I knock quietly on the door, wondering what she wants.
In the years that we have spent getting to know each other, I have come to the conclusion that this girl could get the most unusual ideas in her head. I really don't know what to expect from her, but I expect the worst. I almost expect her to open the door, teary-eyed and apologetic, telling me she can't go through with this.
For a moment, I hold my breath. Is that what she called me here for?
She opens the door a crack and takes a peek. Her face is, thankfully, tear-free. She even looks happy. Damn, she's right. I am too pessimistic. When her eyes fall upon me, her face lights up and she pushes the door fully open to allow me in.
"Hey there!" she greets me, a wide grin on her pretty face. I love it when she's this happy.
I wordlessly walk in and she closes the door behind me. "What do you want?" I inquire once I hear the satisfying click of the door's lock. My voice is a little sharper than I wanted it to be. It's like it's automatically activated, that tone. I'm always guarded when I'm around her, like, I'm always expecting the worst.
And maybe I am.
She is a bit hurt. Though my back is turned to her, I can almost see her face falling slightly. I can sense her trying to hide the hurt behind a small smile. I know how much she cares about me and how sensitive she can be when I'm cold towards her. I know she thinks she's a bother and the way I treat her, unintentionally scathing as my actions may be, just reinforces that mentality of hers. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy and all, " her voice has lost some of its excitement. I try to take things back. I want to turn back time, press the rewind button and record over what just happened. But all I could do was turn to look at her. She's a little closer than I anticipated her to be. We come face to face, her wide doe eyes staring up at me. She apologizes again and takes a step back, her gaze lowered.
"No, no," I make my voice as upbeat as possible. "Come on, tell me, what is it?"
She blushes slightly, peering up at my face, checking if I'm not just trying to be nice on her special day. She's a great judge of facial expressions and my sincerity is easily spotted. "I just wanted to know..." the color already tainting her cheeks deepens. "...I mean, I know this is stupid, but I need your opinion on how I look."
She stands there, vulnerable. This is the first time I've really looked at her and taken in her image. I never realized how much more like a woman and less like a little girl she was. Though her expression can still be the mask of perfect innocence, I can read in her eyes a maturity and wisdom that tells me she has already grown up. People think she's shallow sometimes, being so concerned about her outward appearance, but that's because she's so unsure of herself. More often than not, she isn't truly asking about her physical attributes. More often than not, she needs words of approval from the people she trusts the most to be honest with her to feel confident about facing the world.
I examine her carefully.
She is radiant in her flowing white dress. Her long black hair is pulled up in a very simple twist that allows a few curls to fall softly around her face. Her make-up is simple, she almost looks like she has none on. She must have requested that from the make up artist who tended to make girls look more like stage actresses than real people.
But dress, hair, and make-up really didn't matter. I have always thought of her as one of the most beautiful girls I have had the privilege of meeting. Right now, I'm willing to be that she's the most beautiful girl in the ceremony.
She should be.
"Isn't this bad luck or something?" I ask her before giving her an answer.
She frowns at me, "I never saw you as the superstitious type." She pouts slightly, trying not to get frustrated with me.
I stifle a laugh. She looks like a wife who's doing her best not to yell at her husband for not fixing the kitchen sink. She would probably make a fine wife.
I can just imagine what our children would look like. I can see her smiling contentedly as our sons play in our garden. I can see her drying the tears of our brokenhearted daughters. I can picture what kind of a mother she would be. She would be a wonderful mother.
They say you're meant to be if you can picture your children in the eyes of the girl.
I am snapped out of my reverie by her sigh followed by the sound of her heeled footsteps heading for the full length mirror. She stares at her reflection dubiously.
She brushes back a strand of hair that got loose from the hair pins and hair spray that should have held it back. She tries to smooth it into place with her hand, but it keeps on falling. She sighs again. "You know," she glances at me from the corner of her eyes, checking if she had my attention. She does. "I'm so nervous that I almost don't want to go out there."
It's my turn to frown. Just when I had stopped expecting the worst, it comes. "Why?" I pick up a bottle of styling gel from her vanity and squirt a little onto my palm. I control my voice as I speak, this time. I don't want the disappointment I'm feeling to show. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?" I ask her as I approach her from behind and use the gel to pat the errant strand back into place.
She nods, "Yes, it is." She meets my gaze in the mirror and leans back at me. I gently place my arms around her as we continue to stare into the reflection of each other's eyes. "But it's an entirely different life I'm heading off to. After the ceremony, I should be a different person..."
"...But I'm not sure if I can change--if I will change as needed."
I can't take my mind off how perfect it feels to have her in my arms at that moment. But I can't help but feel afraid of what she's going to say next. I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to answer her. "I know I can't speak for everyone, but I'm not asking you to change."
"Still," she smiles sadly. "It would be unfair to everyone if I don't try to take on the responsibilities that come with..."
She had barely begun to speak when I started to quickly search my brain for the right words. A small slip up could have disastrous results when you're in a turning point situation like this. Some people don't even think about it, but sometimes, the course of another person's life could be based on a few syllables from their mouths that don't necessarily make sense. The human mind is a strange thing that can make sense out of nonsense.
I carefully extricate her from my embrace and gently move her body so we're once again face to face to buy myself some time. If I think too much, the moment might pass and my reply could simply be an uncomfortable silence. I decide to wing it. "Don't scare yourself like this. The ceremony will be starting soon. You'll do fine just the way you are."
"Thanks," she gently kisses me on the cheek. "You always know what to say."
Her lips feel so soft on my skin. It crosses my mind that kisses can be addicting and dangerous to your health. I plant a kiss on her forehead. "You know what..."
I hear the doorknob turn.
She is quickly snapped out of the dream world we have wrapped ourselves in. She unlocks the door, expecting someone special to be on the other side.
"Darling!" she cheers when she sees her beloved standing on the other side of the doorway. She throws her arms around him, happily kissing him on the lips. He is even more handsome than usual in his shirt and tie: the perfect complement to the perfectly beautiful lady he loves.
I notice that her movements once again lets loose the errant strand of hair I had earlier gelled down.
He smiles at her. He notices me and nods his greeting to me, then reverts all his attention back on his lover, not suspecting anything. Well, there isn't anything to expect. She sees only him. "Are you ready?"
She nods. She would be ready for anything as long as he was by her side.
"Here's your toga, then," he gently pushes her off him and helps her into one of the black satiny capes he had draped over his arm. He slips into his own toga as she ties hers in the front. They inspect each other for a few moments. She brushes some imaginary piece of dirt off his shoulder and he smooths down the strand of hair that just wouldn’t stay put. Without gel, without anything, the strand sits in its place at his touch. I can’t help but feel a hint of exasperation at this. I quickly hide it as they turn to me.
"You coming with us?" he asks me.
"Yeah, I'll just grab my stuff."
He takes her hand. "Alright," he leads her down the hall and she giggles giddily.
I go into the living room where I had deposited my toga and my cap earlier. My mind replays the scene just a few minutes before.
Once again, I am gently kissing her forehead. I draw away to look at her flushed face. "You know what," I tell her as I cup her cheek with my hand. "You're perfect." Then, I tip her chin up and meet her lips with mine. It is another perfect moment in my mind.
"I love you."
I whisper the last three words to no one in particular, then I rush out to the car where they're waiting for me.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home