Look How You Turned Out (18 page)

"I still don't see what the rush is pumpkin face," he says.

Is my face swollen or something? I'll just never get comfortable with that name.

"Dad, Dad, Dad, just be like Nike, okay?" I am hanging his pressed uniform on the door in his hospital room, the same hospital where we will come for an emergency wedding. They're going along. I am the chief's daughter.

"Honey…you're my little girl dammit. Why'd that son of a bitch have to run into me anyway."

"Dad…you've got an hour and a half which means I've got an hour and a half. This…pumpkin face needs to look…amazing."

"C'mere," he says holding out his arm. I sigh and go to him, fall on the chair beside the bed and put my arms around him.

"Daddy."

Let me back-up. During the night, I've arranged our entire wedding, via text, with Marcus. We are getting married in the hospital's chapel. The pastor will be there at twelve o'clock, right out of church, with the fresh glow of fellowship upon him…or the exhaustion from the same, it's a crap-shoot.

The hospital's chapel looks good already—Christmas. Pointsettias and candles. Marcus has prevailed upon the judge by now, and he'll have the license. Then he takes care of his mom. I take care of Artie. Teresa is taking care of the food.

They are letting us use the conference room at the hospital, and she is bringing the special fried chicken, mashed potatoes with white or brown gravy, green beans, applesauce, and two kinds of rolls. She insists on bringing the cake. I said never mind we have Christmas cookies up the wahzoo.

Our rings aren't here yet, but my engagement ring will be re-used in the ceremony, and it's my favorite anyway, and I'll just put his class ring on his finger. It is poifect, and yes I said poifect.

Marcus has only to get himself and Juney ready, and I have to get myself ready. But the thing is…Elaine shows up at my house at seven in the morning with her wedding dress. "Wear it or not," she says in her usual humble manner.

It is the real deal, more girly and sweet than I would have picked, a little heavy on the shoulder pads cause it was the eighties. Thing is, this dress was from when she married Don, so if this were
Braveheart
, it would be the family plaid.

The veil is pretty traditional and not the atrocious headgear that was popular back then. I could never carry it off without the big hair, and my hair is thick and abundant, but it isn't intentional.

I try on that dress, with her help, and it isn't bad, and she gets out the old steam iron I didn't even know Artie had and gets busy on the kitchen table—ironing, not anything weird like…dancing.

I apologize for the way we are doing things. Best she know now how unpredictable I can be. But I plan to change that—get more…predictable I guess.

"I think Marcus likes you just the way you are, Bedilia. I've never seen him so happy. Even when Juney was born, he was over his head with his marriage then. But…you've reminded me that underneath that uniform is a very light-hearted human being—and I thought he was gone.

"It's not that I don't love the man he's become. There's so much to admire about Marcus. But he almost became…humorless. That wasn't really fair to Junior. I…worried…."

She breaks down there. Mothers are a black hole in my repertoire of understanding, and I am the world's worst comforter. But I go to her and tell myself not to say anything dumb. I pat her shoulder, and she pats my hand and digs a Kleenex out of her pocket and dabs her nose like a lady should. I guess.

"I um…I really love him. I always have. It just…he changed…settled into this very sober man," she continues.

Um…sober is good Elaine. Mothers want that…usually. But I know what she means. Mr. Serious about everything. But me…um…well his mother doesn't need to know how I've lusted after him, and love took hold in there like an errant cell…and grew.

Bad analogy.

I mean I am consumed with love and lust as opposed to lust with a little love on the side. That's been my metamorphosis comes to her son is all I'm trying to say for the love of God.

I pat her more quickly, too hard I think because she moves away a little, smiles weakly. I pull back my hand, hide my groan. She has no idea of the depth of my 'spastic problems.'

So there's that…bonding time. And I'm definitely wearing the dress. And in no time, she rushes across the street to get the boys up and going. I have a feeling she'll be rushing frantically for the rest of the day.

Oh, I didn't tell you about last night, Saturday night after he does his Pepe Le Pew and I'm making dirty mental pictures about the Casbah, it suddenly gets through, my 'Eureka I think I've got it!' moment--the scene of a wedding in the hospital chapel.

