Rosy gown in contest with her glow, hands flitting, smoothing, fluffing. Hair silky, perfume wafting, lines at neck and wrist a-sparkle, she shyly felt her beauty. In some ways not easy to admit but finally giving up the argument, but only to herself: she was pretty.

Quietly she approached the family, mincing steps turning into a glide as she made her entrance. One by one they looked up, in slow motion, gazing. Twirling around and around, she danced across the room, the rustling fabric and her laughter the only sounds; the finery supporting her mood. Ma and Pa voiced approval. Her brothers just gaped.

Flouncing and flashing smiles in abundance her eyes strayed and her body leaned toward the mirror in the hall. The vision captured her shining eyes and, unlike moments before, her tongue stilled. What a look! What feelings! Her reflection beamed back at her.

She sat, foot tapping with excitement. Her ears too keen, her heart too full. No longer able to stand the chair she rose and searched the clock, frowning. He was late. Where time had been creeping it now raced. She was aware of each click as the hands on the clock moved.

Suddenly she became anxious. Then banishing such feelings she sought distractions. First she hummed her newest favorite song then skimmed through a fashion magazine. Practicing some dance steps took over her mind for a bit. Before she next checked the clock she hoped that hardly any time had elapsed but it was the opposite. Time had galloped.

She slumped in a chair realizing that the family had become too quiet. She knew they were considering her circumstance.

Her mind was fevered by impatience. Then it deserted her to become feelings of icy dread which threatened to expand to something like fear. Acknowledging that there was nothing to do but wait, she sat, paced, sat some more. She moved to the chair near the front door, remaining quiet, encircling a curl with alternating fingers, clasping and unclasping her hands, examining her manicure, glancing into the mirror and turning her head this way then that; trying not to think of the clock. Time — the enemy — the worst she’d ever known.

There had been weeks then days of looking forward and their voiced excitement when they had talked last night. Should she call him? No. He’d come any minute. Or he’d call and say he was running late but was on the way.

Pretending not to be aware of the growing shadows, thought moved toward prayer. She crossed the first two fingers on each hand and prayed. After a while begging was the bigger part of praying.

At any spray of light across the porch, she would rise as hope jumped from her heart into her throat and bounced back, kicking her heart with a thud each time. She felt ill.

None of the family came to speak to her. Perhaps they had figured on possibilities. She felt frozen. Wanting to be upstairs in her room, alone, was becoming overwhelming. Yet she wanted to wait a little longer near the window, in reach of the door. He could still come.

Finally, grief increasing and branding her deeply, she rose. Hand on banister, she glanced at the porch one more time. Each foot was lead as she raised them from stair to stair. She ached like her body had been thoroughly pummeled and deep sighs rattled around inside her. Heart full of pain, each step torture, she climbed.

No matter what happened hereafter, she knew she’d never forget this night. She knew she’d never be the same. She wondered if she’d ever trust again. She felt there would now be a pocket in her heart where a measure of emptiness would always dwell.

Her thoughts jumped ahead in mapping a plan. From now on her choice would be to opt for protection: not to wait with anticipation; instead, she’d train herself to wait with apathy that could turn to joy in a moment or be replaced with disdain and acceptance almost as quickly. And she’d always have an alternative; a secondary activity she could lay claim to if the planned one didn’t work out. She’d prevent her heart from squeezing in pain.

The only friend she felt was endurance and it a spiteful one. The only comfort, her darkened room. It felt like an entire world; one of safety — the right place — the only place to be.

Ignoring the possibilities of lights and mirror, and not caring about the dress, she moaned and flung herself onto the bed.

She wept.

And then she slept.