• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 05
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Wedding Day Jitters: Pinch Me, Please

I’ve been called an odd Duck most of my life. Who hasn’t? A Quack even. A less commonly bestowed compliment, I am sure. Especially when I start pondering the meaning of life – between the lines – and predicting the Future. Ready or not, here we come. Reading tea leaves, studying palm cracks, and assessing genetic lines. Deciphering the mysteries of life. All for 25 cents a Pop. Sometimes Fizz. Nothing in life’s a guarantee, anyway. And sometimes the Future has a leaky seal.

Never did see mine coming, though. Fancy that. Mama always said G-d laughs as us mortals plan. Putter. Potter. Poof. When I wasn’t watching, my own future took a hard turn right, then left. Threw me a 360 and then dropped me in a pot of pure magic. A sturdy kettle, soldered with kindness the color of snow. Touched by care as soft as a young duckling’s powdered, velvety head. Scented of lavender baths, hand spun raspberry mittens, and crock pots full of savory chicken soup and succulent beef pot pie. My favorites. My Beau. A potion working a magic all his own. Look at me – His Bride – now. Ebullient. Radiant. My locks colored blond and piled on top of my head. A tiara. My lips the color of autumn. Depending on the day, deep reds, lush browns, rich pinks. Today – my wedding day – I chose a dark cherry. Happiness on a stick. My feet a web of nerves and interlocked digits – stuffed in borrowed crimson heels and crisscrossed for good luck. Once a Fortune Teller, always a Fortune Teller.

Dressed in a traditional off-white. Surprising even myself. Superstition persists. Something borrowed – a shiny pink bobby pin, something blue – corduroy britches, something new – my gown.

An out-of-body experience of being both blessed and terrified all at once. Is this real?

Do the others see me as the Quack I’ve been termed for so long?

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Wedding Day Jitters: Pinch Me, Please

My chest full – bursting of pride. Careful. Don’t let the latex balloon – subject to sudden drift – float away. Always fragile. My beau’s hand – palm side down – wrapped around my bodice. Pinch me, tell me it’s not a dream. That good fortune finally rained down on me.

Around me – oval, white clothed tables with plumped and plucked faces. Happiness tasting of well-done sirloin and gravy-laden mashed potatoes. Love the way of an old hand quilted blanket on an antique rocking chair – floats like puffs of rain mist – under an incandescent crystal chandelier. Prisms of high-pitched laughter and warm, sultry tunes – everywhere.

Am I the odd duck, or is it everyone else?
Fortune Teller, do you take thee,
your hand in his, and his in yours?
Bouquets of feathers fly ... high.

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