"Why can't we just get married tomorrow?" I say, by golly.

He laughs. "That's the spirit, baby."

I shrug, and he readjusts, moves his neck a little.

"Are you serious?" he says.

"Are you?" I say.

"I…am," he says.

"Me too," I say.

We stare. He is standing one step lower than me, and he swoops me off the stoop and squeezes the pee out of me almost cause man do I have to go and I've been holding it, but I have great holding powers…of course.

But I do giggle loudly into the night, and one might think our houses are surrounded by hyenas instead of coyotes.

Round we go a few times, and he sets me down, and I'm so dizzy I keep my hands on his shoulders, and I squeeze those a little. "We'll do this!" I say.

"For real?" he says, this big grin.

"Why the Sam-hill not?" I say all up in his grill.

Then he gets those eyes, those, 'I'm gonna take a giant step for mankind,' eyes that make my nethers twitch cause this man doesn't kid around once he commits. "You want me that bad?" he says.

I try not to laugh. I do want him that bad but…pride. I won't throw up in class. I won't. "Yeah," I say, and it's so weak. Matter of fact I want him right now. "You're like a man-lollipop," I say.

He laughs and squeezes me some more. I think my back cracks. "I love you so much, baby," he says.

"I love you too," I say, breathing heavily when he sets me down this time, and it's not just lust, or from surviving that grateful hug, it's some fear I think. I mean, who does this? Crap!

But once we part, he walks backward all the way home saying cute things and laughing. When he's in the street, I have to yell at him because he needs to move it as a car is coming, and I don't think he even hears its approach. It's like he just got dropped down from the mothership after being held and probed for a couple of weeks.

He says goodnight twelve times, I kid you not.

I am worried for him, but I close the door anyway once he's out of the road. I have so much to do.

And while I'm brushing my teeth his first text comes through, and we start to go back and forth and yep we come up with this instantaneous plan, and it just keeps making more sense. We're doing it.

"It's a story we can tell our children," he texts finally with a cute little smiling emoticon.

"You want more children?" I text back.

It takes him a while to respond to that one. When he does I can feel the worry, "Ha-ha," he writes. "Don't you?"

"You really think you can get one in there?" I write.

This answer is immediate, "Locked and loaded baby. Your co-ordinates are on my grid."

"You don't scare me," I return fire.

"Scaring you isn't the objective," he writes.

"What is? Oh yeah. Impregnating me," I correct.

"By-product of worshipping you," he writes.

"The objective is worship?" I ask.

"For life," he returns.

Now I take a minute to answer.

"Okay."

Elaine insists on driving me to the church in her nice car. The dress is very full, and I am wearing white tights and white shoes with it, ballet slippers. She's tied a white ribbon in my hair. It's borderline, Pollyanna. The hair is, pulled back off my face top and sides, left long down my back, but I don't argue. Because it's all love now, and I have this feeling like when I was little, and I went to a carnival at the Catholic church, and there was a haunted house in the basement, and we approached the cellar doors to go down, and it cost five cents and I reached in my little change purse for my nickel and all of my carefully saved coins that I'd earned over weeks of doing chores so I could save for this very event, all of them spilled at once and rolled down the cellar steps disappearing into the haunted darkness. My two friends, who flanked me, said, "Bedilia, aren't you going to try and find your money?"

And I stood there staring down those dark stairs, hearing the screams of the older kids who were running this part of the carnival, and really, really pouring it on, and I mutely, quickly shook my head. I cared about the money, but fear of plunging into the darkness was greater.

I have that same sense of preoccupation on me now. I can't worry about the big dress, or my hair, or how much I keep mumbling around Elaine.

I'm getting married.

So here I go, and she is driving me, and I see my reflection in the side window, and I think, "You're getting married you fool!" And I smile slyly at myself like my reflection knows exactly what she's doing.

When we get there, I see Marcus's truck is already in the lot. He's very punctual, and I'm nearly late. He wants this, or he wouldn't be here, he'd be driving for all he's worth straight to Mexico, but he's not. He's here. So that's good.

