Memorial Day

I read this post this morning and it made me think about previous Memorial Days. One in particular stood out for me, in my life with Brian.
I think we had been living together for 4 months. He agreed to work Memorial Day (this was normal--he always worked) and so of course, I volunteered my time, too.
I arrived at the Enterprise Center and began to help load the catering van. I was wearing t-shirt, shorts and sandals. I left in a hurry and so I wasn't appropriately clothed. I should have been wearing my work shoes, but it was Memorial Day and I wanted to wear sandals.
Anyways, it felt like we were running late and so we were rushing the packing job. I remember sliding off of the dock and crashing into the bumper of the van with my leg. I slammed my shin into the van and it ached, immediately. Again, tennis shoes would have been appropriate. I couldn't claim workman's comp, since I already had a claim from a previous accident where my toe nail broke off. It was awful and I didn't want to go through all of the red tape, again. Or, being accused of alcohol/drug related accidents. I thought I was overreacting or being a hypochondriac.
I worked the party. I worked through the pain. I wasn't happy about it, though. I remember being annoyed with Marc since he was cocktailing and annoyed with Nancy since she was in the way. She liked to talk and so it felt like only Brian and I were working.
The party was short and we were able to enjoy Memorial Day, too. We wanted to eat and so we tried to find an open restaurant. We ended up at Cucina Colore in Cherry Creek. It was glorious to not be working anymore. The restaurant was packed and the energy was suggesting a frantic pace. We ordered a bottle of wine and reflected on our apartment life, where the next trip would be and how in love we were...even if we didn't always say it. That was super early in our relationship and so we were tiptoeing around the inevitable.