For our 2 year anniversary, Jonathan researched restaurants I might like and we drove to a small town about an hour from where we live to have brunch and visit a small strip of locally owned shops. He bought candles for me at the shop – sandalwood candles.
When I was 17, my mother kicked me out of the house and I lived with a friend for a while. Her family had a tiny spare room which I stayed in. I’d never had my own room before. I’d never had privacy or a door to close or a space to consider my own. The tiny room smelled like the single sandalwood candle I carried out of my mother’s house in a laundry basket. I didn’t own a suitcase.
Sandalwood smells like home. Well, the way “home” should smell if home didn’t smell like garbage, urine, stale cigarette smoke, mildew, and dirty dishes. Sandalwood smells like the way a home that I wanted to live in would smell: Calm, clean, and peaceful. Jonathan doesn’t know what sandalwood smells like home. I doubt I will ever tell him. He just knows I like sandalwood.