This morning I dug out the old polaroid picture that the magistrate had taken of us after the marriage. We eloped to St. Augustine. Both of us were on our second chance.
The picture she took with Corey has lightened with age and didn't transfer well to the computer. He was five years old, a cutie who took a clean shirt and (before we got back to our little reception at Jacksonville Beach) needed it. He signed his name in pencil as a witness. He had a coke and some chips.
Us Three. September 30, 1983
If Wayne had lived to see his retirement, we would have chosen a home south of here, maybe in Sopchoppy - hunting and fishing, growing veggies and smoking game - with a little acreage and some chickens. Perhaps, a goat. I could never tell if the goat was a real promise or a joke.
Things don't always work out the way you plan them. My disappointment lingers although it has been seven summers for me here in Tallahassee. Yet, I know that my life is as good as it is because of him, the things he taught me, the things he did for me, and the encouragement that he gave me to be me.
