'Til Death Do Us Part

Slender fingers traced the delicate lace and foamy chiffon of the wedding gown, peeking out of the folds like hot chocolate beneath whipped cream.  She sat cross-legged on a heap of clothes that covered the closet floor—clothes that she had ripped off their hangers and tossed out of drawers in their last argument. 

His jeans mingled curiously with her snakeskin peeptoes and his crisp dress shirts swallowed up her crumpled cotton tops.  The shimmering wedding dress was the only thing still hanging in that closet, casting golden shadows as the light danced a waltz on its luxurious silk.

A sample invitation floated its way down from the top shelf like a black jet and settled itself perfectly on the textile mound.   She picked it up and mindlessly traced their names in the embossed gold ink. 

It was presently three o’clock in the afternoon on Saturday, August 4^th in the year of our Lord two-thousand twelve, as announced in the invitation.  But she was not gliding down the aisle to “Here Comes the Bride.”  Instead, “Amazing Grace” was wafting through the speaker system in the newly purchased house where they had planned to build a home together. 

The closet was as far as they got, plus a few sparse odds and ends and two bowls and spoons that had been dug out for an initial bowl of ice cream.  Oddly enough, that half-full carton of ice cream bothered her more than the unworn wedding gown.  She would have those simple quiet memories more deeply engraved in her heart than any bustle of the wedding celebration that should have taken place.

She picked up a simple white undershirt that was peeping out of the mess and wrapped it around her wrists and through her fingers and nuzzled it next to her face, breathing in his scent.  Uncontrollable tears flooded her eyes.  As much as she tried not to blame herself, she couldn’t seem to make her heart believe what her mind told her. 

I’m sorry, ma’am.  There is nothing more I can do, the doctor apologized as she stood trembling before him in disbelief.  I’m sorry, miss. It was a crazy coincidence.  He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, the officer said as she knelt before the twisted metal that had once been his motorcycle.  I’m so sorry, sweetie, her mom said as she drove her home from the hospital.  But through it all, her own mind was drowning them out: I’m sorry too. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

A tear trickled down her cheek and off her chin and splashed onto the platinum band housing a single small black diamond.  She sniffled and lovingly grasped the ring that hung around her neck—the ring she should have been making her promise with right now. 

She gave a faint smile as she remembered that she had it engraved with the date of their wedding. Because now we have an anniversary, babe, and one of us has to remember, she told him, eyes twinkling. 

He laughed at her and teased her about her choice of jeweler.  Baby, you better make sure the diamond in my ring is the same one.  She could still hear Jeremy's voice emanating from behind glittering perfectly white teeth, imitating the jeweler: You gonna be bery bery happy you get message done here. I do it real nice for you.  Bery special ‘cause you beautiful couple.  

Yes, there was something strange about the old man with his black mustache and pale skin.  His yellow-rimmed eyes glinted at them as they walked out the door and he murmured something under his breath.

She wiped the tear off of the inscription with her finger and felt an indescribable burn.  She let out a faint cry right before everything went black. 

The smell of burnt flesh woke her up and made her want to vomit.  She raised her arm to her nose to shield herself from the smell and her eyes fluttered open.  She was lying on the floor of the closet, and all the clothes were in their proper places.  She reached for her cell phone and looked at the time.  5:00 p.m., August 1^st.  “Jeremy’s accident!” she breathed.

Urgency socked her in the stomach like a pro-pitched baseball and she leapt off the floor and tore down the stairs screaming at the top of her lungs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry she belted.  She threw open the door and tackled him in a hug just as he was picking up his helmet.  “Marry me on Saturday, love,” she said.  “The cake doesn’t matter.”

One Word

To describe your eyes in one word is: Ocean.

The way I feel around you, one word is: Emotion.

One word to describe my love: Immense.

The passion between us, I’ll call it: Intense.

The most beautiful thing is you make me feel: Free.

The thing you like best about me is: Me.

If the world were on fire, and I could get through,

I’d come back for one thing, and that would be: You.

I am the Earth, you are my: Sun.

Out of millions of words, I only need: One.

I think someone sent me a gift from above,

When I opened it up, you were there.  Call it: Love. 

A Normal Life

I glanced down at my planner as I shoved another bite of toaster-waffle into my mouth, careful not to let any sticky syrup drip onto my freshly pressed button-up.

“Honey, did you say you could pick up Rachel from practice?”  No response.

“Zed?”

