Over a decade after the comment she would bring it up. I remembered saying it. I remembered how I felt at the time. I remember thinking she would forget; she would blow it off and it would have no impact. I was wrong about that. She tried to blow it off, but when she recalled it to me there was no denying that she had remembered. We were young; twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. That would have been our fourth or fifth year of marriage.
“Do you remember,” she said, “when you said this day would come?”
“What day?” I have said a lot of days would come. Some less sagaciously than others.
“We were in the apartment at Green Glen, and one night, after we’d–you know–argued about stuff. You said that right now you were in your prime and I was wasting it, and that there would come a time when you were not in your prime, but I would be in my thirties and dying for it. Then I’d see how you felt.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You were right.” She got quieter. “I’m sorry.”
[Updated to fuller conversation just after initial posting]