She walked on a carpeted aisle wearing an elaborately designed white dress, holding on to a bouquet of fresh white roses as if it was the last thing in the world she would do. And the smile on her face, a wide grin that showed an adequate number of teeth, did not ever leave her face- even when she stepped on the hem of her dress and almost fell face down on the floor with the cameraman, alert as ever, to take all the action in. Only her eyes showed that her heart indeed jumped for a second there, opening so wide in surprise that she’d been able to walk on and let go of the hem of her dress.
But she quickly recovered and not a soul noticed that she’d come so close to giving the guests mighty cramps in the stomach. Why, even her parents might laugh at her, though they’d try to hold it in first, for sure. And she wouldn’t have known what to do then. She thought that maybe she’d have given running away a try. Oh, and she’d run as fast as she’d be able until her legs quivered and her knees gave up.
But that was over. No use making a big deal out of it. Whew, Good Heavens, thank God! So, she looked straight on ahead to find out that there were no more people walking before her. They’d all gotten to their places. When did that happen? The walk felt extremely long. And all the while, her smile was there, bright and never fading- until her eyes settled by the far end of the room, at the one thing she really wanted to see. Until then, her smile was even brighter.
He was dressed mostly in black and she could swear he looked like someone she saw in a movie before. He stood next to another man- the best man- shifting his weight from one leg to another and wiping sweat off his forehead. At the sight of him, an emotion so strong overwhelmed her. It was something she didn’t want to put a name to simply because words didn’t suffice. The feeling was so great, so much bigger than herself, that it made her heart ache. But then, why the trouble, she settled to call it love. And yes, she discovered, love made her heart ache because love was supposed to be beyond herself.
She giggled as she stared at him wiping at his forehead so frequently, as if he was extremely hot or- most likely, she thought- very nervous. I’m not running away, sweetheart, don’t you fret, she wanted to tell him. But he was still so far away. She still had a long walk to do. She’d tell him later.
And when, at last, she reached him, there were tears in her eyes. Then it became confusing if she was happy or sad. There were tears in his eyes too and if he’d spoken, he probably would have said something as cliché as ‘there’s something in my eye’. But that wasn’t like him at all; he’d more likely say ‘oh dear, I don’t think I can push through with this (sniff)’ and then give her a playful wink. Then they’d both stifle laughter, their shoulders shaking. But then he didn’t utter a word and that was just as well, because they didn’t want the guests to wonder what was up with them.
As they walked towards the priest, in front of everyone, he took her hand and enclosed it in his. His hand was warm, and she knew that not far from now, their hands will start to sweat but he wouldn’t pull his hand from hers- until she did it herself. “Your hand’s icky,” she used to always say. And he always responded with that hearty laughter of his, until his eyes watered and he badly needed to shut up. But she always said his hand was icky and he never told her anything like, “why, m’lady, your hand’s just about as icky as mine.” He just laughed. And she always laughed along with him because it just wasn’t possible to hear him laugh and not laugh along. Sometimes, it got her wondering why she was even laughing in the first place, after her facial muscles were spent and before she realized that the question made her look stupid.
She savored the feel of him next to her- the scent of his perfume and the warmth of his breath as he spoke. She felt as if she was born to be exactly where she was. Right here, right now. But then, she was feeling a lot of feelings and thinking a lot of things too. Maybe it was just something brides normally felt next to their grooms. But somehow, she refused to believe that because that reduced it to something so insignificant. And because she didn’t think that was the case.
Then, drowning in the depth of her thoughts, she remembered that she was supposed to tell him something- that thing about being a runaway bride. She smiled inside and imagined how he’d respond to it. Would he shrug, maybe? Oh no, he wouldn’t. Not him. He would smile, even if he didn’t find it amusing at all. That thought encouraged her. She squeezed his hand and from the corner of her eye, she saw him move. He was looking at her, eyes asking, she was sure: what’s wrong, dear? Is anything the matter? She was supposed to be teasing him, not answering immediately, but it later dawned on her that she was dealing with a patient man here. He could stand there forever, waiting for her to respond. And, truly, hadn’t he proved the astonishing extent of his patience? So, she gave the little game up and spoke.
“Well, sweeth-” Her tongue was stuck at the roof of her mouth. Her eyes grew wide and drool would have easily dripped off her lips had she not closed her mouth immediately. She did it so suddenly her teeth hurt. She couldn't believe it but she forgot the name of the groom.
Her understanding of her current state came to her like the end of the world. It was awfully unexpected. She’d forgotten his name, now how crazy was that? She closed her eyes and concentrated, hearing the monotone of the priest’s words somewhere in the background. She did, as her professor used to tell her, squeeze blood out of a turnip. Only that there wasn’t blood to squeeze at all. It was all in vain.
