3 Jars. 

The first jar came with you. It was organic, high quality and expensive. full to the brim and used for everything. Cooking, daily moisture, even the lubricant to our passion. Despite being a glass jar, It survived bumps, bruises and even being left open for a few days. One day we were careless and we dropped it, but it didn’t shatter. A crack and some glass shards mixed in there, but we still found a way to make it work. Whether it was carefully examining each glob or using a spoon to get to the good parts, we made it happen. Ultimately the good product won and we were able to discard the bad parts with only the rare shard of glass breaking some flesh every now and then.

A victory.

The second jar wasn’t as expensive, but it was much more durable. The smooth product got a little grainy because the top was open while we were moving. You always would fuss about me leaving the top off. It sat on the floor of the backseat of the Lexus I lived in for a couple of weeks and then in the office chair adjacent to the bed I slept in when we were at your Mother’s house. This jar made it through being thrown across the room because of a direct message I sent. We used to oil each other after we took those forbidden showers together while your Mother was at work. The last use I remember was you putting some on my back to heal a lovemaking scar. You took this jar with you, when you left me, and for a while, I was without any.

This last jar is plastic. It’s organic and of high quality, but it’s different from the others. It’s the biggest jar we ever bought.  I had been without oil and was adjusting to the feeling, but you came back and reminded me just how beautiful it was. I remember I was concerned because when I bought it at the store you requested that I get two separate jars. This is something that never happened before. I opted to get one because I was walking and I didn’t want to carry too much. This jar made it through fights, arguments, makeup sex and even a flight or two. This jar reminded me of the first one that you brought when you came to me, when I fell in love with you.

This jar was going to be the one that sat upon the dresser in our new home. This jar would be the one our friends and families would remember! This jar would sit on the desk of our first born child’s room. We would write “College Fund” on it and fill it with dollar bills and silver coins. In our 30’s we would stuff it with popsicle sticks tattooed with fun dates. When we got into our forties we would use it as a flower vase. In our 50’s an ashtray for the plant that keeps arthritis pain away. In our 60’s we would fill it with memories that had slipped away, and when one of us passed away, we would fill this jar up with ashes of the one with we would soon lay.

But it didn’t work that way.

Now you’re all the way across the country with a brand new man and a jar of your own, and I’m here in our home with OUR same half jar, alone.

-Malcolm Jamaal Heaggans

The Friday Night© Company. 2016. 

One thought on “3 Jars. 

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