Wedding bells

It was my wedding today, and my sister's. We forgot all about it since the legal paper that was signed at court got tossed aside. We didn't think that day would ever come until a family member reminded us. But we never forgot, we knew it was today. We just surrendered to everyone else. They’ll tell us what to do, we’ve been listening ever since we were born so why not let them handle today fully? You don’t have to do much anyway, you don’t even have to smile at your wedding. If you looked scared that’s alright, it’s only appropriate to not want to part with your family. People looked down on brides who smiled too broadly, they had no shame.
My family pretended to forget too, they wanted us too numbed to have a say on how the wedding went. That was the easy part. I had a good night’s sleep yesterday. I put off all the worry to today, knowing it would unleash itself soon so I just waited. I had my usual breakfast and I washed the dishes. We have a saloon appointment. I casually mentioned I wanted to lift my hair this time. I've never lifted my hair for a party but if not as a bride then when?

The injustice of it all overwhelmed me then as blood rushed through my blood vessels so that my heart can pump to suit my feelings. Lifting my hair for my wedding. Who knew I’d be saying it? I thought maybe I’d first try it at my brother’s wedding but mine was first. I’m not sure whether the double wedding was a good idea or not. Do they want to get rid of us together? Or do they think we’ll help each other through today? I’m not sure, but I know we’ll be too far gone in our own little world to be of any help to ourselves much less to the other. My sister knew this too.
I started crying. Not all at once, a runny nose first then a single tear followed by an unstoppable flow.
Before we left, I went to talk to my dad. I asked him why did he put us in this situation when he knew we weren't ready yet. I must have said other things I can't remember because he sat there in front of me and he...started crying too. It was his emotions getting the better of him, making him admit to his hasty mistake. A mistake too profound to be undone, his pride and dignity would be lost if he backed out. Of course, it was pointless. I just knew I had to say it, maybe the confrontation would give me something to laugh about years from now.

I was too young, and so was my sister. We were engaged to sons of respectful families. I didn't know my fiance's age, job, likes and dislikes. I thought there'll be time to be introduced. I tried to use my dismissing way of thinking but the thoughts were too violent to allow their dismissal this easily. I succumbed, I fought the horror of images of him chewing out loud, demanding a cup of coffee I didn't know how he liked, him coming home to a burning rice pot, finding the shirt he wanted that morning wrinkled un-ironed, me standing listening to his fury and watching him realize my insignificance, that I had no sense of how to transform these rooms into a home, so unlike his mother. He feels an anger at my family for not teaching me how to decently fulfill my duties as a wife.

I saw it all, as vivid as a nightmare you just woke up from. It’s funny how you only remember the nightmares vividly but the good dreams vanish quickly. Another irony of life. I considered refusing to go to the wedding but I was technically already married. There was no escape, not one I saw then. With these ideas I sat in the saloon's chair. Ready to have hundreds of hair pins inserted and a blinding hair spray.

I began an endless prayer to my future, one that would go on inside of me till the day I died.

Mrs. Dalloway and my illness

I'm sick. My complexion is pale. I lie on the couch of my living room. The TV is switched on, vibrant colors I never see in my daily life are on full display. I pretend to be interested in the show, because of the fake sense of normal it gives. It's ironic because there's no one around to pretend that to, just myself. It's rather sad too, isn't it? How I lie to myself so. I keep thinking of how I need to mop the floor, dust my bookshelf, take down the laundry, and countless little things. The house needs me if no one else does. I liked how depended on me. She'd call me to switch off the lights to her room, share a thought or a memory, ask me to indulge in one of her whims, watch TV with her. My mere presence was all that she needed. I was envious of that ability; to not be scared of words. I didn't utter my words when I thought them meaningless, and now as I begin to realize their weight, I shy away even more. I can never be sure of anything these days. All these uncertainties we like to entertain. Now, perhaps I don't need anybody anymore, all I need is their need for me. How untrue.

I think that in another place, time...another soul...another me... There would be a knock on the door. I take a few minutes to leave my couch, and to my suprise I find the most beautiful purple bouquet of flowers you'll ever lay eyes on. "Get well soon," the note says. I take it inside, and just sit holding them. I never wonder who they could be from but that gesture is what gets me through my illness. I take myself out of that scene with a strange smile playing on my lips. You'd think an image such as this would make me depressed. How could I not think about who is it from? There my imagination begins to fall short, the scene I pictured is flawed. I delude myself thinking I sit happily holding the flowers, they'd be so much more. So much more. I stop daydreaming and leave the couch. I pick up my copy of Mrs. Dalloway. Flowers brought her to my mind. I go with her to buy flowers for her party. I am no longer ill. I am floating free in Woolf's mind. I strangely think I've never bought myself flowers, I've never bought anyone flowers. I reluctantly close the book to think, about flowers, and nothing else.

An Umbrella

He spotted me drenched in the rain, offered me his umbrella. He held it, and time stopped. We were protected from the storm, together. I hardly remember anything about him now, except how he kept his gaze away from my face. Perhaps that was only my imagination running wild. We didn't talk. He didn't know I was utterly forsaken, that I was always misunderstood, that now, more than ever I need kindness. What does a stranger know about your life? What do you know about a stranger's life? Nothing. A shared moment was all it was. He looked at his watch, gave what might have been a sigh. He left the umbrella in my care, apologized and left because he was late for something. As he was taking his first steps away, I mumbled a thank you. He waved me off. I felt a depressing weight descend upon me, the one you feel when you can't change the course of events taking place in front of your eyes, when you want time to stop to carry out something of the utmost importance; showing gratitude... He was already gone.

I started walking aimlessly, thinking of absolutely nothing. I welcomed any thought, but my brain cells refused to respond. They wanted me to listen to the rain as it hit the ground fiercely. They thought I might find comfort there. It was getting dark and I had no idea where I was. Why didn't he wait till I was safe and sound in a bus that led me to a place that was nowhere near home? Why would this change everything for me? The questions that would soon haunt me every once and a while.

I'm having lunch at my favorite place. It's the summer now, and it never rained again that winter. I have the umbrella in my bag. I'm not one to hold on to material things. Memories need nothing to be triggered into play in my head. The things my friends gave me over the years aren't kept in one place. They're scattered around my room. In the closet, on the desk, on my bookshelf. Some of us rely on things to feel connected to a dear someone or a time they cherished in their lives. A word meant more than an item, yet again these items held an enchanting power over you when your wandering eyes spotted them. There's no denying that fact.
One of my friends saw the umbrella, gave me a look. She knew it was odd for me to carry an umbrella at this time of the year. I laughed it off, told her it was because of the sun. How strange is it that I look for pieces of him in every man I see now, every man that passes me by. I'm beginning to lose the details of that moment and I'm letting myself forget. I don't want to cling to it, I know a part of me, will always cling to his kindness. I am satisfied.