What I Took

 
From the ashes of a long marriage, I took the kitchen table we found at a farm auction. He sanded the top to expose heart pine, and I painted the frame and legs. I now use it as a desk.
 

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The settlement agreement was simple, fifty-fifty. There were no children, so no alimony or financial support. We lived on my teaching salary while he pursued his Ph.D., and I continued to teach high school during our time together. We agreed to split savings, house, contents, and his retirement fund. The car was exempted because it was a gift from my father.
 

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I took the oversized cushiony chair with lion’s head feet. I liked sitting sideways with my head against one thick arm and my knees hooked over the other.
 

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After twenty years of marriage, he left me for another woman. An old story. This time, not a younger, prettier woman, but an over-forty woman who was his boss. A very public betrayal that fed a season of scandal and gossip in a small town. I was the last to find out; some of my students knew before I did. At first, the outrage was overwhelming, and I would later say it was lucky there wasn’t a gun in the house.
 

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I took the rare bracket clock made in 1750 by famed English clockmaker Daniel Parker, because it was my husband’s favorite, and I knew he’d miss it most. Spiteful, yes.
 

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I knew he’d never withstand the force of my fury and his burden of guilt, and he agreed to exchange the house (certain money for me) for most of its contents (not-so-certain money for him).
 

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I took basic kitchen equipment and his mother’s Greek recipe cards, written in her flowing cursive or typed by his father on a manual typewriter that left ink blobs behind. She taught me how to make dolmathes, kefthestes, koulourakia, the lessons sprinkled with laughter, tips, and shortcuts. I thought I might stay close to his parents, but their pledge, “You’ll always be our daughter,” didn’t last any time at all.
 

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He took his freedom, the right to marry someone else, and our collection of early English furniture and clocks.
 

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I took our guidebooks and maps of Sicily, Tuscany, Paris, the French pilgrim’s trail, Barcelona, Rome, Bruges, and all the other places we explored together. I didn’t want to give up traveling, though I couldn’t imagine how I’d continue without him.
 

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I fled into law school, a fresh start, a different life, and was congratulated for starting again, taking a chance, getting out of town. In truth, I was propelled by the poverty endured by three close friends whose divorces I witnessed up close. And really, there was little risk in leaving a job I disliked that barely paid the bills.
 

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I did not take our bed or its sheets, pillows, or embroidered coverlet.
 
I took the soft wool red and black cardigan that he’d worn when we were new. I think I needed/wanted a piece of him. I’m not sure why.
 

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I took the large oak coffer, a marriage chest that we bought in a London antique shop. This, too, I still have. Three front panels are carved with flowering trees on which speckled pheasants rest. Carved initials identify two people, “B” and “D,” and a date, “1719.” 
 
Perhaps it was odd to take the marriage chest and leave the marriage, still, I needed the storage. Writing at my desk, I bear witness to what cannot fit.