There for her...

... The girl could feel a tear starting to make its way down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away before she allowed herself to notice.  As she readjusted her gaze on the scene, a hand pressed on her shoulder.

"I always get choked up at these things too,"  said an older woman next to her as she offered a tissue.  The girl gave a soft smile and politely accepted the tissue.  She dabbed the corners of her eyes and then laid her hand gently in her lap, holding the tissue as if it would break.  

The woman continued, "I'm telling you, even when I was just a little thing I would just start crying as soon as the doors to the church opened and that music started up!  Funniest thing.  Drove my mother crazy, though, considering I would use up all the tissues before we even got to the good part."  With this she gave a wink.  

The girl voluntarily listened, though her face showed minimal emotion.  She only smiled, turning up the edges of her mouth slightly, when it was appropriate.  The band was playing one of those tunes that everybody recognizes but can never remember the name.   

Not discouraged, the woman decided it was ok to proceed.  "I remember this one time my mom wanted me sit in the back so that my sniffling wouldn't distract other people, as it always did.  That would have been rather hard, though, since I was in the bridal party."  The woman stole a sideways glance at the girl who, mechanically, showed her almost smile.  "Yes ma'am I don't know what it is about weddings, but for some reason I always cry."  

The girls eyes wandered away from the woman and scanned the room.  It was clear that her mind was elsewhere.  Not offended, the woman proceeded.  "So tell me dear, which party do you belong to?  The man or the woman's?"  

Sensing that a question had been asked, the girl looked back at the woman.  "I'm so sorry, what did you say?"

"Which party are you here for?  Groom's side?"  The woman posed the question as if she already knew the answer. 

"Oh, the bride's side."  The girl looked as if she wanted to say more but stopped herself.  

"Oh yes, of course.  That does make sense.  And have you know the bride a long time..."

The girl looked down and shifted in her seat.  The band's rhythm was picking up. "Yes.  Yes, I have known her a very long time."  

The woman nodded and then allowed for some silence to fall between them.  Meanwhile, she studied the girl.  She was about the same age as the bride.  Her brown hair was swept back and pinned as curls softly fell over her shoulders.  Her eyes were bright and blue, though it was difficult to see that since they were usually either darting around the room or directed down into the girl's lap.  She was put together, a nice dress and simple make-up, nothing special, but still acceptable for a wedding.  Anyone would have thought she was just any other guest, but the woman could feel the tension in her smile and sense the way she seemed to hold her breath every time someone at the tables moved.  

The air was calmer now as the band's rhythm steadied and so the woman started talking again.  "The bride looks beautiful, much prettier than some of the brides I've seen."  The girl agreed.  She did make a beautiful bride.  She showed a hint of a smile.  The woman noticed.  "Does such beauty run in the family?"  

The girl started, "She- yes.  Many people find her parents very attractive." 

The air changed between them.  She mulled over changing the subject or pushing more.  Her eyes wandered up beyond the ceiling and she calmed.  "Are you familiar with her parents?"  

The girl's expression was indiscernible like smooth, grey concrete, but her eyes spoke dark as granite.  A trumpet in the band screamed from it's corner.  "You could say that."  She looked down to clear her throat and hide her face.  The woman didn't say anything.  She just let the girl find her thoughts.  "I- We have the same father."  The girl flashed a look at the woman.  Her tender eyes were encouraging.  The girl took a breath, "Our father was having an affair with her mother's sister.  Both got pregnant at the same time, her mother with her and her mother's sister with me."  As the band started playing a cool melody the girl's body relaxed. "Her mom, my aunt I guess, wasn't very happy, clearly, but it wasn't until-" The girl stopped and her mouth hung open.  The woman's strong hand rested on the girl's, providing just enough support.  "Well, her sister died giving birth to me.  There were a lot of complications and the doctors just didn't seem to know how to save her.  Well, anyway, my dad didn't know what to do, he was crushed and my aunt was heartbroken, and now there were two daughters.  His wife ended up taking care of me, but only with great disdain.  My sister, or my half sister I guess, never treated me like anything but family.  I swear she's the only reason I was able to bear any of it.  But that woman, her mother, she didn't blame my dad or her sister at that point, she didn't even blame the doctors, it was all me.  It was all my fault that her husband had cheated on her and her sister was dead."  A breath of relief left the girl for a moment and then her eyes sharpened, "She's never accepted me as her child, I wonder if she even looks at me as a human being."  

The woman could feel that she was losing the girl to another ripple of thoughts telling her to run.  "Why, then, are you here?"  

The question caught in the girl's mind like a pebble stopping gears from moving.  Her eyes blinked as she searched for an answer.  Then her eyes scanned up and found it.  

The scene once again became a blur of shapes and colors as her eyes swelled with tears.  The girl's eyes met her sisters and her sister's face lit up.  "Thank you."  her sister mouthed as her now husband assisted her out of her seat for a dance.  The woman had disappeared as if she was never there and the air filled with some celestial sound.  The girl's chest pounded with fulfillment, and yet, somehow, this time she could only barely feel the tear that was slipping down her cheek, slowly drawing closer to the corner of her grin...

Spinning...