But didn’t I know those things about him? About us? Of course I know him. I- I just forgot. Her eyebrows met and her head suddenly ached so much, throbbing so terribly she could have demanded for a new one and got it.
I don’t know who I’m getting married to, she thought. But that was insane. She did know; she was very sure of that. Wasn’t she just a few minutes ago, remembering fond memories of him? Just like the time when…the time when- oh snap! I forgot that too? And then, as she was debating with herself, she thought, oh boy, that fall was almost a sure thing! She exhaled a lot of air and remembered that troublesome hem of her dress. And that was all she remembered thinking (on her way down the aisle): that troublesome hem of her dress, and of course the fact that she didn’t know who the groom was.
Then, as if awaken from a dream, she became aware of his hand around hers. It was warm, almost comforting, but she could feel the promise of sweat. She pulled her hand free of his and lifted her eyes to face. Then, all her blood fled from her, leaving her skin looking like bond paper. The groom’s face was blank. The space where the eyes should have been was frighteningly empty. His face was just a fair-colored space with hair above and a neck below. She blinked hard but everything was still the same.
She didn’t like staring at his face- or whatever it was called- but her eyes were glued to it. I’m going crazy, she thought. Normal people don’t see blank faces, do they? She willed her eyes closed and, good Heavens, they did. But she couldn’t close her eyes forever and curiosity was soon seeping into her veins. Slowly, she opened her left eye then her right, and looked at his face again. “Wh-Who are you?” she asked, her voice slightly trembling. There was nothing but the silence. Somehow, the priest had stopped his recitation and the guests did not even whisper. She wanted to see if they’re still there but couldn’t. Her eyes stayed on the blank face as much as she wanted to look away.
When the groom stayed quiet, annoyance started creeping into her veins too. She wanted for him to answer. She wanted it so badly that she almost grabbed him by the elbows and shook him for whatever it was worth. Well, maybe he was asleep, you know. You’d never tell given the circumstances. But eventually, the groom actually spoke. His voice was distantly familiar, which annoyed her all the more, but soft and soothing to the ears. She thought she even liked it, in spite of herself. “Did you cut your hair?” the groom asked. And, as she thought about answering, she was never, ever more startled in her life.
…
When she woke up the next day, the only things she remembered of last night’s dream were an idea of a peculiar wedding- it had something to do with a strange groom- and a question that had no apparent connection to anything at all.
But she just shrugged it all off, thinking it wouldn’t matter at all anyway. She’d forget all about the dream later in the day. She always does.
…
It had been a full day and a lot has happened, although there was really only one thing she would think about tonight, staring at the ceiling, struggling to sleep. She’d lost a patient today. She thought of how foolish she’d been- assuming she had everything under control, as if she was God Himself. She’d been a surgeon for quite a while now, and she knew better than putting confidence on herself. Doctors do make mistakes- and that’s exactly what she did. She was mistaken big time. But of course she was just exaggerating things- the patient still would have died even if she squeezed her brain dry and spent her entire life treating Mrs. Alberts. It was her time to go- no further explanations needed. Some things just happen because they do- and that was that. She just found that too hard to understand.
So there she was now, walking towards her car looking like she just knew she was going to die tomorrow, thinking dumb Jessie. That’s what you are- dumb.
As she inserted the key to the slot at her car door, a car parked exactly beside her. It was an old Mitsubishi Lancer. Dr. Timothy Reynolds got out of the car, a baseball cap on his head and a smile on his lips. The smile was extremely contagious. Despite everything, Jessie smiled back. Dr. Reynolds slammed his car door and Jessie feared the car’s parts might fall apart. It stayed in one piece though, but it badly needed replacing. For a moment, Jessie forgot about Mrs. Alberts. She even felt like laughing now.
“You need to buy a new car Dr. Reynolds,” Jessie said, fighting the urge to laugh, reminding herself that it wasn’t polite to laugh at people.
“Yep, but I just love this baby,” Dr. Reynolds answered, patting his car’s fender. Then, he stared at her, his eyes without a trace of emotion, “You’re looking good today Dr. Peterson. Did you cut your hair?”
Jessie’s hand stopped at the door handle and she turned to look at Dr. Reynolds. A wide smile was across her face. Her other hand reached to her head and she remembered that she did. She had cut her hair yesterday. For a second there, she stood next to her car disbelieving she’d forgotten that. But then, she guessed, hat's what losing a patient did.
“I did, thank you,” she said, almost demurely, and Dr. Reynolds nodded.
