California Wedding
Jackie has always looked good in white. From those first sweltering days on the road, I recall the image of her in her white shirt as she sat on the hood of the Camaro and gazed off into the distant Pacific sunset, thinking. It was one of the few times she ever looked serious. She was stunning in her simple white summer dress, all frills and ruffles of cotton and lace, as she lounged in the back seat, headphones on, eyes closed, and smiling. I remember moments like this being peaceful and pure, and of all the experiences the six of us had together since we decided to run the rest of our lives out on the ocean coast, these are the ones I cherish most. She was beautiful, but I never lusted after her; she was my best friend, practically my sister, whose spirit, I knew, was just as beautiful as her face. For years, I wanted to ask her to escape with me on our own coastal journey and leave the others behind, but I knew she wouldn’t have done it. Still, during those brief moments when it was only the car, Jackie, and me, the world was alright after all.
But I know Jimmy thought differently about her. I saw his eyes run over her whenever they got the chance, and I recognized the grin that always spread over his lips. He’d always try touching her shoulders or back. Jackie said that he was just a touchy person, and she didn’t mind. I wanted to believe that too, until the rainy August day I caught him in the back seat with her. I slammed the window with my fist, swore at him through the safety glass, and all he did was smile and keep going, fingers skating across her skin and sweat dripping from his forehead. What happened next was a blur to me now, but when it was over, Jimmy was crying over the impossible angle of his arm, my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, and the car needed a new left window. Jackie wouldn’t stop crying.
Today, she is getting married to him, and things still aren’t the same. She steps past the front row, where I am slouched. She shifts her dress uncomfortably. The top button of my collar is flying loose, and the summer breeze drifts down my neck, but I feel as unsettled as her. Her dark eyes flash in my direction. She knows what I think about the wedding. Jen and Roxy, both dressed in red dresses, hold her train and look anywhere but at me. Even Alex, who Jimmy picked over me to be the best man, won’t look at me. They all support Jackie and Jimmy’s decision; I am the only one who does not agree.
The priest begins to read. He has a low, colorless voice that is easy to lose. Jimmy is smiling at Jackie, but she is not smiling back. I sigh and wonder what she is thinking. I can tell she knows she is making the wrong choice, and yet, her face darkens when he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. She enjoys his touch and his attention, but even now, I can see that she will regret her decision someday. She will wish she had chosen someone else, someone who will cherish her and give her the real love she so deserves. If only she had chosen me. We might not have ever been romantically attracted to each other, but we were never happier than when we were together. We would have made a good family.
“Are there any present who know of a reason why these two should not be married?” the priest says. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” Jackie’s eyes flash at me, almost as if she expects me to say something. I want to stand up and shout, “It’s all a mistake!” I want my limbs to move, but fear keeps me still. This is her choice; I cannot interfere. I only listen as the vows are completed and the priest declares the two of them husband and wife. They lean in to kiss and finalize the ceremony.
I cannot watch. I turn away and watch a small flock of white birds ascend to the sky as everyone else smiles and claps, congratulating them on their new life together. If only they knew how it would turn out.
Taco Night
Seven o’clock
is coming around;
meanwhile, my stomach
continues to growl.
It needs some food,
and needs it fast!
Or else I simply
may not last!
So trudge upstairs
toward the smell
of a freshly cooked
taco shell.
It’s taco night.
My sis comes in
with stomp and scowl,
and thus, we have
tomatoes now.
She picks them fresh
from our back yard,
a job she’d rather
disregard,
but still she’s forced
to pick those things.
I’m glad for the
reward it brings.
It’s taco night.
We all sit down
when things are chopped.
Before we eat,
we all must stop
and bow our heads
and thank the Lord
for all the blessings,
room and board.
And even though
the smell is strong,
my stomach aches,
the wait is long…
It’s taco night.
Amen.
Yum.
Remembering Ashley
The first thing I notice is that the tree is dying. The weather is still warm; it’s still mid-July, and the leaves are already turning brown and grey and falling from the branches, rotting on the grass. I open the car door and step out onto the gravel path. The air is strangely old and humid here. Despite being quite alone, I lock the car before shutting the door.
As I walk through the overgrown clearing along what used to be a well-worn path, I begin to second-guess my decision to come here. Mom and Dad told me to take a ride in my new birthday present, and I ended up here. I’d been planning it all along; I think I decided sometime long ago that that nostalgic place would be the first place I would go on this day. I have another party to go to with my friends in half an hour, but the cake-induced malaise I feel in my stomach reminds me that I am sick of the festivities and in no hurry to continue them. Besides, I know that there is no way to back out of my decision now. Time has passed, and I am finally ready to confront my past.
