The Antique Desk

By B.G. Smith

We purchased the antique desk at a second-hand store and regretted it immediately. Built to last in the 1950s, my wife and I struggled to load the hunk of cherry wood onto the pickup truck. We removed the drawers and were stunned to find a forgotten personal check dated May 22, 2004 – our wedding anniversary.

The similarities between the desk and our relationship were astounding. The escritoire was impossible to move when we didn’t work together, and a rich history hid beneath its time-worn surface.

“I don’t want a divorce,” my hands trembled.

“I don’t either,” her voice cracked.

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“I write because I couldn’t hit the curve ball.” – the writer

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