Sunday, January 15, 2017

I Wore A Golden Dress

Remember that one time I got married?

I wore a golden dress and never quite felt like myself. The day was perfection though. From the ceremony to the plated meal, everything went off without a hitch. It was grandiose, and big, and pumped with amazing moments. 

My hair wasn't as messy as I like it. And my gown was gorgeous but didn't hint at my bohemian style. If I get the chance to do it all over again I imagine it being with someone that cares about the details a bit more than I do. Nothing fluffed or filled with tradition. I want bell sleeves and lush flowers. I also want pizza.

Perfection may hide the cracks but you can still feel them.

Combing back through the memories of that day, I see things in an entirely new light. I loved him more than I loved myself. Maybe I wore a pair of blinders or maybe I wiggled into a light state of denial, just strong enough for me to remind myself how much I cared for him, and the life he had dreamt up and promised me. And that reminder always grounded me. I was safe with him. He loved me. I wouldn't be able to find better. But when I piece some of those emotions together now, the ones that I suppressed or talked myself out of, it's scary. I missed so much.

...

I woke up that morning in the bed with Emma. Coffee was on its way up, and I heard whispers coming from the other room. My dad had gone for a drive to clear his head. He wanted to make sure his speech would do us justice. His littlest little girl was getting married.

We had mimosas waiting for us. The girls were cheery. The florist walked in, and we oohed and ahhed over the blush tulips and bouts of baby's breath. They were crisp. They were just as I imagined they would be.

I remember getting in the shower and staying a bit longer than I normally would. I shaved everything. I think I shaved parts that didn't need to be shaved. That's when I started to really feel the nerves. I got an idea to call one of my best friends. He was probably at the hotel by now and maybe I could see him for just a moment. I could get his opinion on this pit in my stomach. But I didn't. I texted though, and when he didn't respond quickly I let it go. I chalked it up to being nervous about all of the attention. I'm not an "all eyes on me" type of girl, and I was psyching myself out.

When it was time to get in my dress I needed help. There were two holding the train, there was one strapping me into the corset, and one holding my boobs. We have photos to prove the latter.

We had planned to do a "first look," and I knew seeing him would calm my nerves. As long as he was at the end of the aisle I would be fine, it didn't matter who was looking at me. Once time creeped closer to him knocking at the door, everyone left. My ladies were out taking photos, and my parents were making their way down to the ceremony site. It was just me and my photographer waiting.

When he came in I held my breath. I was hoping for a reaction, something immediate. He glanced at me with hesitation, and then tried to laugh off the awkwardness by screaming, "DAYUUMMMM" for the entire floor to hear. But that was it.

He walked over and just stood in front of me. There were no hugs. There were no kisses. Instead, I showed him my shoes. And that's what our pictures tell the story of. We were looking down at our shoes. I was disappointed and all of my emotion was caught in my throat.

...

We traveled behind the walls of the hotel to get to the ceremony. I didn't want to run into any guests so we used the hidden hallways to get us to our final destination. Right outside the room though I panicked a bit. I was still blaming it all on the nerves, and the fact that 150 people were about to be looking at me. They were going to be looking just at me, with their eyes, no where to be averted or distracted to. But running back through all of my internal thoughts, I think I was so disappointed by his lack of affection towards me that it topped off my heightened feelings enough to make me start crying. I needed a few moments to regroup.

Then I was there. The room was amber. It glowed. Mom and Dad were beside me. I spotted my childhood friend, Bird, and she already had tears in her eyes. That's when I spotted him. He was bending over a bit so he could see me. He had a goofy grin plastered on his face, and he was giving me a thumbs up.

I remember thinking, "There he is. He's adorable."

...

Later in the evening, once all off the commotion had died down. And after we had made our way around the room, after three people told me that I looked like a mermaid, after I had grabbed the microphone and thanked everyone for coming, after I could sit down, and breathe a little bit with my now husband, I got to taste the creme brûlée. I don't like cake so this was a nod to me.

After my first bite, he leaned over to me and whispered, "I can't wait for the after party," to which he proceeded to wiggle his eyebrows in my direction.

In classic "Grace" fashion I responded with, "Please don't creep me out."

He giggled back at me but I had lost my appetite. Why didn't I find that endearing?

