HOME
POETRY
SHORT WORKS
NEW STUFF
JUST DEAN MUSING
PICS
GUESTBOOK/
READER'S
COMMENTS
All her
friends and family cried every time one of them stepped into her room and took a
look at how beautiful Jenna looked in her wedding gown. Your father would be so
proud they all said, and Jenna smiled the smile of a happy bride but there was
no happiness in her heart. In less
than fifteen minutes she would be walking down the aisle into a new life to
become Ms. Jenna Winthrop Randall. Everyone said that they were the perfect
couple: successful, good-looking and from good families. Mark was from a family
that was devoutly religious and even though Jenna believed in a higher power,
she was more of a spiritual person and more accepting of certain things than
Mark. He was stringent and saw the world in black and white, and it had served
him well all his life because the answers came easily-either you were right or
wrong and anything in between was wrong also. Jenna, on the other hand, pretty
much went with the flow, which was always a source of irritation for Mark. He
couldn’t understand why she chose to be so laid back and let others walk all
over her, at least that’s what it seemed like to him.
If
there were two people that shouldn’t have been together it was Mark and Jenna.
Their philosophies of life were vastly different, and in the beginning what was
once ‘cute’ about each other soon became a constant source of bickering.
Jenna rationalized that all couples bicker about this and that and in the end;
the only thing that mattered was that she loved him. She did love Mark, she
managed to convince herself of this and after a year of dating; Mark proposed
and she accepted to be Ms. Jenna Winthrop Randall.
In
ten minutes, Jenna would be walking down the aisle into the arms of a man who
didn’t understand who she was or what made her Jenna and nobody else. The face
in the mirror staring back at her was a beautiful sad face completely made up to
please others. The real person was hidden behind the layers of makeup, eye
shadow and a beautiful white dress. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t her.
A
week before the wedding, they had managed to steal away to watch the new Keanu
Reeves and Sandra Bullock movie, The
“That
must be one of the dumbest movies of the year,” he commented as they drove
home. “They might as well have made Speed 2,” making reference to the first
teaming of Bullock-Reeves.
“Didn’t
you find it romantic that he waited for a few years so they could meet in the
same year?”
Mark
knew the answer Jenna wanted to hear but he couldn’t bring himself to say it
and so they rode the rest of the way in silence with the radio filling the empty
air. The night was cold but Jenna turned her window down and let the heart
wrenching words of Any Love by Luther Vandross blanket her in warmth. Mark shook
his head and continued to drive. He knew that this was on of those times to shut
up and just let Jenna be Jenna. He caught a glimpse of her in the rearview
mirror, pouting, as she usually did after they had an argument or he didn’t
agree with her. The wind blew her uncombed hair all over her face, but she was
lost in thought and allowed her face to stay hidden in a sea of tangled mess of
brown hair. On her worst day, Jenna was more beautiful than any woman Mark had
ever laid eyes on, and with that beauty came a price that he didn’t always
want to pay. Even though he loved her, at times he felt as if he was sharing his
life with a stranger. True love was
supposed to be able to bridge the gap of people who are vastly different, and
they would meet in the middle to find that common denominator. They both had
been too stubborn and were still on opposite sides of each other with no
immediate signs of changing. Maybe after they were married, things
would get better was seemingly what they were basing their hopes on for a
successful marriage. After all, they did love each other.
Five
minutes until show time.
The
organist had started playing Endless Love by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross and
Jenna closed her eyes letting the words find their way into her soul. And for
the first time since her father died of prostrate cancer two years ago, tears
streamed her face as she remembered the conversation she had with her father on
the day he died. The memory came flooding back to her…
When
she arrived at the hospital that morning, the nurses who were usually friendly
and quick to tell her how fond they were of her dad avoided her eyes when she
greeted them. The long walk to his
room through the corridor seemed to take forever, and gave her mind ample enough
time to play tricks with her thoughts. She knew without wanting today to ever
end that it would be the last time she would ever get to speak to her father.
She paused at his door, collected her thoughts and tried to smile when she
entered the room.
Teddy
Winthrop was propped up in bed. Invisible hands seemed to be keeping him upright
because his body didn’t have the necessary strength for this simple task,
which now took a Herculean effort on his end to pull off. He didn’t want his
daughter to see her Daddy weak and near death. He wanted to tell her that he
loved her when his mind was still clear and the line between reality and death
wasn’t blurred. She had been crying. His senses were somehow sharpened so he
felt it in her aura when she came through the door.
They were both doing their best not to worry the other on this day when
death would be the victor, but life had managed to squeeze every bit of living
in her time here on earth in the spirit of Teddy Winthrop.
Sunlight
streamed through the open window and it seemed somehow wrong that on this
beautiful spring day, death would come to visit. Jenna buried her face in her
father’s arms, and the tears she had tried to hide moments ago overwhelmed
her. Teddy wrapped his arms around his only child and wept with her.
He had always wanted a son, but the moment Jenna was born, she fought her
way into his heart and every single day of her life was a day that Teddy was
proud to call her his daughter. Teddy gathered his thoughts wiped his eyes and
tilted Jenna’s head upwards to look into her eyes. He wanted to say a few
things to her before the moment came and his thoughts had abandoned him into
darkness. His voice was barely above a whisper but it was strong and still
filled with a subdued passion.
“Don’t
cry baby. We knew this day would come,” the effort to speak clearly took all
of Teddy Winthrop’s remaining strength, but he wanted this to be the last
image that Jenna would have of him. The moment was more powerful than him and
Teddy Winthrop; always the picture of strength broke down and cried. It was the
first time that Jenna had ever seen her father cry and she knew that this would
be the last time she would see her father alive. Teddy regained his composure
momentarily to tell Jenna how much he loved and he couldn’t have wished for a
better child. He urged her to live her life and find love. Above else he
stressed to her to find a love born of friendship and respect. The man you marry
be certain that you like him. There will be days when you don’t think you love
him, but if you like him-those doubtful days will pass. Jenna heard her
father’s words in between her tears and only today, on her wedding day, did
they finally sink in-she didn’t love Mark. Maybe she loved him, but she
wasn’t in love with him and she needed the passion of being in love to walk
down the aisle. An entire church
filled with friends, family and Mark were waiting for her to walk down the aisle
to begin her new life.
The
church was alive with the scent of hundreds of rainbow colors of roses, her
favorite flower. On cue, when she made her entrance in the church, the wedding
song was played and hundreds of eyes turned to look at her. Never one to be the
center of attention, Jenna’s heart literally pounded through her chest. She
forced a smile and focused up ahead on Father Murphy. A hundred steps later she
stood beside Mark ready to recite her wedding vows.
Behind her back, in the front pew, she heard her mother silently sobbing
and probably thanking Jesus for this blessed day.
Jéan-Pierre,
Dean
Copyright
© www.deanthepoet.com