15 December 2011
This morning, I had a dream.
I walked into someone’s house, which was filled with herbs and flowers and candles and crafts. It was unclear whether it was really an artsy little shop, or a house. I was wearing a second-hand wedding dress with puffy 80’s sleeves.
I looked out at the parking lot, but no one had arrived. So I went back to the bedroom to fix my hair, but without success. It stubbornly refused to take any form other than a vague, poofy mass. I remember growing frustrated and asking for help, but no one could get it right. I decided to let it be.
I walked around the house wondering why no one was there. It was all supposed to start a couple of hours ago. Oh well, they’re just late, that’s all. Only two or three people were there. They helped decorate by tying up small bunches of dried flowers--a rather lousy, dried, dead looking decoration if you ask me.
Finally, people started to arrive. They were mostly from my church, arriving in vans and cars, returning from a long trip. They came in their jeans, old t-shirts, tousled hair, and tired eyes. They filed in and out haphazardly to use the bathroom, sit on the couch, or get a glass of water. They didn’t seem to remember what the occasion was. Or, as it turned out, they knew something I didn't.
Finally a friend said, Hey, your fiancé should really tell you this himself, but he asked me to do it, so here goes: he’s calling it all off.
The friend paused to see my reaction. Oh, okay. I said. It’s okay, I said matter-of-factly—completely emotionless. I didn’t feel any tinge of disappointment. It’s better that way, I thought, no one was really ready anyway. I looked back at my friend. Where is he? I’m not mad at him, and I don’t want him to change his mind, but I just want to talk to him. So he knows it’s alright. I don’t want him to feel bad.
OK, find him, she said. I did. He was tired from the trip. I told him it was okay. He said he was glad he hadn’t broken my heart. He hadn’t. We both agreed it was better this way.
I changed out of the dress, that ugly last-minute thrift-store find. Next time I would take the time to find something better.
Then I woke up.