Day Four of the Wedding

The light is almost gone by the time we reach the clearing; with everything that has happened today we were kind of ridiculously delayed. But this is important. So much has gone wrong, but this, this, is what might shatter everything if I don’t go through with it.

I told Abigail she didn’t have to come with me, but of course she insisted. We don’t look at each other though. We just silently kneel near the pond and dig up earth. It is absorbing, comforting work. Was it only two days ago that we last did this, surrounded by all we loved, joyful, hopeful?

Thoughts and concerns rage within me, but I tamp them down as I tamp down the ground next to each specimen, try to replicate what we were shown last time.

She sits back as I silently contemplate each sapling. I spent so long trying to decide on the perfect representation for each. It’s hard when my memories are so vague, so far away, lost to time. I shake my head and grit my teeth. I’m more confident about some, but I think they would like them.

They almost ring the pond, and soon enough they should bloom and add to the array of colours that make this clearing so special. I’ll never forget the first time Abigail brought me here, and sank into the soft ground so I could thread her hair with flowers. This place is special to us, and has been a sanctuary for us many a time. The memories bombard me and I smile sadly.

It’s no longer a place for us, it belongs to them too now. Ammi. Baba. Aldred. Louise.

And Riowyn - I stare at the last pit in the earth, and turn to Abigail, who holds the final plant, for her. I reach into my jacket and cling to the journal her family brought us. I tremble, and finally meet Abigail’s eyes. She looks as tired as I feel. I move aside and she joins me, kneeling down, holding the sapling out. I place my hands beside hers. Together we place the sapling in the ground. I run my fingers over the silvery leaves, and think of the golden blooms to come.

I must stay sunk into the ground longer than I thought, because Abigail withdraws and murmurs, “I’m going to head back now.”

I nod wordlessly and let her leave without even a look back. Darkness envelopes me, and the clearing, and the saplings. But my heart feels a little lighter. Maybe I shouldn’t have let a funeral tradition mix with the wedding, what was supposed to be happy. Maybe it’s worth looking into why it felt so wrong for me not to honour the dead at a wedding. It all blurs together, but I don’t regret it. I’ve spent enough time running away from them.