Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Last Time I Saw You

I must have been shaking considerably for my father to comment. He never noticed anything like that. But when he asked, I had to lie and tell him I was fine. In truth, I was anything but okay. This would be the first time I saw her in seven months, my wife, Natalie, I mean, and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to act. It didn’t help that both mine and her parents were there too. So were a number of our closest friends. I’m sure they were all just giddy to see how I reacted when I saw her.
Her parents had to choose the chapel we were married in for the occasion too. That helped. The giant image of Christ hanging on the cross didn’t rack my conscious in the least. See, the last time I saw Natalie we got into the fight to end all fights. We had been fighting like that for some time. On again, off again. That sort of thing. Every couple fights, and married couples are the exact opposite of the exception. I can’t remember exactly how it started (something about an unused coupon), but it escalated too far for me. I still remember slamming that door as hard as I possibly could, which only served to fuel my anger more when one of the hinges snapped off.
I could feel two sets of eyes boring into my cranium harder and more penetrating than anyone else. My two little boys, Leif and Jacob, were standing beside my mother-in-law with a pitiful look plastered onto their faces. I hadn’t seen them for five months, and that was by pure chance. I ran into them at a park while I was trying to hit on some hot young thing. Don’t worry, that didn’t go anywhere anyway. I kept having images of my wife pop into my head every time I looked at another woman. But seeing my boys put me over the edge, and I left town completely. I’d only been back less than a day when my own mother called me and told me to come here today.
But there she was, right in front of us all, and in a flash all my malice and hatred were gone. There was my wife, the woman I had promised to have and to hold, for better or for worse. I guess that means I broke my promise. She was so beautiful in the chapel lights, and she was clothed in such a magnificent dress that I felt like I was gazing upon a queen. She was my queen. I had only forgotten that simple fact. Her red hair was something out of a Disney movie; long, flowing, and brilliant in color. It was something she had always taken great pride in was that hair of hers. Leif got it, but Jacob got my hair. Poor kid will be bald by the time he’s twenty five.
I slowly began to make my approach, wondering, reaching for the right words to say. My hands even made a slight clawing motion, as if I was physically trying to grab words from thin air. But the air was so thick that I felt like I was forcing my way through it just to get to her. My heart was racing, and I could feel my pulse in my neck, clogging my throat and choking me. Breathing became harder and harder, until I thought I would suffocate. My mouth was so dry that it felt like saw dust. I felt the sudden urge to turn and run. Let her go forever and swear never to look back. I am quite sure that would have just pissed everyone off, and I would probably have just run right off the nearest bridge.
Suddenly I was there. Getting there was the longest walk in my life, but now I was standing before her. The silence from everyone around was deafening, listening intently to every word I had no intention of saying. Natalie was stone cold. Above us hung a massive crucifix made from some dark metal. I started wishing deep within that it would come crashing down on top of me. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. This is ridiculous.
But there she was again. My wife was before me, and here I am wishing for death. I had been wrong. I had left her over a stupid argument. Or, more accurately, I left her because of my own pride. I looked up at the image of Christ and thought how happy he would be to see me realizing the error of my ways. I looked down to my shoes. This was the moment where I realized I was crying. My eyes had grown bloodshot, and over a year’s worth of tears were breaking the emotional dam I had built up inside myself. Looking straight into Natalie’s beautiful face I uttered:
“I’m sorry, Nat. I love you.”
The presiding bishop began saying something in Latin. If I had ever gone to Sunday school I’m sure I would know what he was saying. But I knew what he meant. He was asking the lord to receive this woman into his bosom. I leaned over my wife and kissed her lips softly. A few of my tears sprinkled her cheeks, giving them a starry sparkle.
The Pallbearers then stepped forward, closed the casket, and began to carry her out of the chapel. The crowd followed behind them, and I was left alone.
Who am I kidding? I’ve been alone since that stupid fight.

2 comments:

  1. I remember reading this when you first wrote it. Sad. But you did a great job.

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  2. Pfft! That was supremely depressing! But, I'm not one to talk, most of my prose is ended sadly. This had some really good description in it, but without actually taking up time to describe things. I prefer when writers do that. I've never liked it when they introduce someone and just take a whole paragraph to describe them. It shouldn't be done that way. It should be done in what I refer to as "casual description" instead of "direct description". The former is much better than the latter in my opinion.

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