It took a glass of wine and a sip of the next before I finally lifted the black top of the shoe box, possibly the last vestige of a marriage that was once pretty good. I knew what my eyes would find. It always on top - the snapshot taken by the peanut vendor of Margo, Colleen and me at Fenway Park. It was packed that day, in spite of the war, maybe even because of the war, Ted Williams was playing his last home game before leaving to serve.
Margo had that healthy farm-girl that never needed that glamor treatment. Her dark blond hair had a natural curl to it and always looked just like it ought to with but a brush or two. Her hazel eyes had that life in them that told you that there was something playful going on behind that teasing smile of hers. And Colleen, she inherited all that from her mother, except I somehow was able to slip my blue eyes into the mix.
Colleen was wearing her favorite shirt, a bright yellow shirt with a white lace collar, and Margo wore that smart white outfit that I always liked. Of course, I was wearing my Red sox jersey, a gift from Colleen the Christmas before.
A thought really hit me this time, "God, Ian. Look at you. Back then you didn't have a spot of gray in that brown hair of yours and now its more gray than brown and getting grayer by the day. Look at you, your blue eyes look excited, that you had the whole world at your feet, and now you have that look of a worn out prize fighter who's put on a few pounds.'"
I poured another glass of wine and began sifted through my little box of the past. One smile after another, followed by one ache after another. In the end, I confessed to Boo, "Why do I do it to myself, Boo? Why do I keep reminding myself how much I miss them?"
Boo didn't bother to answer, he really had no need to. He simply went on with his nightly after dinner grooming. Boo always meticulous about his grooming and quite set in his routine. He always with his face, using that lick your paw first technique, then worked his way back to his tail. Then he would always fall asleep. Sometimes Boo snored. The first cat I ever heard do that, but I suppose others do. And I suppose other cast off men sit around feeling for themselves and drinking too much wine.