The Journey

You and your fiancé arrived at the bed and breakfast early in the day. This was your wedding day, but without family to greet you and make the day special. You walked hand-in-hand into the dining room, and quickly went to your room to prepare for the ceremony.

Years ago, when you were about 12 years old, you met your fiancé. Both of you were majorly homesick, and you both decided to go to church. You found the cloying velvet-topped pews and the chanting choir, and you could not understand why people all sat together in such close proximity. The church’s congregation was made up of mostly older people, and you could not imagine how they kept their voices so high. Still, you did not leave, and you gave your attention to the holy board with the various messages etched across it. You studied the lines, and when you finished your studies you returned to what was most important at the time. You noticed how tall and beautiful the aroma of fresh bread was in the air.

It was that aroma that first made the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The smell was nothing like the starch-laden and spicy air given off by the Pakistani bakery that you and your sister visited every Sunday. Tall and attractive, the woman who walked into the bakery was a shocking surprise. You had never seen anyone move so gracefully. Your sister, who had been behind you, paused in her copying of Gita verses to watch the gal walk by. She described her as “a so beautiful”, and you agreed with her. The woman did not wear any make-up that you could see, but even so you marveled at her perfect face and long raven black hair.

On the way back home, your sister asked you why you had not touched any of the food that the woman had laid out. It was the first time that you had felt hungry, and you said there was no reason to disturb their offerings. Still, you would have liked a sweet cookie or two.

That was a long time ago, but still you did not find the bakery’s smell so offensive. You had always trusted your body’s judgments of whether eating something would be good or bad for you or not. You were never a picky eater, even when your father was a miser and a poor cook. You always remembered the taste of a piece of candy from a church cookie sale due to the thrill of watching your father stand guiltily at the cash register after selling it. It was the same with the butter-coated pastry that you and your sister devoured for days until it was gone.

It’s been years since you last felt hungry, and feeling so suddenly and strongly reminded you of how old your body was. You chuckled at your sister’s innocent question, but you did want to eat something. After a long bath and some clothes, you decided to go downstairs to find some food. Bored while the others were preparing for the ceremony, you decided to make yourself a sandwich. You had no idea what your fiancé ate or did not eat daily, so you decided that something simple like a breadstick or even a pack of celery would be a suitable snack for you for both lunch and dinner.

While you were browsing through the map and directions for the bed and breakfast, you heard your sister come downstairs and ask your fiancé where he had left his watch. Your fiancé answered, not looking at your sister, that he did not want it anymore, and he tossed it aside.

Lifting your eyes from the map, you saw your fiancé had disappeared. Not wanting to be alone, you went looking for him.

By the time you arrived, your fiancé was standing over your sister. She was crying, and she would not look up from her hands she dug so deeply into her hair. You heard your sister say that she had thrown her heavy watch at him when he squatted uncomfortably in front of her. He had not moved, and she had done no more than toss it at his knee.

You watched for a moment as your fiancé bent low to look at the floor. He was quiet for a moment, and he finally said, “Next time the watch will be a prized possession I take with me on my journey to find a wife that shares my heart.” Your sister looked up at him, and said, “You have always been sarcastic and cruel, and that dress is just the icing on the cake.” He stood, and he took a slow look around the room to chose his walking stick. When he found it he turned and walked out of the room, and you heard the door slam.

Your heart sank as you realized you did not understand what your sister had said. You asked her to speak again, while you tried to untangle her words. Tears flowed freely, and she dropped her elbows to her knees. She said as plainly as she could manage again, “That dress is just the icing on the cake.” Still, you could not decipher the meaning behind her words.

Your sister stood up, and you watched her as she went through all of her bags. She asked you if you had seen any jewelry that he had bought her, because she had not found anything yet. The rings he owned, and his other simple pieces, had to have been precious to her. She searched through her bags, and she told you that he must have hidden that necklace. Through her tears, she described the necklace to you.

You said no to her but she did not let you continue, repeating herself without allowing you to say more than a word or two. She said her knees were weak, and she commanded you to help her look. You went to her, and with her arms draped over your shoulders, you looked through every pocket and turn-of-the-century relic. Nothing was there.

With trembling fingers, you asked her more about the necklace. Golden, like your fiancé’s hair, it hung from a fine gold chain. It was between the diameter of a thumb and index finger, and it was heart-shaped. Her fiancé held the necklace in his hand, and he paused for a moment before he clasped it around her neck. She said he had made her promise she would never take it off, and she had never done so once since.

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