Courage

The night I met my husband, we slunk into a faux denim sleeper sofa, a hand-me-down that resided in my parents’ basement for years, after too many PBRs and tequila shots. I insisted he watch several episodes of “Scrubs,” clumsily bringing my body closer to his on the squishy cushions, my limbs made limp by alcohol. Only a few months later, after one half-hearted attempt of moving that metal…