Black Satin

I sit in my bed wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling. Today is going to be a big day. I breathe in through my nose, and the warm summer air fills my lungs. Summer has always been my favourite season. I push myself up and slide out of my bed to begin my morning preparations. Today is going to be a big day.

I already know what I’m going to wear for the occasion: a beautiful, black floral dress. It’s his favourite, and I know he loves the delicate pink peonies that adorn it. It may be a little flashy for today but I’m certain he’ll be glad I wore it, so I slip out of my cotton pyjamas and into the billowy satin garment.

I know why he prefers this one: it reminds him of our first date.

We were young then. I was just shy of twenty-two; he would be turning 24 in early fall. I had never been on a date before, and my nerves were piling high inside of me.

We had been introduced to one another at a local pub by a mutual friend a week prior. His eyes were strong and dark like ground coffee. His lips looked delicate, and the way he laughed with his friends had my stomach in knots. I knew I was smitten from the moment I laid my eyes on him. He later pulled me aside and asked if I’d like to have a drink together sometime, and my heart nearly exploded. We agreed to see each other the following weekend, and I ended our meeting by giving him my phone number.

There I was, a week later, putting on an outfit for my first date. He would be taking me to a new upscale bar in the east end. I had to look my best, so I picked out a simple black satin dress. It was classic and I thought I looked great in it. I hoped desperately that he would think so, too.

Neither of us had cars, so I took a taxi to meet him there. It was the longest cab ride of my life; I was a nervous, sweating mess. I tried to keep my cool, but I was certain that my anxiety could be felt a mile away.

I saw him standing outside as the cab pulled up to the entrance. My heart was pounding in my chest. He was beautiful in his jet black blazer, dress pants and brogues. His freshly shaven face lit up in a smile as I opened the door to meet him. “Hello,” he said, his voice strong and confident. It contrasted mine, which shook embarrassingly as I spoke. “Hi. It’s nice seeing you again.”

He took his hand out from behind his back, showing off a large bouquet of delicate pink peonies.

“These are for you. I hope you like peonies, they’re my favourite.”

I was certain my heart would burst out of my chest, yet the sweet gesture was reassuring. My nervousness began to subside when he handed me the flowers, and our hands touched slightly. The innocent contact somehow felt passionate, as if his skin was destined to touch mine. The moment felt so natural that I had to refrain from reaching for his hand as we walked into the bar.

We started off our evening with a glass of wine, both opting for merlot. The full-bodied drink was smooth and delicious, and it definitely helped take the edge off.

The evening was simple, but it felt magical to me. We spoke with ease, various topics melting into one another as we asked and answered questions about ourselves. We ordered a second and third glass of merlot. Time seemed to have stopped, and every second I spent with him made me want to experience another two.

Our time together was wondrous. Being in his presence felt intimate and natural, and the way he looked into my eyes lit a flame in my belly that I could not describe. The desire between the two of us was palpable. The feeling was as innate as taking in a breath of warm summer air: it was comfortable, yet exciting all at once.

The date seemed to have only begun when the bar staff began closing up for the night. We headed out onto the streets, and he looked down at me with his warm eyes.

“I had an amazing time with you tonight.”

I knew I had to do it. I mustered up the courage to bring myself in closer to him, but he beat me to the punch. Our lips locked with a spark that lit up the streets like lightning. His hands gripped at the satin around my waist as he pulled me in to kiss me harder.

Was it possible to love someone you had just met? I was certain he was the one. His lips ignited an emotion in me that I had never felt before, and I was completely enamoured. I know it sounds ridiculous, but in that moment I knew I would spend my life with him.

The date ended with a hug, and he left me with the desire to stay in his arms forever. I knew he felt it too, and he eventually confessed this two years later. We married the following year and I knew that no matter what we went through, he would be my home. I knew then that home was not a place: it was a person. It was him, and within his walls, I would be safe forever.

I look down at his favourite peony dress. I realize that I have gotten lost in my thoughts of that first date, losing pieces of the current moment. I regain my focus and slide my gaze up to the casket before me.

Thirty years was not enough. An eternity wouldn’t have sufficed for a love like ours. But today is a big day. I look up and see his beautiful face, framed and surrounded by vibrant, mixed flowers. They aren’t peonies, but he still looks magical wrapped up in them.

I couldn’t bear to see him still and lifeless, so I requested a closed casket funeral. Seeing him suffering in hospice during his final days left my heart irreparably broken, but the photo of him on the casket shows a happy and healthy man, just as I want to remember him.

I stare at the casket; the varnish on the mahogany casts a faint, yet haunting glare. I walk up and touch it softly with my hand. I can almost feel him wrapped around me, his fingers interlaced with mine. Even in death, he is the one.

I place a delicate pink peony on his casket, and look down at the dress one last time.

It was his favourite.