SHARE:

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

The Calm Before The Storm


Put one foot in front of the other Grace. Step. Do it again but with the opposite foot. Step.

My feet are slightly sweaty from the moccasins I slipped into before I flew out the door this afternoon. My dress is too big, and every time I reach down to pick something up off the bottom shelf my bralette shows, and I feel a little slutty. I should have probably worn a scarf. I still smell my shampoo. My hair is damp, and when I turn my head I get a whiff. I just had to get out of the house though. I needed fresh air. It was irresponsible. I have so much work to do this week before I go out of town but I couldn't stay inside any longer.

My phone keeps buzzing. There are about a handful of men that are rotating through conversations with me right now. They have nicknames. "Husband Material," "Frisky," and "Dimples" just to name a few of the less obvious. I don't have an urgency or excitement to talk to them though. I don't have it yet at least.

Do I even want that? Shouldn't I jump at the opportunity to go on a date with the tall, 29-year-old who has a solid career that I dubbed "Husband Material" because that's what he's looking for. He wants serious. And he's sweet and he tries to flirt with me constantly. I shut it down though. Or I don't respond. I don't respond for hours. Why do I do that? Instead, I have an urge to explore the ones that are unreachable. I already know they're not going to end well. Relationship status, maturity level, stability; it's like common sense has decided to up and leave completely.

That could be because I don't actually want anything serious or everlasting right now. I'm more ready to continue to cultivate this beautiful life for me and Claire instead of putting so much energy into someone else's just yet. Or maybe it's because fate hasn't allowed my Mr. Right {Now} to come out from hiding. I don't really care.

I haven't slept well in a while. I've been restless. I haven't felt that since before everything happened. But it's because a change is coming again. I can feel it. It's big. Which is why sometimes, when I'm alone I fall into myself. Like right now, walking around a store a bit aimlessly and voicing this right into my notes app. There are a few people that have passed by that looked at me strangely. A man walked over and told me that I looked like someone. He just couldn't figure out who. I have that kind of face though. I get it a lot. At least weekly I'm told that I look that this one or that one, it's been happening since high school. It all started with Reese Witherspoon.

A text just popped up on my phone:

"Hey pretty lady what are you up to?"

I felt nothing. There was no excitement. I'm bored. But there's always a calm before the storm right? And I feel it brewing. My gut instincts have never been wrong. Sometimes I try to ignore them, which is what gets me into trouble. We all like to see what we want to see and hear what we want to here but our gut, that deep, somewhere-you-can't-exactly-pinpoint-spot far inside your body, that's where the truth is.

That's why I can't sleep. That's why I can't sit still. Because something is about to happen. This time it doesn't feel bad though. It doesn't feel like a hurricane that will knock the breath out of me or make me start from scratch. Instead it just feels like a culmination of a lot of hard work -  my work as a woman, a writer and as a mother which is where most of the sweat and tears went this year.

That's my main thought as I walk through this store. I want to feel rested. Most of the time no one knows that I'm tired. Most of the time no one even knows when I'm upset or overwhelmed or annoyed. I'm the composed one. I'm the one that doesn't say she's hurt until it's time to go to the hospital. I keep everything inside although I also say everything out loud. What a conundrum! Maybe I'm just exhausted with my messy self.

When there's nothing to worry about, I find something to worry about. And when I'm bored, I rummage up some excitement. But right now, everything is calm. I'm a little bored with the players on the chess board. And I'm not sleeping. The calm before the storm is tiresome.
SHARE:

Thursday, January 5, 2017

It Was All Broken

This is my new, daily affirmation. 

I just have a lot of faith that it'll happen. Because it was all broken. 

And when something is completely broken. When something doesn't work. When there's no way to fix the problem. You start anew. And anew doesn't have anything to do with the old.

To live a different life, I have to live differently. To have something big and new and good happen, I have to do big things and new things and good things. I have to expect yes, but work through the no. 

I'm okay with going at this alone. I've made a pact with the big man upstairs that I can handle it. That if this is the only way for the magic to happen, and that's for me to bear it on my own, I accept it. I don't need someone reaping the benefits of my life who doesn't really care deeply. 

I just have a lot of faith it'll happen. 
SHARE:
© Grace Lynne Fleming. All rights reserved.
Blogger Templates by pipdig