A Wedding Disaster... Or Was It? Page 6

  On the very first knock, a young girl, maybe ten years old, opened and stood shyly with a large bedazzled flower to the left side above her eye, a large wide ribbon tied in back keeping it attached to her totally bald head. No one needed to explain to Sarah that this little one had been under a chemotherapy regimen. Her face and body spoke clearly of imminent death, but her alert eyes, first registering horror at Sarah's countenance, disclosed deep compassion for Sarah.

  "My mother is here....." Sarah began. But the little girl was more interested in Sarah's beat-up face.

  "You're sick, too," she said, softly.

  "Kind of." She was just about to ask if she could come in, but the little girl was ahead of that question, already motioning her to come in, which she did.

  "What happened?"

  "I stood up too quickly and hit my eye on a cabinet corner, then fell down on the screwdriver I was using."

  That response first drew a slight smile from the little girl, but was almost immediately replaced with concern. "That almost sounds like the way a story would begin on one of the old Carol Burnett shows. But, you must be in a lot of pain. I'm so sorry. I don't feel very good either."

  "Really? What happened to you?" Sarah knew very good and well that it was health-related, not an accident, but wanted the girl to be able to tell her own story.

  "I have cancer and I have to have creamatherapy. That's why I don't have any hair." Sarah knew she meant chemotherapy, but didn't correct her pronunciation.

  "I'm so sorry. But, to tell you the truth, I was looking at that adorable headpiece you're wearing. It's all fancy and shimmery. I wish I could hide my injury with something beautiful like that."

  "You like it??? I made it myself."

  "No, you didn't. It's too beautiful to be homemade."

  "Really, I did. Come over here in the dining room and I'll show you my hobby station and some of the things I've made. Oh, I almost forgot... My name is Caitlin."

  "Mine is Sarah." She knew she should be asking to speak with her mom, but Caitlin was so excited to show her the work station, that Sarah put that task aside momentarily.

  Following Caitlin, she hobbled to a dining room table and perused all the tools being used for the child's crafting projects. All of them involved a Bedazzler. There were rhinestones, imitation emeralds, amethysts, aquamarines, pearl drops, several shapes of clear glass chain, and a number of imitation stones she didn't recognize. There were glue sticks, fabric adhesives, swatches of multi-colored satins, taffetas, and lengths of ribbon in many widths and colors. Frankly, she was wowed by the extensive hobby tools. And on a small separate table were a multitude of projects already completed, among them more headpieces, small purses, and what looked to be uniquely styled necklaces. And, everything was organized as though by an adult, a very, very OCD adult.

  Sarah wanted to reach out and touch some of the "goodies" on the table, but even as her hand approached the table, peripherally she could see Caitlin wince. She pulled her hand back and said, "I just want to touch everything, but I'm afraid I'll mess things up."

  "Tell you what... I can teach you how to do it. Just sit next to me here, and I'll take you step-by-step."

  "Am I supposed to decide what I make, or will you decide what a beginner like me can handle this first time?"

  "Why don't we start with a sparkly ribbon. I'll teach you how to bedazzle it. You can learn while doing it, then take it home with you."

  "Caitlin, you're going to let me have it? You're the best! And frankly, that's a good choice of item. My cheek and eye still really hurt, and when I brush my hair back on that side, it just about kills me, the pain is so bad. If I have a ribbon, I can just pull my hair back and keep it out of my face altogether."

  "Sarah, could I see what it looks like? I can tell by the bruises and your puffy cheek that it's going to be bad, but don't worry, I'm not screamish." Sarah knew squeamish was what she meant, but this was not the time to correct her. Frankly, she thought this innocence was quite becoming to a young girl her age.

  "Well, if you think you can look at it without getting sick, ok."

  Caitlin screwed up her face as Sarah began removing the bandage edge. Sarah could tell it was an empathetic facial reaction.

  "Oh, Sarah!" Her eyes clouded over and a tear slid down Caitlin's cheek, halting at her chin.

