More Than Half My Life Well Spent
I was rummaging through the kitchen this afternoon, looking for my favourite coffee mug, when it occurred to me somewhere between the dishwasher and the cupboard's second shelf that Aidan and I have now known each other for more than half our lives. I have spent more time with him than anyone else on this planet who didn't literally make me.
We met in the spring of 1993 in a jazz cafe in Saskatoon. Neither of us remember our introduction by a mutual friend, but I do remember that Aidan had a nervous way of rolling these slim, perfectly cylindrical Drum tobacco cigarettes with his thumbs and middle fingers. I couldn't stop looking at the way they moved around the delicate slips of paper. It has been more than 15 years since he smoked a cigarette, but I still have that ritual memorized.
22 years later, one of those hands is resting here on my thigh. It's like a goddamn miracle. What a thing.
I'm writing a post a day in November for BlogHer's NaBloPoMo.