We had a brief layover at my parents' house on our travels this weekend. As we were getting ready to go, with Corey's usual sloth-like urgency, I noticed Corey had left something upstairs. This is also usual. In the eight hours we were at the Rank house, he managed to spread his possessions throughout both stories. I love that about him.
"Corey," I said, "Did you forget something on the counter upstairs?"
He looked at me, puzzled. Squinched up his face. I could see him thinking "Bicycle? No, that's at home. Toothbrush? No, I got that...what else could be important???"
I waved my hand in his face and said, "You definitely left something up there...something crucial...something you definitely need tomorrow..."
Nothing. No recognition. "Corey. Your wedding band!"
"Oh yeah!" And he scrabbled upstairs to retrieve it.
Corey hates his wedding band. He predicted this. His genes prepared him for this. Thirty-five years ago his own father, in what I believe was a thinly veiled ploy to cover his jewelry aversion, lost his wedding band down a drain and hasn't ever replaced it. Today, Corey takes his off all the time. He puts it on his thumbs and plays with it. He leaves it on the bedside table. Even now, I hear the rattle of it spinning to stillness next to his bottle of Fat Tire in the living room.
My sister's husband and she do not wear rings. Richard had a truly lovely reason, which made me feel sheepish and superficial for wanting Corey to sport one. But I just need him to have one on there. I like to look at his hand and see that it is married to me, along with the rest of his body. I like to remember sliding it onto his finger as the rabbi mispronounced his name and secretly giggling.
I thought if we got him one made of titanium--the same material of which top notch bicycles are made--he would start to enjoy it a little. It's only been two weeks. I haven't given up hope yet. I think he'll soon develop a callous and not be able to imagine his hand without it. At least I know he can't imagine his hand without mine there to swat at it.