  "It looks pretty bad, huh?"

  "I can see all the stitches. Six...", she counted again out loud as she leaned forward for a better look. "No, seven of them. And, the white part of your eye is completely red, like blood. Your cheek is all puffy and purple. What makes bruised skin that color?"

  "It's the blood that's draining on the inside of the skin."

  "Oh."

  "I haven't looked at it yet. I'm kind of afraid to."

  "I can hold your hand while you look. There's a mirror on that wall," she instructed, as she pointed to the large decorative mirror over the sideboard. You don't even need to get up. You can sit right here. We'll sit here together."

  She really didn't think she wanted to look at this stage, but with Caitlin's support, somehow she thought it would be okay.

  Only about half the bandage was peeled up and Sarah looked at her reflection in the mirror. She could see that her face was a mess, and there was swelling to a level that she could not believe was possible. She was beyond looking like a chipmunk. She more resembled a blown up balloon on that side. A fully blown up balloon... A ready-to-burst, fully-blown-up balloon. How did a cheek get that swollen without the cheek actually cracking and exploding?

  Nevertheless, she lifted the bandage further, and saw the entire injury in all its radiant splendor. She remembered being told in the ER that it would get a whole lot worse before it ever got better. But, this was beyond any horror in her wildest imagination.

  "Oh, no." She quickly pulled the lower edge of the bandage down and placed pressure on the tape points. She just felt sick inside, which could be seen as her entire body slumped as though being deflated. Caitlin could sense her anguish and squeezed her hand, then began patting the top of their entwined fingers.

  "Sarah, it's going to be ok. You just wait and see. We can wait together. You can wait for your face to heal and I'll wait for my hair to grow back. I'll pray for both of us every night. We just need to be patient."

  "The problem is that I'm getting married in a week. That isn't much time to heal."

  "Are you wearing a long white gown and a veil?"

  "A long gown, yes. But, I'm not wearing a veil. I'm wearing a pearl and rhinestone tiara that belonged to my grandmother." Caitlin looked perplexed. Sarah asked if Caitlin would pick up about five of each of the items she pointed out. Caitlin nodded.

  "Pick up some of these, and these smaller ones, and the really big ones. Then, how about these teardrop pearls, and just a big handful of the rhinestones. Now, put them here on the table."

  Sarah began to use combinations and form them into the general configuration of a tiara.

  "Are those the exact stones... pearls and rhinestones?"

  "Well, what I've made here looks pretty sad, but yes, pearls and rhinestones, and this is the general shape."

  "But no veil, huh?"

  "I wasn't planning to, but now all I want to do is hide that side of my face. A veil wouldn't hide it anyway, unless I made it about ten layers thick."

  "Couldn't you get married another day?"

  "No, Caitlin, we're going ahead with the wedding on the day we planned it for."

  "Sarah, I still think you're beautiful. And your husband will too. What's his name?"

  "Dean."

  "Dean will think you are just beautiful. Trust me. I know these things."

  It was a shame Sarah's mother didn’t feel the same. Kate's feelings spoke very loudly through the looks she gave Sarah at almost any given moment they were together. They seemed to crawl back and forth along a continuum that held sympathy on one end and disgust and rage on the other. In one three minute conversation they had had about Sa
rah's stunning bridal gown, Kate's facial expressions changed from "My poor little daughter..." to "You look just terrible, I'm so embarrassed for you" to "I could just smack you for being so clumsy in the first place and then going ahead with the original wedding date."

  At some point during her musing over her mother's attitude, Sarah realized that she had been there with Caitlin for quite a while. She looked over at the wall clock to see that thirty minutes had passed since she had arrived. Looking through the back window, she could see that her mom and Mrs. Trenton were still deep in conversation.

  And, with her last comment, "I guess I'll talk with my mother later," she walked out the door, waving goodbye to Caitlin.