Elaine cuts through my thoughts. She says, "Bedilia," and when I look she hugs me. I don't reciprocate because of what I told you. I'm helpless now. I just submit.

"You're very nice," I say, and somewhere in me I cringe, but I can't feel it. I can't even feel my eyebrows so I move them up and down and I prove it. My whole forehead is numb.

She pulls back and says, "There might not be a chance later, but I want to welcome you to our family, Bedilia. I am so happy you're marrying Marcus."

"Th…thanks a lot," I say. When I smile my lips tremble so I make this spastic pucker-mouth, then I rub it away with my shaking hand.

Yeah, time to get out of this car. I struggle a bit, but I get out and shake out the dress as much as I can. I feel like Betty Davis in
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
But no, I rebuke that thought and the devil that inspired it.

I have Artie's overcoat over the dress, and I pick up the taffeta or whatever you call it, the slick, shiny whiteness because Elaine is just a little taller than me, and I have a quick visual of me going end over end over end in the parking lot, so yeah I'm holding that thing pretty high, so high I'm almost to the doors when I realize I'm feeling the cold air like way up there, so I drop it a little.

In the lobby, there are a few visitors here and there. This place is new and well designed. We walk along these massive windows. The chapel is at the end of the hall.

Before I can reach it, I'm overtaken by Teresa. She's wearing her red quilted coat, but underneath she's in her black dress, her go-to for weddings and funerals.

"I got Connie to cover lunch," she's saying all out of breath. "Here." She helps me out of the ugly coat, and she and Elaine work me over then, and Teresa shoves something into my hand.

It's a tiny bouquet of white mums. Now I might lose it. I understand now, I feel it…them…mothers. I have two right now.

This is what mothers do…the things you need that you can't even ask for, and they give you those things, they help you straighten your dress, they put flowers in your hand and smooth your hair, and offer to hold the dress up if you need to pee, and you laugh and protest, but you don't have to worry, they just know, they care, they do because they are mothers. I get it a little. They're kind of valuable.

"Thanks," I whisper, and Elaine is cooing, and Teresa pats my arm and we continue to hurry down the hall.

I have a vision then. Through the glass in the chapel doors, I see him, my tall…dark…beautiful…nearly husband, dark suit, white shirt collar against his throat, hair brushed shiny.

I am stopped in my ballet slipper tracks. I am stopped at the window. His hands are in his pockets as he talks to the pastor. He seems calm. He is waiting…for me. He is happy, so happy. I see it. His beauty breaks me wide open like an alabaster box, and the perfume inside saturates me…with love.

Dad is up there in his chair talking away to David, another deputy who is standing for Marcus.

Teresa is standing for me.

"Bedilia," she says, "ready to go in?"

"What is it?" Elaine asks when I don't move.

"Marcus," I whisper, but I'm thinking this…Marcus. I see you at the altar and it's our wedding day. You are patient and calm, and you're standing there in your strong way. For me.

You can't know how I feel inside where maybe for the first time I know a moment of true selflessness, something enormous and generous rooting in me, this stir of devotion…toward you. My love.

I'm about to promise you…my life. I am about to stand before the people I care the most about…and pledge to love you in every situation life can throw at us, the good and the bad.

I'm freaked out.

But I'm sure.

You have my heart Marcus Stover. I will learn to love you in every profound way a woman can love a man. And I know I'm young…and dumb. But I'm sincere. And I'm willing to learn. And from this day on I will try to get it right, I will seek to talk it out, to listen, to ask you to forgive me and let me start again. If you'll have me.

And I know you will. My love. My heart. My Marcus.

I pull the door open, and they turn then.

Dad spins his chair around, his face…oh, Dad. David moves beside Marcus, and the pastor takes his spot front and center.

Juney moves into the aisle in front of his dad. His mouth is open. "Dang," he says, and Marcus pulls him back so his hands rest on Juney's shoulders.

Marcus. His eyes…mine, his smile…for me. Worship. I feel that now. Just like he said.

My future, my men. A grace takes hold, a peace. And the mothers flank me. And like a bride should, I go to my groom.