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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1570346
Rated: E · Other · Relationship · #1570346
The monument. Create one that is not made of stone. Rose and Emmett's "monument".
         We all have those special places. Those places are sacred to us. We don’t want to share them with anyone else. But sometimes we have to.

         My husband, Emmett, and I were strolling through the park on a nice, warm June day as he pointed to different things.

         “Do you remember this spot Rose?” He asked pointing to a big oak tree.

         “Of course, Emmett. That’s where I fell when we were three and broke my arm.”

         “I thought your mom would never let me see you again. I mean, I did triple-dog-dare you to climb the tree,” He laughed as we kept walking.

         “How about this spot Emmett? Remember it?” I teased as I pointed to a fountain, surrounded by benches.

         “Err…yeah. The first time I tried to kiss you,” He blushed.

         “Tried being the key word. You fell backward into the fountain and got soaked!”

         “We were ten!”

         “And way too young.”

         We walked further to the east as memories of growing up together entered my mind. Everyone said we’d end up together, of course we didn’t believe them.

         “What about this spot? You’ve gotta remember it!” Emmett exclaimed in a teasing, yet caring voice.

         “Ah, yes,” I nodded, not particularly caring for this one. “This is where you found me after Ian Newman dumped me.”

         “Right in front of the open meadow.”

         Ian Newman had been my boyfriend in high school…wow ten years ago. I think he figured he wasn’t the one I wanted.

         “Do you remember how we met?” Emmett asked after a few silent minutes.

         “Our moms have been friends since the second grade.”

         “No. I mean how we really met? The first time. The first time I talked to you.”

         “According to our moms, when we were two you and your mom moved back onto the block. We had both just learned to talk.”

         “And what happened?”

         “Again, according to our moms, I was playing with these paper hearts Mom had cut out while she was scrap-booking. You came up to me and said ‘Can I have one? They’re beautiful.’ and of course my response was ‘They’re mine.’ But you convinced me to give you my heart and then you promised me you’d never throw it away and you’d love it forever.”

         “I kept my word didn’t I? I never threw your heart away. Nor did I ever stop loving it,” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. There in one of his picture slips was the heart from years ago.

         “Awe!”

         “Which beings me to this spot.”

         “This is where you proposed to me,” Tears filled my eyes as I remembered that day.

         It was a bench, barely visible beneath the old willow tree’s branches. Two people were sitting there as the man got down on a knee to purpose to the woman.

         “That’s our spot!” I exclaimed quietly to Emmett. “That’s our monument! They can’t do that!”

         “Rose, it’s none of these spots that matter.”

         “How can you say that? Do these spots mean nothing to you?”

         “Rose, of course they do.”

         “Then how can you say that?” I pressed.

         “Because, it’s not the spots that matter. It’s the memories from them.”

         I knew then that he was right.

         The places won’t last forever, but the memories will.
© Copyright 2009 HannaMissesHerHero (hannathewriter at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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