Then she was on her way home, tired and sleepy. She didn’t even look back through her side view mirror at the man whose smile she’d been wanting to see in her dreams. She wasn't even aware that her dream just came true- well not all of it though. Some of it was just about to unfold.
ENDBut she quickly recovered and not a soul noticed that she’d come so close to giving the guests mighty cramps in the stomach. Why, even her parents might laugh at her, though they’d try to hold it in first, for sure. And she wouldn’t have known what to do then. She thought that maybe she’d have given running away a try. Oh, and she’d run as fast as she’d be able until her legs quivered and her knees gave up.
But that was over. No use making a big deal out of it. Whew, Good Heavens, thank God! So, she looked straight on ahead to find out that there were no more people walking before her. They’d all gotten to their places. When did that happen? The walk felt extremely long. And all the while, her smile was there, bright and never fading- until her eyes settled by the far end of the room, at the one thing she really wanted to see. Until then, her smile was even brighter.
He was dressed mostly in black and she could swear he looked like someone she saw in a movie before. He stood next to another man- the best man- shifting his weight from one leg to another and wiping sweat off his forehead. At the sight of him, an emotion so strong overwhelmed her. It was something she didn’t want to put a name to simply because words didn’t suffice. The feeling was so great, so much bigger than herself, that it made her heart ache. But then, why the trouble, she settled to call it love. And yes, she discovered, love made her heart ache because love was supposed to be beyond herself.
She giggled as she stared at him wiping at his forehead so frequently, as if he was extremely hot or- most likely, she thought- very nervous. I’m not running away, sweetheart, don’t you fret, she wanted to tell him. But he was still so far away. She still had a long walk to do. She’d tell him later.
And when, at last, she reached him, there were tears in her eyes. Then it became confusing if she was happy or sad. There were tears in his eyes too and if he’d spoken, he probably would have said something as cliché as ‘there’s something in my eye’. But that wasn’t like him at all; he’d more likely say ‘oh dear, I don’t think I can push through with this (sniff)’ and then give her a playful wink. Then they’d both stifle laughter, their shoulders shaking. But then he didn’t utter a word and that was just as well, because they didn’t want the guests to wonder what was up with them.
As they walked towards the priest, in front of everyone, he took her hand and enclosed it in his. His hand was warm, and she knew that not far from now, their hands will start to sweat but he wouldn’t pull his hand from hers- until she did it herself. “Your hand’s icky,” she used to always say. And he always responded with that hearty laughter of his, until his eyes watered and he badly needed to shut up. But she always said his hand was icky and he never told her anything like, “why, m’lady, your hand’s just about as icky as mine.” He just laughed. And she always laughed along with him because it just wasn’t possible to hear him laugh and not laugh along. Sometimes, it got her wondering why she was even laughing in the first place, after her facial muscles were spent and before she realized that the question made her look stupid.
She savored the feel of him next to her- the scent of his perfume and the warmth of his breath as he spoke. She felt as if she was born to be exactly where she was. Right here, right now. But then, she was feeling a lot of feelings and thinking a lot of things too. Maybe it was just something brides normally felt next to their grooms. But somehow, she refused to believe that because that reduced it to something so insignificant. And because she didn’t think that was the case.
Then, drowning in the depth of her thoughts, she remembered that she was supposed to tell him something- that thing about being a runaway bride. She smiled inside and imagined how he’d respond to it. Would he shrug, maybe? Oh no, he wouldn’t. Not him. He would smile, even if he didn’t find it amusing at all. That thought encouraged her. She squeezed his hand and from the corner of her eye, she saw him move. He was looking at her, eyes asking, she was sure: what’s wrong, dear? Is anything the matter? She was supposed to be teasing him, not answering immediately, but it later dawned on her that she was dealing with a patient man here. He could stand there forever, waiting for her to respond. And, truly, hadn’t he proved the astonishing extent of his patience? So, she gave the little game up and spoke.
“Well, sweeth-” Her tongue was stuck at the roof of her mouth. Her eyes grew wide and drool would have easily dripped off her lips had she not closed her mouth immediately. She did it so suddenly her teeth hurt. She couldn't believe it but she forgot the name of the groom.
Her understanding of her current state came to her like the end of the world. It was awfully unexpected. She’d forgotten his name, now how crazy was that? She closed her eyes and concentrated, hearing the monotone of the priest’s words somewhere in the background. She did, as her professor used to tell her, squeeze blood out of a turnip. Only that there wasn’t blood to squeeze at all. It was all in vain.
But didn’t I know those things about him? About us? Of course I know him. I- I just forgot. Her eyebrows met and her head suddenly ached so much, throbbing so terribly she could have demanded for a new one and got it.
