The Back of Her Curly Head

Naomi and I were on our weekly trip to the grocery store on Saturday. We literally bumped into Judge Vrana, the Judge who married McKibbin and me almost three years ago. Judge Vrana was quite gracious about my clumsiness with the grocery cart and allowed me re-introduce my daughter.

Moments like that shouldn’t, but always manage to, catch me by surprise. Its that sense that time folds over itself. If you live in one place long enough you’ll have moments this where you bump up against distant happenings, previous versions of yourself and its as though two moments exist at once. I'll be marching along on any given Sunday, entirely absorbed in this moment of cold, wet socks at the grocery store. Naomi and I deliberating over whether we should buy pomegranates or oranges and then the hard metal corner of my cart bumps into a memory. The sight of someone, in this case, Judge Vrana, pulls two moments together.

Naomi, aged three at the time, was present at our wedding. She hadn’t napped that day and was a little emotional. Wedding day tears aren’t generally notable, but they generally aren't inspired by the absence of a nap. After an impromtu wedding-intermission, Naomi dried her eyes and planted herself in my arms for the vows and exchange of rings. Her hot cheeks pressed against my shoulder. I had a Naomi-sized crease across the front of the white dress. She remembers the wedding a little but, given her vantage point, I wasn’t terribly surprised she didn't recognize Judge Vrana’s face.

In the grocery store a river of apologies came out of me as quickly as my mouth could form the words. I explained to Naomi who Judge Vrana was and where we had met him before. Without prompting she nuzzled into my chest this time because she felt shy. The introduction didn't go much farther. I gave a quick thank you for my Summer wedding and another long apology. If nothing else I'm sure he will remember the back of Naomi's curly head; he’s seen it twice now.