No lullabies

In White

The afternoon light was dancing outside the pale see-through curtains, seeping in from time to time and making the white fabric against my skin glimmer. I could feel the warm June breeze filling the room as it came and went, while I tried to pin down the last strands of hair against my scalp.

"We're gonna be late Ma!" I called while finishing up the updo I was working on, the shorter bits didn't want to stay put, and the breeze was growing stronger every passing minute anyway, so there was no point in trying to achieve perfection. I let the rest of the locks falls to the sides of my face, and pinched my cheeks a little to make them rosy; an old grandmother's trick to look naturally blushed.

Everyone was already at the church, I had asked them earlier to leave without me as I finished whatever was left by myself, without overly excited friends and cousins fluttering around me. My mom, of course, stayed, claiming she wasn't ready but I knew she wanted to see me first before everyone gathered around me with their congratulations and wishes and I had to divide my attention among all of them.

My hair was ready, the little pink flowers entwined in a bed of ginger locks. I admired the finished product in the mirror of my boudoir and stood up, letting the light fabric that covered my body flow with movement. I was supposed to be there already, I knew all the guests were impatiently waiting; the crowd wasn't big, we had wanted to keep it simple and small, the place was a little stone church just down the main street of the town.

"You look beautiful," I heard my mother said, her voice filled with emotion; a knot forming in my throat at once when I heard her.

I turned around smiling, but the sentiment that exploded in my chest kept me from moving, so she approached and held me in an embrace for a few minutes. 

"Well," she said with a wistful exhale, giving me a meaningful look. She was a woman of few words, as was i. 

"People are waiting," she declared letting go of my hands and offering a warm smile before leaving the room, she knew me all too well, so she left first to allow me to take the short walk by myself.

"No crying," I said to my reflection in the mirror. I wasn't nervous, but I felt charged with anticipation. I shook my hands to release whatever tension I might have and tied the thin blue bracelet on my left wrist, the last touch to the array of traditions I was carrying with me.

I descended the spiral stairs and grabbed the flowers from the coffee table by the door, where someone had left them for me and was about to leave when I heard laughter somewhere inside the house.

"Who's left?" I asked loudly and waited. A minute later I heard it again, it sounded young, like children playing.

"I'm about to leave," I said raising my voice, but the place was silent, I figured if someone was still in the house they would have to catch up, I was already testing everyone's patience on a hot summer's day.

Closing the old wooden door behind me I stepped outside, the wind catching my locks and blowing away some of the tiny flowers. I rolled up the skirt of my dress on one side to make sure it didn't get dirty, and I walked down the narrow stone path to the church. The whole way down felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, but I felt assured, knowing someone would be there waiting for me.

The tall entrance was wide open, but the last blinding rays of sunshine made the insides indiscernible from where I was standing. I waited, and surely enough the music didn't take long to start, I held my bouquet to my chest with both hands, and when the cue came, I started my slow march inside.

I went through the arched doorway and as I did, my eyes started to adjust to the shade inside. My two flower girls had joined me, walking in front of me, spreading petals over the floor. But as my sight finished adjusting I realized there was no one sitting on the benches; I stopped abruptly, taken aback by the unexpected scene.