She drove that orange Volkswagen like freedom itself. No one
would ever know where to find her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t quite striking
when around, but only that she could disappear before you knew it.
And her style, beneath it all, was traditional. She had no
misgivings about the American Dream other than it should exclude no one,
especially women. So it was inevitable that we would slowly drift apart. She
veered toward that dream, driven, and I was always swerving away from it,
searching.
The only reason we lasted as long as we did was the initial
nuclear fusion-like strength of our love those first years. In time, it took
the form of our beautiful daughter, to whom she sacrificed much to be a loving
mother. Not too long ago, I told her ours was an epic history. She questioned
that, and I countered maybe it was more mythological: the marriage of Sea and
Sky and the birth of Venus.
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