It was meant to be one of those poetic, possibly romantic gestures. We were celebrating two decades of life together. There had been some brokenness along the way to be sure, but we had survived, persevered and even as recently as this very trip, chosen each other once more. A few months prior, in a fit of anger, he had taken off his wedding band and set it on the hotel dresser where we were arguing staying before driving himself to the lake. True to the well-worn pattern, he drew near once the mood had lifted and wanted his ring back, but it had been indefinitely misplaced by then. We talked of getting rings tattooed. But he couldn't mark up his body, he said. Instead, he said he ordered an identical ring to the one he removed. It was coming in the mail, any day now, he said. I found out later they don't make that ring anymore. He had not placed an order, but I am sure that he meant to. Back to the future-past, where we find ourselves in Orlando (Lake Buena Vista to be exact...