In, what seems to me, the natural order of things in the world. Usually and without consideration, her life happened in pieces. It always occurred suddenly then all at once. This form of unadulterated joy was indeed rare and at times sworn to be make-believe. She never thought she'd stumbled into a passion of its own audacity. Until him. He taught her to do more than just love herself. If she was being honest that had always been the easy part. He forced her to appreciate herself. To stand alone but with the knowledge, she didn't always have to.
Thoughts of him dance through her mind like church mice. She assumes in celebration of the loud chiming bells of the cathedral she could hear in the background from across the street. Almost as if they were calling her asking her to dance too. The dress was yet another creation given to her as a gift. As she looked down to the lace that surrounds her body. It all felt so surreal. Her eyes following onto the white that cascaded her silhouette until she can no longer see and was forced to face her own reflection. Maybe she was subconsciously expecting to see someone else looking back at her and somehow to see herself as a bride surprised her. Tears already forming in her eyes but she doesn't dare let herself cry. Not yet of course.
She wonders if he's happy too. If he wants this too. If he saw her now would he suddenly change his mind? That thought scared her most. Could he possibly ever change his mind?
She closes her eyes and imagines his face. His eyes of green that flowed so easily into hazel and the hair that she imagined would combine into an uncontrollable curly mixture on the tops of their children's heads that one day he'd struggle to comb through. Or his smile. Yes.His smile, so sweet, at times ravenous. The way he looked so eager to absorb her. To become one.
Suddenly she was being bombarded by a sweating, red haired, maid of honor who quite frankly sounded more nervous than she was. "Alright! Alright! IT! IS! GO TIME!!!" The room abruptly came alive. People seemingly poured from the walls filling the room which felt so empty a moment ago. Primping her and putting minuscule final touches on an already finished masterpiece that was her matrimonial beauty.
As the music began to play, she started her descent onto the steps behind her closest friends while taking in her favorite aroma of pink roses. Falling align with would've been her father. And as the crowd of everyone she knew came into her view she closed her eyes and imagined the man she loved. Opening her lids slowly, her eyes landed on her groom. And her last thought before the congregation stood for her was He is so Beautiful.
EIght Years Ago
" YOU GOT THIS!" she screamed whispered into her bedroom mirror. Trying to slowly build confidence to face......Her. For the past two weeks, a young teenage girl prepared herself to go face to face with the strongest authority in all the land. Her mom. Finally deciding that if she was ever going to do it. It had to be now. Doing her best to appear her genuine most confident and sure, she painted her face with the war paints of the modern woman, eyeliner so sharp she could cut down entire armies. Her hair being the absolute pinnacle of Black Girl Magic with her longer than life box braids in an intricate updo, and one final piece to pull together her look of power. A dress literally made for her by her best friend, Marianna as a graduation gift. 'A stunning showing of pure talent' is what she called the ensemble the first time she had seen it. It was the color of the pink roses that had surrounded her her entire life and felt like the petals of the flowers she smelled every spring and summer morning since she could remember. A simple halter dress somehow held together by a single bow that tied just at the nape of her neck, with strings that flowed down the exposed skin of her back. Honestly, it was just as much a work of physics as it was a work of outright beauty and craftsmanship. It was by far the nicest item of clothing she owned and her mother had taught her at a very young age If something was important enough you have to put every single last thing you have into it or you truly don't want it. Feeling more powerful than ever, she decided she was definitely ready. With one final look into the mirror along with a reassuring nod. She straightened her dress and exited her room. Deciding to take the back staircase that flows into her dad's prized garden. And lead to the grand backyard that her family had taken pride in for the last three Jones Generations with all those beautiful roses.
She took a pause to watch the sun flow into her childhood home. Realizing soon she won't be there every morning for this anymore with college approaching soon. She decided to take a minute and soak it all in. As she sat on the step right before the back double doors that every morning find themselves magically opened. Embraced in an aura of content and calm she heard the rustling of metal coming from the kitchen and decided to take her rise. With one last whiff of that flowery smell that always flowed through her home, she got up and walked into the kitchen. Seeing her parents happily cooking breakfast together. Also, taking this in too. Her mom and dad's marriage had always been a sense of comfort for her. Love like theirs was a gem. In the sense of through pressure and heat came this perfection. And that was what it was, their own little perfection. Marriage, at least in her mind, was about creating a system of trust, understanding, and cooking breakfast. That had always been the constant in her home. Through rain or shine her family had always had breakfast together every morning. Even after fights, after disagreements, after her mother lost the baby a few years back. He carried her down the stairs, sat her in the unassigned assigned chair they all knew belonged to her, and they ate together in the warm and comforting silence of their grief. This young girl had always hoped to experience life like they do in interlocking pieces.
The older woman noticing her daughter's presence with a glowing happiness soon followed by her husband. "Morning Sweetie! Go get the cups and pour some orange juice."
"Mom," the girl said
"Ya, father's almost done with that bacon. And the grits are on the table already."
"Mom"
"Oh, you look pretty don't you."
"Mother"
" And I just gotta finish these eggs."
"MOMMA" the girl finally yelled in her final attempt to grab her mother's attention.
"What Ivy?! What? Hush up all that yelling in my house too. Now, what is it you got to say?" her mother said in absolute Blackest way possible like she said and did everything.
"Well. Umm. The thing is... Umm. Like. Listen." Ivy stuttered out.
"Now look Ivan. She did all that and ain't sayin nothing. Look" her mom half-shouted seemingly irritated.
Chuckling as he spoke "Well. Good Morning, Little Rose. What can ya mother and I do for you." The kind man laughingly expressed.
"Okay. Well, the thing is? It's May, right? And I only have one more month of school left. Not even full month. More like 3 and half weeks actually. And technically I have already finished school based on my credits, you know, because of all those summer classes and my dual enrollment. See look at that I'm such a good student and child. Like I'm great, honestly. Seriously."
"Get to the point, Little Rose." her father said looking slightly confused.
"Yeah. About that. Anyway, 3 weeks left. I was just wondering because I don't technically have to be there anymore. And I have already checked the laws regarding truancy as well as the school's policy. And I am completely in clear with one last itsy bitsy tiny weeny signature of a parent or guardian." Losing the confidence she so carefully built not even an hour before in the middle of her great speech but decided she march on " So basically I am asking can I start my summer early? Please. I have applied to couple places already so I just won't be sitting around the house. I have an interview at a bagel store Thursday. So. Please" she finalized her speech feeling dejected and defeated before the results were given but somehow still hopeful.
