Attachment of Memories
By Patricia Raymond
This desk...she picked it out. When I first got elected to this office, the old desk was a bit worn looking to her mind. She insisted that I get another one. One that was dignified yet not too fancy. Wouldn't want the taxpayers of New York to think that I was spending all my time buying new furniture. Work would have to be done here, on this desk. Law would be applied in this office. She said that I might as well be comfortable in the place where I would be spending most of my time. It had to be just right for me, had to have enough drawers. She always knew that I never threw out a single scrap of paper that dealt with a case. I save it all...even the smallest memo. You never know when something might be important. She picked it out to match the cabinets. I was never very good at that sort of thing. It was perfect. When I sat behind for the first time, she said it suited me.
She chose the chairs and the couch. She wanted everyone to be comfortable. Everyone in this office has sat in either that couch or that chair over there. But not this one. This chair by the light, this one is mine. Brought it from home. She picked this one out as well.
She always took care of the little things so I didn't have to worry. While I was off making a name for myself, she made sure the bills were paid, my suits were cleaned, and our son got to school. She made sure that I ate. When I was working sometimes I didn't stop for lunch or even dinner. She would come by the office that I had, that hole in the wall, with a sandwich or something that she had made. She would get our neighbors to watch Josh for an hour. She would ask me about the case while I ate. Often came up with interpretations and questions that I had missed. Sometimes I think that she would have been a better lawyer than I could have ever been. She always remembered that at the bottom of all paper and legal mumbo jumbo that they were people involved. She never let me forget that. She made me a better lawyer. She made me what I am.
Back in those days, I was never home very much. Most often I was at the office. I guess that I wasn't much of a husband. It seemed like a courtroom was more of a home to me than the one she made for us. One night she couldn't make it out to see me at the office. I came in late, felt like I hadn't seen the outside world for a week I was at the office so much. I tried to come in quietly, thought that she would be in bed. I looked into our bedroom, she wasn't there. I searched the halls and I couldn't find her. I thought that she left. It scared me, being alone without her. I made it to the kitchen and there she was , asleep in a chair wearing her old red bathrobe. Never could get her to buy a new one. Had to buy one for her birthday one year. She had waited for me, until she fell asleep in that bathrobe. I just stood there in the doorway, I didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful. My beautiful wife in a bathrobe a beggar wouldn't have.
She made feel so young, like I was still some kid trying to save the world. The house has never felt this empty before, even when Josh left for college. Now it feels dead and silent. Almost cold.
Everything must change. The world, the law, even me. She made me feel as though I could do anything. Now I don't know anymore.
She picked out the desk. Suits me, doesn't it?