  "Caitlin, I want you to be a guest at my wedding next Saturday," she said, turning around for a moment before continuing her walk home. "I know your parents are coming, but I'm going to put your own personal invitation in your mailbox, between now and tomorrow morning. Will you come?"

  "If my mom says ok, I'd love to come. Thank you, Sarah. Bye."

  "Bye."

  Exiting Caitlin's house and beginning her painful and lopsided trek back to her own abode, she was overwhelmed with what she'd seen in the mirror. She looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Between the damage to her face and her sutured hip that caused her to walk with a limp, she felt like a monster. The tears began, and once they did, she thought they'd never stop. Tears of horror, tears of disbelief, tears of mourning, tears of loss, and tears of hopelessness and despair mingled together in a torrential downpour that splashed off her chin. It was a quick step to overwhelming grief that caused her shoulders to shake and hiccups to wrack her being.

  This was a wedding disaster of epic proportion... or was it?

  *****

  Chapter 15

  KiirstiAan's email to me:

  I stopped right in the middle of the story. I couldn't find the correct spelling of gluteous maxamus. I tried this spelling, but that annoying squiggly red line was still underneath it.

  Oooooh, this is just so frustrating! I had to get out of the story, go online and find the term. I decided my best bet was to look up an online medical dictionary. Found it and corrected it. I'm good, that's right, I'm good!

  But, I'm nervous to find out what Sarah could possibly have done when she knew how distorted and broken her face was and only one week before her wedding.

  Remember when you were ten and in your brother's wedding? You said Aunt Linda was only seven years old and was also going to be a junior bridesmaid. But, three weeks before the wedding she fell on her face on the sidewalk while roller-skating. When I saw the picture Grandma took, it looked bad enough to me to require plastic surgery.

  Didn't you say she didn't even need any stitches? I don't remember, though, what you said happened. Was she still able to be in the wedding?

  Anyway, back to Sarah's story.

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  No, Baby Girl, don't change it. That was the spelling Sarah's mom said she saw in her mind. That's why she questioned it in the first place.

  And, about your Aunt Linda... Yes, she was still in the wedding. Amazingly enough, by the big day, it was pretty much healed. Her face was kind of pinkish, but since she’s a redhead anyway, it wasn't distracting. And obviously no lasting damage, since as you know she is such a stunning woman.

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  Yeah, Aunt Linda is beautiful, isn't she.

  Already looked it up and changed the spelling. I'll go back, though, and spell it incorrectly for story-telling purposes.

  Ok, back to my proofing assignment.

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  I've already thought it over. You're working so diligently that I'm going to pay you twice as much as I originally planned for your proofreading services.

  BTW (see, I'm learning texting language)... Did you ever go online and check out BridalExtrava-Gown.com?

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  Yes, I did check it out, then called her. You're gonna be surprised by what I've come up with. (Shhh, it's a secret!) You don't get to know anything else right now!

  A raise? Well, I'd think so! BTW... how much is zero dollars and cents times two?

  All nonsense aside... back to reading.

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  Before you go back to reading, I thought I should ask you something?

  I read in the newspaper that the bridal mart downtown is having a massive sale on all bridal footwear. But, it's only this Friday and Saturday. (Adrianna Bridal? Adelle Bridal?) Why can't I remember the name of that place? You know the one I'm talking about. It has the family law practice on one side and the bible/book store on the other. Wow! Is that weird, or what? It's kind of like they're saying, "Go ahead... get married. Then, when your marriage falls apart, you have a choice... You can just come back here and get a divorce, or you can buy a Bible and try running your marriage God's way, like you should have done in the first place!"

  Uh, I'm digressing, huh?

  Anyway... we could go out to lunch and go take a look at what they have. Do you even know what kind of shoe you want? With your gown, you could swing a couple of different ways. I'm really crazy about Victorian boots, but I think you've already said you're not that fond of them.

  Let me know if you'd like to go. You'd get a free lunch and free shoes, if you find what you want. It's a win-win!

