Here Comes The Pain, Darling.

Here Comes The Pain, Darling.

A beautiful morning.

The sun is out. The trees are standing more prominently than you could ever recall. Greener than you seem to have imagined them to be. The sky is the deepest shade of blue. A few clouds are scattered here and there, but nothing threatens to come out of them. The air, well, it is the air. Who ever could complain about air. Though you could swear it smells fresher than your usual dose. Your lungs seem to like this air better. But then again, maybe it’s not just the air. Maybe it’s also the trees in all their prominent glory.

It’s a beautiful mid-morning.

You sit in a chair in what has served as your bedroom since childhood. You are surrounded by the one sister who also happens to be a dear friend of yours, a cousin from your mother’s side who never misses weddings or a chance to make the bridesmaids list. Then there are two of your dear friends. All are excited for you. Or they’re mostly tipsy because the wine bottle in your room is nearing empty.

Your makeup girl is up in your face. That would seem like a complaint, but it really isn’t. She is literally up in your face. Your face is turned up and she is touching it. Foundation is going here. Concealer there. Blusher here. Powder there. Mascara here. Eyeliner there. Eyeshadow here and there. She’s working on your eyebrows now. She’s been working on your eyebrows for a while. You being you, you fail to see what the fascination is with eyebrows these days. When you mention this to your makeup girl, she reminds you that they have to look perfect. That everything has to look perfect. Your hair is holding. I mean, the pins and beads are holding up there. So you can conclude that everything is still perfect in the hair front.

Your dress? Don’t get me started on your dress.

It is a beautiful afternoon.

Where did the time go? One minute you were wearing your face, chit chatting with everyone who popped into your room to say congratulations, hugging and smiling and talking about nothing in particular, the next minute, a bouquet of flowers was in your hands, you had a dreamy white dress on and a clutch bag in your other hand, and a woman was leading you outside the room. One minute women were singing and dancing around you as you made your way to the vehicle, sister, cousin, and two friends in tow, all of them looking bridesmaid-ey and you looking every bit bride-y, the next minute you were seated in an immobile limousine now parked in the church compound, waiting to be escorted inside the church. So, where did the time go?

A bouquet in hand. A clutch bag on your laps. Your hands to your side and a dress that occupies the whole seat. You are a sitting duck. Your heart is beating faster now. Suddenly, you’re feeling hot. You ask the driver to open the windows. He doesn’t hear you. Your friend repeats the request for you. The driver brings a couple of windows down. The crowd outside gives you the look.

You see the same look replicated in your sister, cousin and two friends’ faces. The two flower girls are playing “I spy” and could care less about looks. You ask the driver to never mind, just let the windows stay closed.

You sit at the back of the limousine, surrounded by bouquets of flowers and looks. According to the program, you should be exchanging vows now. The bouquet that you’re holding is making your hands sweat. You place it on your lap. Yours is a beautiful dress. So beautiful that you barely recognize yourself in it.

You reach inside your clutch bag and get your phone out again. Your two friends, your cousin and your sister are not tired of giving you the look. They don’t seem to be nearing anywhere close to tired either.

You dial his number again. You get a “Please leave a message after the beep,” again. You send a message again. You tell him that you’re ready. For the nth time, you’re ready. That you’re in church now. Seated in the limo. Waiting for him to come and take his place at the altar, next to the priest and his best man, so that you can walk down that aisle to him. To your happily ever after. You text him this procedure again just in case he forgot. You decide that it won’t hurt to add how so happy you are that you are about to become Mrs. Baridi. How you can’t wait to say I do, which you assume will be in the next few minutes. You think of telling him about this dream you had last night. The dream where you wore an apron in some kitchen cooking pancakes with your right hand while your left hand caressed your pregnant belly. You change your mind when you realize there’s only so many words one can use in a text message. Plus, your calls to him are still being met by the leave a message after the beep insult.

It’s now a beautiful evening.

Everyone has left, save for a few relatives who insist on helping around. You wish they would all go to their homes. Mostly because you hate the look. And they have all perfected the look.

You want to be alone, so you decide to go for a walk. Your beautiful dress has now been replaced by slacks and a hoodie.

You refuse to think about where you’re going. Your legs can take you where they damn well please. You might have been unable to walk down the aisle, but you can still walk to wherever. Isn’t there always a silver lining?

The only company you seek now is that of your thoughts.

You put one leg after the other. The setting sun is a bright orange. Some will call today a beautiful day. The sun came out and the air was draped in freshness. The trees gave you their best shade of green and the sky gave you its deepest shade of blue. You will agree with the some that call it a beautiful day. It was a beautiful day to have your heart broken.

Something tells you that if you think the night will be as beautiful as the day, that you have another think coming. Tonight, you’ll think about him. When you think about him, you won’t be able to stop yourself from wondering why he couldn’t stand to see you walking down the aisle towards him. You won’t stop yourself from wishing he had seen just how wondrously perfect you’d looked for him. And you did look perfect.

So you’ll wonder. Why didn’t he want to be your groom? Are you a fool? Are you blind and stupid for loving him? Are you just a silly girl? Are you naive to want a happily ever after? With him?

These thoughts will become knives. They will stab you. It will hurt.

So here comes the pain, darling.

Be brave.


3 thoughts on “Here Comes The Pain, Darling.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *