• 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?


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.