Twenty years ago this evening, I boarded the Staten Island Ferry with one purpose and one purpose only: to throw my wedding band from my first marriage into New York Harbor.
I thought the ring’s burial at sea was an appropriate way to respect the kaput marriage’s better days and good intentions. So, while the ferry headed toward the City, I looked beyond the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to the open ocean, said a prayer, and tossed the silver band overboard. Closure was complete, and I could move on with my emotional life.
The next quarter-hour was fateful. Less than a minute after the ring began its journey to the sea, a woman leaned on the railing near me. I couldn't see her very well in the ferry's uncertain light, but we struck up a conversation. What was said? Honestly, I don't remember. However, after the boat docked at South Ferry, I did ask her for her phone number. She didn't give it to me. Instead, she told me her name, where she lived, and I could look her up!
Fortunately, her name was easy to remember: Amy Becker. I called her up in the days following our chance conversation, and we never stopped calling each other. Four years later, we were married in New York. But it all started -- thankfully -- twenty years ago tonight, within sight of the Statue of Liberty.
