Member-only story
When It Comes to Love, I Believe in Signs
Deep in my past, they point my heart towards the future
This morning, every surface in our quiet beach town is covered in white. I am awake early enough to see it in its perfection, smooth and sloping, hanging on, unsullied by ice, rain, anxious dogs and children in their school reprieves.
Delivery
I hear the crunch, crunch of footsteps. The FedEx guy carries a box for me and whispers, “Good Morning,” as he hands it to me. It takes so much effort to peel even the first layer of tape.
I dig my hand into the half-opened box. I feel around. It is so soft. I tear the package open to find that it contains something cashmere. White. Long. A ring of pale roses and peonies circles the collar and wrist. The distant smell of flowers tells me that it has given joy to someone before me.
At the bottom of the box is a sheet of paper. It says, “Remember? No? Turn it around,” Love, Priscilla.
I have no recognition. With my cognitive problems I can barely remember my phone number. I pull my nightgown over my wild hair. I slide into the robe, back to front, and work to button myself into it backwards. I see it, I feel it, I smell it.
And I remember.
As children, Priscilla, my little sister and I enacted it over and over. “Let’s play “Bride,” one of us would say. Of course, as the oldest, I was always the bride, and she the lowly bridesmaid.
We found our long, pastel bathrobes and turned them around with the buttons down the back. I found the veil I wore for my First Holy Communion and pulled on the pristine white gloves I was only allowed to wear on Easter.
Priscilla was only allowed to wear her crummy turned around bathrobe, but she never seemed to mind. We waltzed around and around the room, singing “Hail Holy Queen Enthroned Above.” We filled the holes in the lyrics with any word we thought of. Instead of promising to avoid the near occasion of sin, we swore that we’d avoid the dear occasion of sin.
I knelt down with my hands folded and piously pointed to the sky. Priscilla became the priest and demanded my vows. We didn’t really understand the “promise” part of vows, so we…