I continue walking, noticing how much everything has changed. The path is virtually gone, lost in the grass from so many years of desuetude. The trees seem to have all grown bigger and greener. Even the sky looks wider to me now. But the tree, standing along and so proud in the center of the clearing like a mortally wounded soldier awaiting the mercy of death, looks largely the same as it always has, despite the dying leaves and discoloration of the wood. Memories wash over my eyes like filters, altering my view of the quiet meadow. I see myself at six years old, a thin fallen branch in my hands, bravely fending off legions of baddies. At ten, I am climbing through the boughs and imagining that they are the masts of a grand ship, and pirates are approaching on the horizon. At twelve, I am sitting against the trunk, head in my hands, unable to imagine at a time when I wish to imagine anything at all.
There is also a girl there with me. She offers a shoulder for comfort, loads the cannons in preparation for battle, and fights at my back as we protect each other. Little but her age changes through the years. She always has long chocolate hair and eyes to match, wearing the same patterned shirt and the same sweet smile. As the nostalgia passes, she grows older, matching my own age, until all at once we return to reality and she is standing in front of me. “Happy birthday, Peter,” she grins.
“Ashley,” I say, surprised.
“I told you I wouldn’t forget.” She reveals a delicate white flower from behind her back. “July twelfth. You turn sixteen today.”
I smile as I take the flower, but accepting it fills me with a horrible guilt; she has no idea of what is to come tonight. In the moonlight, I see that the flower is flawless and breathtaking. The deep white petals are curved like six silk lips, and the stem is firm and green. “Thank you,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”
She blushes and turns toward the tree. “Birthdays always make me think about the passage of time. About the past, about the future.” She turns back to me. “Peter, do you remember when we used to play here? When we were younger?” I nod. She continues, “We’ve both done a lot of growing up since then, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” For a moment, I am silent. Does she know what I am thinking? If she does, she gives no physical sign. The quiet begins to make me uncomfortable. I sigh. “Ashley, we need to talk.”
She smiles at me so innocently that I nearly tell her that it is nothing. But if it is not now, then when? Today is my sixteenth birthday, and there is something I must do, however horrible it is. “What is it?” she asks, seeing the pained look on my face. Her eyes take on a sympathetic look. “Are you okay?”
“I shouldn’t see you anymore, Ashley,” I mumble.
She says nothing at first. A weak smile flashes briefly across her lips, and her voice cracks slightly as she quietly asks, “What?”
I look into her brown eyes. They are wide and scared. Shakily, I take a deep breath and say, “Today, I am sixteen. I’m getting too old for this. I’m getting too old for you.”
She reaches up a hand to stroke my cheek, and her eyes jump back and forth between my own. “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head, vigorously. “No, no. It was nothing you did. You are… perfect,” I say. “I’m just growing up.”
“Can’t I grow up with you?” she asks.
I take a deep breath and step away, swinging my arms and looking around the clearing. In my hand, I spin the white flower. Part of me wants to abandon the whole thing now, but I know it’s already too late. I look at the lone tree, at its dying branches and at the rotting leaves peppering the ground. My mouth opens, and I begin to speak. “Ashley. You and this tree… you are my strongest memories of my childhood. The tree is passing away, while the forest around it keeps growing. Before long, it will be completely gone, and I will never come back to this place.” I look at her and, like the tree, she seems so alone, so hurt, her hair waving in the gentle breeze like the wild grass at her feet. “I need to grow up. I need to leave my childhood behind me.”
“No…” she says softly. “Peter, don’t…”
I take a breath. “I… don’t believe in you anymore, Ashley.”
Tears build in the corners of her eyes, and she lets them fall. She looks at her feet and at the rippling grass beneath her. “Do you mean it?”
She meets my eyes, and I feel my own burn in response. I want so badly to take back what I said and comfort her, but that would be a lie and I know that if I do, everything I have done will be a waste. I nod. “Yes, Ashley. I’m sorry.”
She weakly attempts to smile at me. “It’s alright. I knew this day would come, it always does.” She walks forward with her arms open. I hesitate, wondering if this is a plea for reconsideration. She shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’m just saying goodbye.”
I return her embrace. I cannot feel her like a real human body, as I once did; her solidity is already fading. I grasp her tightly and take a deep breath of the cinnamon scent of her hair. We stay this way for a few seconds, and then timidly break apart.
“Promise me one thing, Peter,” Ashley says, as she places one hand on the trunk of the tree and looks back.
“Anything,” I say.
She exhales deeply, and smiles. “Remember me.” With that, she walks behind the tree and does not reappear on the other side. She is gone.
The trees sigh as a new breeze runs through them. Then there is complete silence. Thoughts of her run themselves in my mind. I look down at my hand. Her flower is still there, drinking in the moonlight. I press it to my chest, with a last sigh in Ashley’s memory. I look at the tree, and as I do, a leaf breaks free of a branch and drifts to the ground. I watch my eight-year-old self as he builds a snowman here during a forgotten winter, and smile at the girl who puts the carrot in for his nose. I listen to the isolated practice of a violin and remember the one who sat and listened. Through everything, she was always there; she was the definition of my childhood, and I would never forget those years. “I will always remember, Ashley,” I say to myself. “I will never return, but I will always remember.”