I don’t know who I’m getting married to, she thought. But that was insane. She did know; she was very sure of that. Wasn’t she just a few minutes ago, remembering fond memories of him? Just like the time when…the time when- oh snap! I forgot that too? And then, as she was debating with herself, she thought, oh boy, that fall was almost a sure thing! She exhaled a lot of air and remembered that troublesome hem of her dress. And that was all she remembered thinking (on her way down the aisle): that troublesome hem of her dress, and of course the fact that she didn’t know who the groom was.
Then, as if awaken from a dream, she became aware of his hand around hers. It was warm, almost comforting, but she could feel the promise of sweat. She pulled her hand free of his and lifted her eyes to face. Then, all her blood fled from her, leaving her skin looking like bond paper. The groom’s face was blank. The space where the eyes should have been was frighteningly empty. His face was just a fair-colored space with hair above and a neck below. She blinked hard but everything was still the same.
She didn’t like staring at his face- or whatever it was called- but her eyes were glued to it. I’m going crazy, she thought. Normal people don’t see blank faces, do they? She willed her eyes closed and, good Heavens, they did. But she couldn’t close her eyes forever and curiosity was soon seeping into her veins. Slowly, she opened her left eye then her right, and looked at his face again. “Wh-Who are you?” she asked, her voice slightly trembling. There was nothing but the silence. Somehow, the priest had stopped his recitation and the guests did not even whisper. She wanted to see if they’re still there but couldn’t. Her eyes stayed on the blank face as much as she wanted to look away.
When the groom stayed quiet, annoyance started creeping into her veins too. She wanted for him to answer. She wanted it so badly that she almost grabbed him by the elbows and shook him for whatever it was worth. Well, maybe he was asleep, you know. You’d never tell given the circumstances. But eventually, the groom actually spoke. His voice was distantly familiar, which annoyed her all the more, but soft and soothing to the ears. She thought she even liked it, in spite of herself. “Did you cut your hair?” the groom asked. And, as she thought about answering, she was never, ever more startled in her life.
…
When she woke up the next day, the only things she remembered of last night’s dream were an idea of a peculiar wedding- it had something to do with a strange groom- and a question that had no apparent connection to anything at all.
But she just shrugged it all off, thinking it wouldn’t matter at all anyway. She’d forget all about the dream later in the day. She always does.
…
It had been a full day and a lot has happened, although there was really only one thing she would think about tonight, staring at the ceiling, struggling to sleep. She’d lost a patient today. She thought of how foolish she’d been- assuming she had everything under control, as if she was God Himself. She’d been a surgeon for quite a while now, and she knew better than putting confidence on herself. Doctors do make mistakes- and that’s exactly what she did. She was mistaken big time. But of course she was just exaggerating things- the patient still would have died even if she squeezed her brain dry and spent her entire life treating Mrs. Alberts. It was her time to go- no further explanations needed. Some things just happen because they do- and that was that. She just found that too hard to understand.
So there she was now, walking towards her car looking like she just knew she was going to die tomorrow, thinking dumb Jessie. That’s what you are- dumb.
As she inserted the key to the slot at her car door, a car parked exactly beside her. It was an old Mitsubishi Lancer. Dr. Timothy Reynolds got out of the car, a baseball cap on his head and a smile on his lips. The smile was extremely contagious. Despite everything, Jessie smiled back. Dr. Reynolds slammed his car door and Jessie feared the car’s parts might fall apart. It stayed in one piece though, but it badly needed replacing. For a moment, Jessie forgot about Mrs. Alberts. She even felt like laughing now.
“You need to buy a new car Dr. Reynolds,” Jessie said, fighting the urge to laugh, reminding herself that it wasn’t polite to laugh at people.
“Yep, but I just love this baby,” Dr. Reynolds answered, patting his car’s fender. Then, he stared at her, his eyes without a trace of emotion, “You’re looking good today Dr. Peterson. Did you cut your hair?”
Jessie’s hand stopped at the door handle and she turned to look at Dr. Reynolds. A wide smile was across her face. Her other hand reached to her head and she remembered that she did. She had cut her hair yesterday. For a second there, she stood next to her car disbelieving she’d forgotten that. But then, she guessed, hat's what losing a patient did.
“I did, thank you,” she said, almost demurely, and Dr. Reynolds nodded.
Then she was on her way home, tired and sleepy. She didn’t even look back through her side view mirror at the man whose smile she’d been wanting to see in her dreams. She wasn't even aware that her dream just came true- well not all of it though. Some of it was just about to unfold.
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