I would like to say that we lived happily ever after, that fate had meant for me to see the glint of that ring under the radiator, and to put it in my pocket, and to take it home with me, and place it on the finger of a good woman, who would become my bride, the mother of my children, and fire and light of my life. I remember how that night Carrie looked at the ring with such hopeful eyes, as if she were seeing in the ring uncomplicated love, children and a happy old age in a nice house surrounded by a white picket fence. She saw a world that was fair and just, one that brought love to every little girl no matter how damaged or cold or cynical they had become.
We were married three months later in a small ceremony at Cheffries Lakeside up in Windsor. We had family and a few friends. My mom and my sister came. They even let my dad out of jail to come attend, though he and my mom sat at different tables, and his guard wouldn’t let him have but one beer. Carrie’s mom was there and she and her daughter both got drunk, and quite enjoyed themselves. It was a nice deal. I rented a tuxedo just like the one I had rented the first night we went out. We had the same limo driver, and I sent a few beers his way, believe me. I invited a few friends. Fred, who was able to get permission for a day release from the Institute of Living, and Tom were there. Fred was my best man, and he made a nice toast about how I was the kind of guy who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who asked. He started bawling and we hugged, and everyone applauded. Fred and Tom, like most everyone else, had their share of beers. I had a few myself. I figured what the hell. A wedding is supposed to be a celebration. Fred ended up taking off all his clothes and jumping in the lake. They had to call the Fire Department to get him off the fountain. It was quite a party.
For a honeymoon we went to the Bahamas. They had a nice charter that ran out of Hartford, flew you right down there, where ten minutes after landing you were walking into the resort and they were handing you a Bahama Mama—a drink we had plenty of in the four days we were there. We’d sleep late, eat the breakfast buffet and head to the beach, a short ten-minute bus ride, where we’d lie on the sand and drink. A native woman braided Carrie’s hair for her and I admit it looked very sexy on her. We’d go back to the resort around five, drink more Bahama Mamas, hanging out around the pool and volcano-shaped Jacuzzi. Later we’d go to the casino where we played slots and had a game where you dropped fifty cents in the machine and bet on these mechanical horses that raced around the track. The waitresses brought us free drinks as long as we were gambling.
Back in Connecticut, I moved in with Carrie and predictably, I guess, we had our quarrels. I worked a lot, probably too much, but I was determined to pay off the credit card debt she had accumulated along with the bills from the wedding and our honeymoon.
I was used to working and could easily lose my own problems in those of others. When you work the ambulance enough, when you see the sun rise, and the sun set, when you see the changing seasons, spring, summer, fall and finally winter, all from behind the windshield of an ambulance, when you see babies born, and so many people die, when you know every road and street and apartment and restaurant and building and back alley and highway, when the work is a part of you, you almost stop being a person, and become a part of the city, a part of the rhythm of life. There is a comfort in that, a comfort I came to seek. Seeing the hurt in so many others dulls your own.
You probably saw the end before I did, though I would not be so foolish as to not have imagined it when considering the possibilities. We are who we are. Carrie was who she was. Life wasn’t all roses. We argued constantly about money. One night I found a message on her computer—some unknown person out there in cyberspace telling her how special she was.
The truth was the ring didn’t make a difference any more than our vows did. I knew then the hard truth. Our vows, like too many pronouncements in the world, were just words. Maybe we had just wanted to believe that we weren’t alone in this life.
I thought that night about stealing the ring back. I could slip it off her finger while she slept, and then journey to the cemetery where the rightful owner was buried. I could dig a hole down to the casket and drop the ring in, but as I had learned in this job, dead is dead. It doesn’t matter what you have done in the past, but what you make of the present and future. I try each day to be kind.
Carrie and I separated after a year of marriage. I still work the ambulance, but I don’t steal anymore.
—End of EMT Anderson’s manuscript—