The Day Before I Begin Chemotherapy
The Wedding
by Jonathan Michael Saucedo
The day before I begin treatment, the leaves blazed orange, yellow, orange, and red as I sat in front of the pond. The ceremony was running late, while a piano version of Ed Sheerhan’s “Perfect,” floats in the gentle, cold air. This was Jessica’s way as a child, always doing this in her timeframe. The moon rises early this time of year, illuminating old ghosts that rise to meet my curious mind.
The day before I begin treatment, as the sun still shines blue, I crane my neck as high as I can while my nephew walks my mom, Jessica’s grandma down the aisle. His tuxedo vest flashes red against her sequined blue calf-length dress I helped her pick out the month before, beneath the fluorescent lights and floor-to-ceiling mirrors of Von Maur. They walk toward me, the water, and the pond as the clouds threaten to descend upon it. I ask God to hold the rain a few minutes longer.
The day before I begin treatment, I see my brother, tall as I am when standing. I suddenly feel very small as I see a flash of white lace flowing from Jessica’s head, down her back to what I imagine graced the concrete aisle, bare of a runner, lest my wheels become stuck. The crowd rises above Ed Sheehan. The yellow, orange, and red leaves frame our friends and family as they fall silent. I imagine her walking down the aisle, but I only see the backs of the friends standing before me. I sit as high as I can, but I fall short. I withheld chemotherapy for a week so I would not be nauseated today. I do see Jessica and I going to a Jonas Brothers concert fifteen years ago as she danced; the memory lowering itself into the pond as I watch their backs. She was dancing while I sat smiling, not much of a dancer myself. Perhaps I should have danced with her.
The day before I begin treatment, Jessica stood beside her future husband as my brother kisses her cheek and sits beside his wife as the ”Perfect” piano cover subtly lowers itself into the pond, the yellow, orange, and red leaves holding Jessica in their embrace as they shield us from the wind as the sky continues to hold steady. I remember taking Jessica trick-or-treating in her princess costume. She cried the whole half block that I managed to get her down before giving in and walking her back home. She was always stubborn. She looks so small covered in the white gown I split between two credit cards and my disability check to buy her as my gift. She gasps, “Uncle, no,” but she’s my princess. At 29, she looks like she’s playing dress-up as my nephew makes eye contact with me, standing with the groomsman. My eyes remain dry as the sky holds the rain at bay. I see her playing the piano at her first recital. She looked small then, too late as we sat waiting for her to begin.
The day before I begin treatment, Jessica says “I do.” The night begins to rise, and suddenly, an ocean floods my cheeks so unexpectedly as she turns with her husband to retreat down the aisle. I crane my neck to see her go as the sky begins to shift.
The day before I begin chemotherapy, the pond promises to hold these years for me as a new season begins.
Jonathan’s work can also be found at jonathanmichaelsaucedo.com where he runs his “All Good Things” blog.
By day, Jonathan teaches middle school, attends graduate school for his MFA in Writing remotely, and continues working through treatment as the holidays ramp up. Jonathan receives chemo-drugs for a refractory autoimmune disease. This is his eighth year fighting the good fight because life is good.
