July 16, 2010
He did not smell like fish so I married him. Back in my town that was more than most brides could say. He was short but they were all short. Something about my people's men staying low to the ground in those days. Maybe their bodies knew the war was coming so they just didn't bother. So he was not perfect but he was good and he had no bad smell around him as I mentioned.
My dress was simple by the standards of American women and a bit yellow around the edges. My mother wore it before me and her mother before her. But that was as far back as it went because no one of a good mind would wear something older than that. There was a little spot of blood on the hem that no one would talk about, so there may be a jealous lover somewhere back in the history of the lace. You never know with dresses, they can be dangerous things. There is a lot of danger surrounding a wedding too, in the before, during and especially the after. The priest told me it was a wife’s duty to give her husband what he needs when he needs it. When he left the room my mother pulled me into the corner and told me to lift my hips up and really jut them into the air because that will do wonders and to never ever speak of this again. Tourists come to that church now and pay big money for weddings. They like the wide floorboards and the coloured glass and the view oh the view and the crackling walls that sweat in the summer. They called it quaint in an American magazine that I found on the beach and I’d like to look that up.
My husband was waiting for me at that altar before he was my husband but I’m not sure of the word for that. He hated me then I think. He didn't look at me, not once, when I walked down the aisle. His back was short up and down but tall from side to side. It was covered in black cloth that was probably new because men were allowed to start fresh. I wanted him to look at me since I was a girl and what girl doesn’t want their man to look at them with longing and joy at least once? I coughed twice. But he did not turn. I jutted my magic hips forward. But he did not turn. I felt the humid air cool right then so I knew what was coming. (A girl who lives by the sea knows to listen to the weather.) And when I reached him at the altar I could see blood on his lips from where he had been chewing. It trickled into the cup when he took his sip of the wine. Too sweet he said as he passed it to me.
The ceremony was over so fast. A blur, like that band. I still have the disc that tourist with the Mickey Mouse tattoo left behind. I wonder if she misses it or if she even wanted it in the first place. How do you forget something that you’re desperate to? Really really forget it? I’ve always wanted to know.