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  Sounds like so much fun!

  I can't go Friday. Remember me, I work! Either Friday evening or Saturday anytime.

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  Let's go Saturday, if it's ok with you and Evan. I never asked if you two had anything else planned.

  If I don't hear back from you, I'll give you a call Friday evening and we'll discuss time.

  *****

  Chapter 16

  KiirstiAan's email to me:

  Hey, what happened to you earlier this morning? I thought I'd have some more of Sarah's story. (And don't tell me you weren't up in the wee hours when you do the majority of your writing. You're always up by three or four a.m.) I'm so excited each day to get a new installment. I pull up my email each morning at work during my morning break, pour a cup of coffee and with great anticipation, pull up the next episode.

  Since I need to lose about six or seven pounds before the wedding, I play this game with myself. I allow myself a cup of coffee or hot tea and the choice between either a snack pack or the next segment of whatever story you're telling. In all the time I've been doing that, your story only lost one day. I hadn't eaten any breakfast because of running late. And, the snack choice for that day was an Oreo Cookies six-pack. Come on... we're talkin' Oreo cookies here! Seriously, which would you choose???

  Hello, hello. Is anyone there? Does anyone care that I haven't had my wedding-disaster fix today? Hello? Is anyone out there in cyberspace?

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  First of all, let me say that you're truly annoying!

  Now, having said that, I'll also say that I applaud your food-consumption discipline, and if it takes a mind game to make it work, you go, girl!

  You're not going to believe this anyway.

  Yes, you're right, I was up at 4:15 a.m. or so. I was feeling a little chilly, so I decided to go downstairs and make myself a cup of Mocha Latte. (And before you ask, yes, I still drink one every day.)

  When I sat down to the computer, the coaster already had a glass of water on it, so I put the cup of Mocha Latte on top of the new jar of body lotion Aunt Tina sent me for my birthday. It had a broad round top that I assumed would hold it fine.

  Wrong! Somehow I knocked it over and the entire contents, minus one swig, went flying right onto the computer table, keyboard, mouse, carpeting, my favorite sweater,... well, it might be easier to say what wasn't doused in that hot sticky mess... the stapler.

  After jumping up and running to the bathroom for towels, I returned to the computer, where I've b
een cleaning up, only semi-successfully. By the time your dad got up this morning (around 7:30 a.m.), I was still popping keys off the keyboard, wiping them down, scraping drying mocha ooze from underneath, and replacing keys. Your dad suggested WD40, which I've now added to the cleanup mix. (Incidentally, it works!)

  So, during the several hours I could have been writing, I was cleaning, cleaning, and cleaning some more.

  The good news is I've only got one key that still sticks, Backspace. I am now having to be incredibly sure that I make no mistakes under any circumstances, since using that key means I have to remove it, use my letter opener to punch the inner workings to actually get it to backspace anything. Plus, when it sticks, it starts removing all prior wording, of course, until I can pop it up again. So, I have to re-type one or two sentences each time, assuming, of course, I can remember what I'd written in the first place. Ugh!

  Is it even necessary for me to tell you what that does to my typing speed? It has made the process about twice as long.

  And, just for the sake of comment... Why in the world am I emailing this to you when I could have called you and hashed it over on the phone? Look how long this email is! I could submit this as my master's thesis. I think I've lost my mind.

  I need to get away from this computer a while today. Hey, should I meet you at work with some lunch? Greek salad, hummus and pita bread slices? And, I picked up a couple of bridal magazines. Maybe we could look at some bridesmaids' dresses and a mother-of-the-bride dress.

  What d'ya think?

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  Noon

  Need diet root beer too

  One better be Modern Bride (the newest one)

  I think I know what colors I want in the wedding

  My poor Momma!

  CUL8R

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  Ok... ADBB

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  ADBB???

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  ALL DONE. BYE BYE.

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  You just made that up!

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  No, actually I found it online in a texting language site.