... I see a world from downside-up through a kaleidoscope of prisms.  Colors bend and flex and merge into one another, mysteriously creating pockets for light to break through; gaps in the design.  I think I'm drunk, but I can't be sure.  Was it you who gave me that drink?  My heart is singing too loud for my sensible thought to speak, and I don't care.  

The birds are telling me to smile.  Maybe I should listen.  They have such sweet voices, those birds.  One is asking the other over for tea, but the second doesn't want to go because he would much rather have tea with that third bird over there, the pretty blue one with the white mark on its head.  I can hear them talking:

"Oh but it will be such a lovely tea!  We can also have crumpets" (I haven't any idea what crumpets are but they sound delightful!) "with jam, or butter if you prefer."  

"No, no, I am much too busy for tea and crumpets today.  Perhaps some other time."  

"Oh yes, oh yes, of course!  of course!  Anther time..."  Poor little bird, she doesn't know he wants tea with the blue bird!  Dear me, who should tell her?  

My eye catches you looking at me.  Suddenly I'm flush and swing around the long, thick, wooden pole holding up the canopy to hide from your gaze.  It's rough bark rubs over my soft, unscathed hands as I twist my body around its being.  I burry my head and laugh into the beam.  Your footsteps tell me you're coming closer so I continue to twist around this dividing line between us; the game of cat-and-mouse has begun.  I dip left and dive right, but your strong, solid hand finds mine and I'm paralyzed.  You grin down into my hazy eyes that are dreaming back up at you.  My body is calm as you reach your arm around my waist and draw me closer.  You smell like leather and spices and I can almost taste your scent on my tongue.  I've never felt so wonderfully lost before.  

One of your hands reaches up and your fingers curl around my neck, your thumb resting just below my parted lips.  I feel my head slowly sink back and my eyes stare up above at the canopy.  Greens and blues and yellows and browns dance before my eyes.  It's all so magical, this moment, but I can't seem to find my thoughts.  Did you steal them from me?  You make our bodies start swaying together, to and fro, in and out, a rhythm like the lines in the bark.  I feel a rush like fire over my body, and the world is spinning...

Past the cobblestone bridge...

... Did you ever notice how some memories always stick with you?  I really don't know why this is, and if you do, please explain - or rather don't because I think I secretly enjoy the mystical wonder of it all - but I guess what I'm really trying to say is that some moments in your life just really stick out to you, ya know? Like polaroids of my life, there are images I can't forget.  I'll get flashes where I can sense someone taking my picture as I stand in a blanket of sun scared leaves, the foliage shifting and re-settling beneath my feet as I cross the red, brown, and gold sea.  Or I'll be in the car, head lost in the sky, as my parents, aunt and uncle discuss something about a funeral arrangement as my cousins sit quietly next to me.  But out of all these snapshots, the image that constantly finds its way back into my conscious mind is the walk to my Grandfather's house.  I would leave my house, walking, as my mother watched on from the kitchen window, a freshly cleaned dish and drying towel in her hands.  The instant I got to the red mailbox, just down a bit on the hill, I would run.  I knew by then my mother's eyes had lost sight of my bobbing pony tail, and I would race as fast as I wanted, barefoot and wild, across pebbled roads and grass fields, until I came to that cobblestone bridge set over the big duck pond.  When I got there, I would stop.  For some reason there was something special, almost sacred, about this bridge.  My breathing would quiet, my pulse soften, my muscles calm, and I would wait for the exact moment when I was ready.  Then I would fly.  My feet would cycle faster and faster, my arms fling out to my sides, as if I had suddenly grown wings, and an open grin would settle on my face.  The tips of my fingers would stretch out and brush along the smooth, cold, blue stones that speckled the sides of the bridge, my fingers growing numb as I went.  My legs would brush past grass glowing from the sunlight calling down from above, making the tall, green stalks sway ever so gently.  Shadows of the surrounding trees would dance on my back, their branches tickling my skin without even having to touch it.  I would feel a breeze twist in and out of the strands of my hair, laughing as it flicked out through each end.  My mind would be lost somewhere back behind the worn down wooden beams of our shed.  Nothing existed.  Nothing but the feeling of pure, untainted, inexplicable bliss that enveloped my entire being.  When I hit the other side, I would keep running.  Down the curve in the path to my Grandfather's long driveway and open, welcoming arms.  I wouldn't stop running until I reached his beaming face, waiting for me, just outside his front door.


And now here I am again, standing at the starting point before the bridge, now grayer than I remember.  But I'm not running this time.  No, I want this moment to soak in and not rush by so fast like when I was younger.  


I still take a breath, because it's tradition, and steadily make my way across the bridge.  Instinctively my arms raise and feel the quiet brush of the stones.  As I pass the green stalks reaching up from the ground, they shift only slightly - or perhaps they didn't move at all.  A saddened sun plants kisses on my cheek, as if trying to coax out my grin that once reveled while on this bridge.  But I've lost that grin.  It faded when these moments became memories needed to be preserved - my Grandfather standing with the camera as I played in the leaves, my Grandfather's name being mentioned in and out of the discussion I heard in the car.  But now I've reached the other side and I can't remember what I'm supposed to do next.  I turn and gaze back at the sun shifting over the curves of the blue stones, wanting to turn back and start again, this time as my young, untroubled, childish self.  But it's been ten years to the day, and this time I won't be running into my Grandfather's open arms.  Though I truly wish I could...