For Worse

Slice of life drama about the sanctity of marriage and differences between men and women.

For Worse

         It was hard to focus on herself when so many other people were. It was hard to even get a look in the mirror at her whole body and face at one time. The maid of honor was adjusting her headpiece, her mother was fussing over her train, her sister was perfecting her make-up…

         It was hard to focus on what was about to happen. She could only think about what had happened the day before. She felt empty, and on this day, what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. It was too late to go back now—the organist was seated, the flowers were in place, the pastor was spiritually preparing himself for the sacred rite he was about to perform. If she pulled out now, they would know something was wrong. All the guests would have to be politely informed that the happy couple was not, indeed, who everyone thought they were. No, she would just go through with it, like nothing had happened. She wished she could feel as excited as everyone else, but she couldn’t.

* * *

         He handed her a tissue. She took it and pressed it against her eyes then sat still, blind. She didn’t want to open her eyes—didn’t want what was happening to be real. She pretended she was dreaming, and when she took the tissue away, she would awake to a plate of eggs and sausage on the table in front of her.

         “I’m sorry,” he said. It wasn’t going to work. She wiped her eyes and crumpled up the tissue. He was still there, looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

         “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I thought you loved me.” Her voice cracked at the word ‘loved’. She could feel the burning behind her eyes and the uncomfortable ball in her throat again.

         “I do love you,” he said. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Last night—with her—it meant nothing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just got scared.”

         “Scared,” she repeated. She pondered the meaning of the word for a moment. “I’m not scared.” She never had been—not of this, not of him. “But you’re a grown man,” she said.

         “I know,” he said, “It’s totally unacceptable.” He was still looking at her. She wondered why he wasn’t crying. She tried to think of something to say to make him cry. He got up to pour a glass of water and handed it to her. No ice.

         “You asked me to marry you,” she said. "We're supposed to be married tomorrow."

         “Yes, I did,” he said. “I still want to marry you. I’ll ask you again.” He sat down at the table across from her. He looked into her eyes—no sign of tears. “Will you marry me, darling?”

         She took a sip of the warm water. She put the glass down and looked into the quivering liquid. This is what his eyes should look like. She looked back up at him. Nothing.

         “I don’t think so,” she said, “I don’t think I love you anymore.” That should do it.

         “I certainly don’t deserve you,” he said. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. They both sat silently for a moment. It was no use, she thought.

         “I think I’ll go lie down for a while,” she said.

         “Maybe that’s best,” he said.

* * *

         They stood at the top of the steps. Everyone looked up at them from below, cheering and throwing rice, while the church bells clanged loudly above. She forced a smile and looked over her family’s faces. It was like a silent movie; she could only hear the bells—they were nearly deafening. Her guests didn’t know that the holy sacrament they had just witnessed was polluted, but it seemed the bells knew. They clanged so violently—angrily. Her husband took her arm and ushered her carefully down the steps. The driver opened the car door and they turned back to wave. Then her husband pulled her to him and kissed her in front of the crowd. He seemed genuinely elated. Another forced smile, and then into the limo. The driver closed the door, finally muffling the bells.

         Yes, she did love him, she felt. She would have to now. They were married, after all. A whole lifetime together lay ahead. Plenty of time, she thought, to learn how to make him cry.