I still keep her picture in my wallet. It’s been five years and I still keep her picture in the front sleeve, right next to my driver’s license. I really should throw it out. 

“Is that your wife?” the cashier behind the counter asks me, with that sort of faux-interest only someone who is forced to interact with you for twenty seconds gives. He’s a young guy, probably no older than twenty, with a thin mustache and a poorly groomed sidebeard. He looks me in the eyes and smiles.

“[i]Ex[/i]-wife.” My affect is deadpan, but I shoot the cashier a hollow smile. I’m sure he can see the bitterness in my eyes, but I try anyways to hide it. 

“Oh.” His smile is gone. He suddenly shifts his gaze away from me to the case of cheap draft beer I have sitting on the counter. He doesn’t probe any further. “$21.67, please.”

I hand him my card, and as he’s ringing it up, I say, “She’s a real pretty lady, huh?”

There’s a long period of awkward silence while the cashier tries to decide the safest response to give. No doubt he’s also kicking himself for asking the question in the first place. 

“Uh… Yeah,” he mutters half-heartedly. He hands me back my card.

“Yeah…” I echo. 

The receipt machine’s printing seems deafeningly loud in the empty convenience store.

The kid perks up immediately, grateful for the distraction from this line of conversation.

“Gonna need a signature,” he says, sheepishly. He shifts uncomfortably as he watches me sign. 

I sign a bunch of squiggles that barely resemble my name and hand it back to him. 

“Thanks.”

There’s another awkward pause. I sigh and tear open the case, grab a beer, and place it on the counter. “Take this, for putting up with me.”

“Sir, I can’t take this.”

I just wave my hand and walk out the sliding glass door. I eye a trashcan, and take the picture out of my wallet. The edges are worn and the back is creased, but it’s in pretty good condition otherwise. 

It’s a not a professional shot or anything. In fact, it’s a bit blurry, as if the camera had shifted just before it was taken. It’s the two of us, together, her standing in front of me while I hold her thighs from behind. Even with the poor quality, her beauty seems to radiate from the frame. 

I should just pitch this in the trash right now. But I don’t. I can’t just throw it away without. I flip it over. There’s writing on the other side, neatly and lovingly inscribed in cursive. I know what it says. I could recite it by heart. But I feel the need to read it one last time, as sort of a tribute. 

[i]Steven, when things are difficult, look at this photograph to remember this day, the day you made me the happiest girl alive. If you are sad, or hurt, or depressed, remember that I will always be here for you. 

I love you, now and forever.

--Hannah[/i]

There’s a little mist in my eyes as I read this for what has to be the thousandth time. Never fails to get me. I loosen my grip on it, but I stop myself just before I let go. It still seems so true, so real, like the emotion is right there on the paper. 

[i]I love you, now and forever.[/i]

I take a deep breath, and put it back in my wallet. I wish I could just toss it out. But I can’t. 

I sigh and walk back to my car. I pop open a beer and take a long chug before smashing the can on the dashboard and tossing it in the passenger seat, which is filled with cheap beer cans. I place the case of beer next to me in the passenger seat. 

“Buckle up, sweetheart, we’re going for a ride,” I whisper. 

The beer cans rattle as I drive off.