I stomped up the stairs in my heels and pencil skirt, balancing my briefcase under my arm, gripping my coffee mug and lip liner in one hand and dragging the dog by the collar with the other. 

“Nathaniel James Briggens, I swear that if I have to take your dog outside one more time in the morning, I’m getting rid of him,” I said in passing to my sleepy-eyed, mussy-headed 12 year-old, thrusting the dog at him on my way to the bathroom.

“Zed?” I shouted, bursting into the bathroom. 

He jumped back, startled, and his flailing arms knocked into my coffee mug, painting a streak of coffee on my shirt.  I put my hand up to my forehead in defeat and sighed. 

I unbuttoned my soggy shirt and stepped up to the mirror next to my husband. 

“Rachel gets done at 6:00,” I said through stiff lips, outlining my mouth. “Are you gonna be able to get her?  I have a meeting until 5:45 or later.” 

“Ya, I was planning on it,” he said, looking at his watch. “Babe you gotta go. You’re late already.”

“As if I didn’t know that,” I grumbled, rushing to the room to toss on another shirt. 

“Everybody in the car by the time I come out of this room or you’re gonna wish you had Britney Spears for a mom!” I shouted to my kids as I shut the bedroom door. 

I finished taking off my soiled top and threw on another button-up and suit jacket.  I snatched the keys and cell phone off the end table, thrust them into my briefcase and rushed down the stairs and out to the car.

“Nathan, turn your music down.  We already have a stereo system in here.  Rachel, please make sure Louis is buckled,” I said as I strapped on my seat belt and put the car in reverse. 

The phone rang in my briefcase just as I had reached back to snatch a sucker out of Louis’ chubby fingers.

“You’ll be all sticky by the time I drop you off at school,” I said as I flipped open the phone to by greeted by an accusing, raspy voice—“Why me?” I quickly hung up, disturbed by the call, realizing that I must have picked up Zed’s phone off the end table on accident. 

No sooner had I dropped off the kids at school when it rang again.  Shaking and wondering what Zed had gotten into, I opened it, saying nothing. 

“You made a mistake,” the voice accused me before it hung up.  Suddenly, I felt myself being snatched out of the car by strong hands, struggling and kicking, grabbing for the phone that hung limp from its cord on the car charger where I had plugged it in only minutes before.

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Lies

My husband and I had taken a vacation—a little trip to, you know get the fire burning again.  We had talked about divorce on and off for a few years, went to counseling, had another baby…well, the list goes on and this was a last chance for our family. 

I was equal parts nervous and excited as I glanced through shy eyelashes at my husband of fifteen years.  I wondered how I could share a home, a family, a bed with this man that I barely knew.  I had known him once, loved him once, wanted to build a life with him.  That was before three kids and job transfers, among other things, had crept in and separated us.

Now, here I was alone with him, and I had nothing to say.  It was like the first date from hell…uncomfortable, awkward and the drinks hadn’t even shown up yet…no wait, it was worse because at the end of the night, he was still my husband who I had made “for better or for worse, ‘til death do us part” vows with.

He brought my worries to a close when I realized he wasn’t looking for conversation.  I sighed and we settled into routine.  He picked up the newspaper he had tucked into his briefcase (yes, that was coming on vacation) and absorbed himself in it before the second class even got on the plane.  I pulled out my book I had snuck in (oh, how I loved those mysteries full of the passion that didn’t exist in my life of soccer games and sack lunches), and realized how we had made it through the years—peacefully not dealing with each other. 

That should tell you what the vacation accomplished.  We divorced amazingly soon after Cabo, both contentedly ignoring the issues.  I went to his wedding and took the kids home afterwards. 

Now I’m just going through some old things and I came across a Nike box, stuffed with old photos.  It was these pictures of Cabo that made me remember.  I gingerly picked one up, thinking of how that vacation might have been.  We were at dinner, glasses raised in a toast behind a crisp linen cloth, the sun setting over the water in the background. 

Suddenly, I saw what I hadn’t seen in my fifteen-plus years of marriage.  Adrenaline shot through my body, making my hands shake uncontrollably and I gasped, dropping the box and scattering pictures everywhere.  I raised a hand to my hot face, unsure where to plunk myself.  I turned in a circle and finally flopped onto the floor cross-legged.  The camera had captured a moment in time that was supposed to be a forever secret.  I ransacked the shoebox and rifled through the years of pictures, wondering just how long his new wife had been sharing in our private, family functions.