Short Stories

November 2015

This story was written for a creative writing club. The prompt was to write a text about a photograph, in second person, starting with "In this one, you're..."

PS - Yes, there's no title... I never come up with very inventive titles, and I wasn't inspired this time either... Anyway, enjoy <3

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In this one, you're absent. Why did you not come?

It seems like ages ago, and yet you still ask yourself why.

It seems like ages ago, and yet surely it must not have been earlier than yesterday.

You must be asking yourself, Where am I now? But that won't help much, won't it? Because it's night time, you're still hiding behind that row of garbage cans, scared, ashamed, positively lost, and you have realized all this a long while ago. What you should be asking yourself is, Where am I going? But maybe it's a little early to ask that question.

As if in a trance, you continue to stare at the picture, which continues to look back glaringly from your cellphone in the darkness of the alley. What do you find so enthralling with it? You don't need it to remind you how dire the situation is.

By now you know every detail of it. Two rows of wooden benches, on each side of a stone alley, leading to a set of three stairs, in front of a stone altar, under a high roof. After further study you were able to accurately define this chapel as musty, by which you are referring to each and every jagged crack and faded stain that you have had the leisure of seeking out and numbering at least twice. Just by looking at the picture you can distinctly hear the creaking crowd of a dozen benches and the endless, hollow echo of a hallowed room.

But back when you had just discovered the photo on a distant relative's facebook page, you only got to notice those details much later, because of course the first thing you studied were the people. Upon the two creaky rows of benches is seated a respectable mass of men and women dressed in their best attire, displaying a number of colorful dresses and elegant suits. At the end of the alley stands a tall young man in a brand new tuxedo, with neatly combed hair and shining black shoes. At the top of the stairs, in front of the altar, a priest in white robes holds a closed Bible in one hand. Nothing and no one is out of place, everyone and everything is where it should be, and yet the entire picture gives off a feeling of general confusion. The audience's attention is scattered and unfocused, most people having turned to one or several neighbors in conspiratorial whispers, others looking impatiently towards the back of the room, a few casting accusatory glances towards the two figures standing in front of the altar. The young man and the priest seem to have engaged in a heated quarrel, with their mouths open at the same time as if trying to talk over each other's arguments, the first lifting his shoulders and eyebrows in a defensive shrug, the latter spreading his hands wide in a broad gesture of questioning with the Bible carelessly gripped in one hand, as if he would fling it away any moment in order to express himself more freely.

Everyone in his right place, no one in his right mind.

But of course their would have been nothing wrong at that moment and the photo would probably never have been taken if the scene had been complete.

Despite yourself your eyes briefly flick to the caption under the picture, a simple three-worded sentence that you have been desperately avoiding for the past few hours: "Where's the bride???"

Then you look down at your ruined dress, which just a few hours ago had been crisp and white. That's right, you're the missing puzzle piece, and if you don't want to spend the rest of your days stuck between a line of garbage cans and the cold bricks of a dead end you'll just have to face it. But for now the only answer you are willing to give is a helpless I can't, despite all the bubbling guilt and regret that this picture has stirred up in you after gazing at it and absorbing its content for hours on end. The brightness of the screen has long since imprinted the photo in your sight, neatly, indelibly it seems, so that even with your eyes closed it is there and you can't escape the reality of it. You have tried and tried and failed to keep yourself from going back in time, from seeking a future that will never be, from forming a whole new question in your head that burdens you with its possibilities: What if?

You freaked out halfway to the church, while being driven there by an overenthusiastic father. What if you had managed to control yourself long enough to arrive? What if instead of listening to this little voice whispering Here's a red light, just open the door and dash outside, you had listened to that little voice repeating Calm down, there's nothing to worry about, you've known Tyler for more than half your life and you are surrounded by a loving family? What if at the exact time of that photo, you had been in your right place like everyone else? One thing's for sure, if things had turned out that way everyone would have been happy. The more you think about that scenario, the more you admit to yourself that eventually, your uneasiness would have been swept away by the joy and enthusiasm of your family and friends, and that this is how the picture would have looked: an excited crowd cheering and applauding the newly married couple, you smiling delightedly as you lift to your nose a bouquet of fragrant roses and Tyler standing right next to you, a hand resting lightly on your shoulder, smiling his usual charming smile. Isn't that much better? Don't you realize that the longer you decide to ignore your family's frantic messages and numerous calls, the less chances you have of being granted a second try? Yes, of course you do, of course you realize the urgency of the situation, but that's not what's blocking you, isn't it... It's those fears lying inside you, the line of thought that lead you to this decision, that other set of What Ifs that started haunting you soon after your parents announced you were engaged— What if being a wife is too much for me? What if Tyler changes over the years, for the worst?

And most of all, What if I don't really love him? Because you just can't imagine marrying Tyler if you don't. Your parents certainly thought it was a good idea, knowing Tyler's family's superior social and financial status, and that both of you have been very close for ten years. But a few months ago that's just what you were— two very close Best Friends Forever, even though Tyler is four years older than you are. But not a single time in your life did you think of kissing him; sometimes you even had conversations with him about who you'd want to go out with and which boy in the class you found the hottest. You've always felt that you two were more like brothers and sisters. But from the day you were engaged Tyler seemed as eager as everyone else to plan the wedding, and this creates a final, dreaded What If, What if the wedding was his idea? And something suddenly breaks inside you and hurls you into the depths of an abyss where it is impossible to resist the pull of countless doubts and questions and What Ifs, swarming and swirling in your mind like as many leaves caught in a hurricane, like as many flames in a blazing bonfire, like as many waves in a storm-wracked ocean, like When will I come back? Can I come back? What are they doing right now? Are they still looking for me? What if they decided to forget me, to cast me out to preserve the honor of the family? What if it's too late? What if all that's left for me to do is—

The blaring of your mobile's ringing propels you back to reality with a startled gasp. In the process your phone somehow escapes from your grasp and by the time you pick it up it has stopped ringing. That's when you notice that the battery is almost dead and you start cursing yourself inwardly, although really it's not that surprising to forget little things when you're only sixteen and dealing with a great deal of pressure. Then the phone starts ringing again and you pray that the battery will hang on long enough. You answer the call and start by saying yes, I'm okay, and I'm sorry but suddenly you burst into tears, because it's your father calling and he sounds worried, and apparently Tyler is willing to give you a second chance and they didn't cast you out and they didn't forget you and they never stopped looking for you and it's not too late and all you have to say is I want to marry him and that's finally what you do, and "Dad, I want to go home, I want to tell Tyler I love him."