I had
to prepare immediately. And yet, I slowed my movements by engulfing
myself in a liquid called doubt. Like water, it was everywhere, and
lay hidden in everything. The mirror extended its arms into my
poisoned belongings, utterly convincing me that I should not go.
Interjecting, as always, my mind reminds me of my quest and of the
occasion. The wanderer's wife was going to be another's.
I
wanted to go and protest with all my might. I wanted, with the
desperation of hopeless love, to kiss Marie-Lynn once more. It was
childish, but passionate nonetheless. All of the passion, however,
was being met with equal strength by my reason, which had developed
and matured in the time away from my parent's shelter, as well as
away from my lost but beautiful world. I wanted to return, but I
could not, for it would risk my losing Marie-Lynn forever. But I was
happy for her. I viewed myself as a monster, a being of fiction, and
so it would have been unfair to subject her to the fabricated. The
man, I imagined, was real, with his eyes on the ground and head not
far higher than his shoulders. Then came the wondering. Was he as
afraid of reality as I was? Did he have a world of his own? Did he
fear to lose her? Did he love her as much as I did? No answers would
ever be mine.
I
called my former residence. My mother answered, and once I explained
the situation, she informed me that they had been invited as well.
She suggested that I go with them, that I allow my family to help me
prepare for the meeting. I could not decline. The situation was far
from my realm of expertise; it was real. I returned in almost no time
at all. My old bedroom had been mostly emptied, except for the
writings that showed promise. It was relieving, as if the room had
been built anew, with the memories of nights spent sleepless painted
over and forgotten. But the prospects of my temporary home were made
insignificant as my mother taught me how to tie a neck-tie, and as my
father instructed me on the way in which I should stand at the
wedding. A haircut came soon after, as well as a shaving of my facial
hair, for in my wandering I let it all grow. All of the grooming left
me nearly unrecognizable. My parents, the creators of the look, were
likewise shocked at the massive difference.
During
the process, though, my parents said some strange things. “We'll
make her notice you.” “She'll be forced to reconsider when you
walk in.” “This should help you get the girl.” It was as if the
whole process was to silence the vows and stop the ceremony. I
thought it was no different than the lies parents tell children in
order to avoid the harsh truth of reality. Had I become but a child
once more? Was all the grooming simply the creation of a facade of
adulthood? Nevertheless, I was going to the wedding. I told myself
that it was for Marie-Lynn, but I knew it was selfish. I needed to
know that she had moved on, and only in the act of disregarding me
would I be assured of this. It was one of my secret wishes. It was
the one I feared to see.
The
day finally came. My anxiety made me face to the extent that I
decided on walking. I had enough time to reach the cathedral without
being late. In fact, much to everyone's surprise, I was quite early.
I did not wait to take a seat on the side Marie-Lynn would be facing.
The closer I could get to her, the better. There was murmuring for a
bit, but then those setting up came to terms with my early arrival.
Marie-Lynn was unaware, and so, I was anonymous. Light flooded into
the cathedral through the stained glass windows. The stories they
told became radiant, illuminating the entire temple. All of it, from
the expertly carved wooded pews to the great stone arches far above,
glowed with what would have been called grace. It overwhelmed me, for
not sky ever seemed as high as that ceiling, and no day as bright as
that moment. I understood why Marie-Lynn wanted to be married there.
It was utterly unreal. But I was not asleep.
More
people began to arrive. Many of which paid very little attention to
me. I looked as if I belonged. Despite this, I was a guest, and soon
it would be time for me to leave, following Marie-Lynn back into
reality. But she had yet to arrive, and so all my fellow guests were
like trees, immovable and no louder than a rustle. I felt alone, but
safe, as if I was in the sanctuary of my own mind. My parents found
me as I sat in wonder. It was their job to remind me that I could not
control the world as easy as my own. None of my dreaming would change
the situation.
It
was a long wait. The minister stood alone at the altar for some time.
The groom's best men grew impatient with worry as they glanced at
their watches. The murmuring evolved to loud whispers of infidelity
and echoes of promise. And then, like a great paintbrush, the organ
painted the room in its own color, silencing all who dared paint
portraits of dishonesty. Everyone's attention was drawn to the back
of the room. A veiled white woman, Marie-Lynn, I assumed, walked
alongside her father, as per tradition. Her dress radiated with the
light of the cathedral, its elegant white design forming bright
silhouettes on the walls. It seemed the people around me were in awe
of her appearance. Strangely enough, I was not. Her flames were
being concealed, and so I was disinterested. The whole act of
marriage appeared to me as a facade, as if the promises made were
fake and the people dolls.
Marie-Lynn
reached the altar to wait alone with everyone else in the grand hall
of the divine. It seemed as if the cathedral itself was uneasy. There
was no disguising the confusion and sorrow in the expressions of
those around me. Marie-Lynn removed her veil, and let her flames run
wild. Our eyes met, and then there were tears. I rushed to her side
faster than her father could. I reassured her that he would come,
that the traffic slowed him down. I gave her hope, but I could not
grant her certainty. I felt her father's eyes on me, and everyone
else's as well. Few knew me, so few knew our story. But I wanted him
to come, like that cliche knight in shining armor, because I could
not stand to think that anyone would not love the flame-haired woman.
My heart pounded me in rage, but then the answer came.
The
grand doors of the cathedral opened with slow hesitation. Four police
officers slipped in and removed their hats. Their heads dropped to
the face the floor, and so they began their hike down the aisle. He
was supposed to be there, and they knew it. Their faces were twisted
with pain, tied in with the unwillingness to do one's duty. The
loving father of Marie-Lynn intercepted them, and took the news as a
whisper. I heard him thank them, and so they eagerly left. He came
towards us in silence.
“Marie-Lynn,”
he spoke with the softness only parents could possess, “your
fiance's car was struck by an on-coming truck after it stalled on the
highway. They pronounced him dead twenty minutes ago.”
-Zero
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