A recent Friday night in our little city: I need whipping cream to top the delectable La Palette Strawberry tart I made earlier in the day. G and I set out on foot for a nearby gas station that stocks dairy necessities (this is, after all, Wisconsin). The air is warm, the sky is dark but pricked with starlight. We decide to wander, curving down by the river, crossing the bridge, and walking past the newly restored courthouse. We see people: walking a dog, walking hand in hand, smoking outside of empty bars (Wisconsin just enacted an indoor smoking ban—hooray!). We circle around to the gas station, an hour after leaving the house for this simple, quick errand.
I shake the small container of cream as we head onto the dark street close to our home. We duck under hanging branches, listen to the laugh track of the TV or the whir of a fan from low windows opening out on the sidewalk, make our shadows wave and move.
I squeeze G's hand and am thankful for his presence, for this night, for these city streets that I don't dare to walk by myself at night.
Once again, I reflect that a whole other world has opened up to me when I decided to share my life and strike out on a new path, together.