Five years ago today I woke with the unsettled feeling in my stomach that there was no way to turn back, that I had passed some finite invisible line and was now stuck. I washed my face, looked at the dark circles under my eyes, ready to face the most diplomatic day of my life. We assembled promptly at the Civic Center at 8:00 am, nine hours before I was to be wed. I had curated this day for months, pouring myself like water into a vessel, into this empty event. A facade I had been building for months, was cracking like some 19th century romantic tragedy. I am every flawed protagonist wrapped in veils of sadness, floating around on my own wisps of lies.
These carefully arranged moments of deception, are meticulously hidden by a glowing bride to be. Dozens of fragrances linger in the air, warm and inviting. Guest tables line the Hall, complimented by the Art Nouveau architecture and baubles. Smells waft from the kitchen, suggesting a hearty meal, and the guests begin to assemble. I wander aimlessly around each table, slightly readjusting vases and glass lanterns to my own visual harmony, pulling loose petals from arrangements and flicking dust off of table linens. Everything must be perfect, I tell myself, because I have created this bubble in my life that seems to be bursting at the seams.
I’m getting sloppy, I feign hope that I will eventually come around and take my place as wife, even though I’m screaming inside for escape. For passion even, thoughts simmering below a boil for freedom and love. Someone touches my shoulder lightly, “You need to put your dress on, you only have ten more minutes."
In this exact moment I remember that I am the star of this event, not behind the curtain pulling strings, executing orders. I told the photographer I was not interested in any photos of me putting on the dress that I had tried on in February, the day after I had drunkenly kissed another man, not my near husband, for the first time. I was no longer nervous, as if I had accepted my sentence and had to walk like some political prisoner to my own death. When the last button was in place, I looked at myself in the mirror. This face, so capable of love and devotion, made me believe that I could exist in between two worlds.
My eyes made me see that I couldn’t possibly give it all up, that even I deserved that light in the darkness. This image will forever be burned into my memory, a stepping stone. Everyone began their procession into the Hall, leaving me in this pool of my own thoughts. How could I , release my own throat, for even the smallest bit of air, one ounce of relief. I thought about every time I didn’t trust myself, but instead trusted a man, as if that was supposed to bring me solace. I internally cursed myself for being a fool. A voice gentled whispered, “Its time," as if to wake a child from a much needed nap. I looked at the mirror one last time, and promised myself, from this day forward, I will be my own shelter from the storm.
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