she could be in the van every night.
New Year's Eve and we're racing from Philly to Connecticut to beat the clock. We didn't quite make it to her parent's house in time. We shared our first kiss of 2009 right off of exit 12.
"The last one was a doctor...... you're what??", her father asked me.
"Our band is gaining some traction, we're doing pretty well", for a punk rock band, I left out.
And we were, and we've continued to. I'm a writer, one of us is a studio engineer, one of us is a contractor, one of us works in film production. The band has maintained. We tour, we play festivals. We're well regarded. We're not rich, but we've figured out how to make this work for over twenty years.
And since that night, she's been there.
My partner, my rock, my reason.
These days, her shoulder-length brown hair has the occasional stand of grey. Her accent hasn't softened one bit, even after all of these years here. The shots at me never stop, and we laugh.
We've built a life.
She's put up with long nights, and longer rehearsals. Five records and countless EPs. Short tours, one-offs, festival spots.
She never says no and I never ask for too much. Or maybe I'd always asked for too much.
Sixteen years together, thirteen years of marriage, two kids, a home. There are no gender roles in our house, just make sure the other isn't ever too burdened.
I got home from the festival in Chicago late Sunday night. The kids were asleep, she was on the couch, nursing a glass of wine.
I love coming home to her.
Her warmth, soft lips, our tongues touching.
"We're going away next weekend, just you and me", she told me. She kissed me again and gave my growing bulge a squeeze.
I was dead tired, but never too tired for her.
I started to pull down her pajama pants. She pushed my hands away.
"No, carry me upstairs", she teased. Smiling at me, eyes sparkling. She can have anything she wants from me, and she knows it.
I lifted her up, through her giggling. She's shorter than me, and we're both in good shape, but the stairs still make me nervous. Up we go anyway. The anticipation overtook any worry.
Holding her close, the way she smelled, I just want to devour her.
