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The Bride: A Dream

As my mom is a workaholic, we live right on top of the bridal shop. The wallpaper was plain, and the furniture we brought in was a bit clashing with the floor tiles or carpet, though my room was ok. It’s a rather small apartment, but it seemed alright with me considering I get along well with her. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not as chatty as others, but with mom I talk the most about life with. Whether it was school, girls, or just the store, she manages to get some kind of information out of me. Although lately I didn’t really tell her about things happening. Hope was certainly an odd customer, but she didn’t actually count as one. The way she was in the store, how easily she slipped in and out without anyone else but me seeing, was somewhat thrilling. And Dutchia, this absolutely exciting enigma that brought on a new perspective in art I hadn’t noticed before. It was like those girls were my secret, and I wouldn’t say anything until I figured them out.

Not much was said that night during dinner, so there was nothing stopping that woman from blurting out her important news. “We’re going house shopping on Sunday!”

I looked at her for a second, wanting to make a witty little remark. “Do I look like that’s a problem?” She laughed, knowing I wasn’t going to make a fuss about it from the start.

“But why are we buying a new place? I thought you liked how convenient the apartment was?” my words were casual, but curious none the less.

“Well, you’re a growing young man who needs his privacy now.” She giggled as I raised an eyebrow. “And I’ll have some privacy too.”

I stared at her for a bit longer, her own wavering by the second.

“That. . . And the store needs room.” Out with it, it was as I sighed an “Oh. . .” of complete understanding. This was more like her. Business was booming after all.

“Do you mind tagging along? Some designer people will be here looking at the apartment. I’m sorry sweets.” She looked tired, like a client was being unreasonable today.

Clearly I wasn’t going to say no. I have a slight mother complex remember? And from there, she told me all the details about the housing we were going to see. They were all in the same neighborhood, of which many of my friends lived nearby. The prospect of seeing people I knew in the morning, waving “good morning!” and complaining about the time, made me feel positive about it. A new house would bring in so many new possibilities.

Actually, I think that’s something Hope would say. I’ve been thinking about her lately.

That night, as I left the window open before slipping into bed, I closed my eyes and felt a wind come in under my covers. A draft, much like the one on that day I met Hope, made my memories swirl all around. There she was again. Surrounding herself with ribbons of all sorts of colors, she was having a head time deciding which one was best. The placement of the sun was the same as the first time we met, but she was wearing a white dress. The plain outfit made her flaming curls stand out more. I was wearing white too, but it was much brighter compared to hers. In fact, with fresher eyes I thought the dress was grey.

She turned to me, asking “Which color would you like?”

I stepped out of my chair to pick, except all the ribbons looked the same color to me. She gave me these big, beautiful eyes that looked confused. Suddenly, a bright gold ribbon appeared right in front of me. It was a gorgeous brilliance that looked smooth to the touch. I grabbed it, handing it to Hope, but she only stared at it.

Her face looked displeased. “I don’t want that color Nick.”

For some reason, it made my heart burn to hear her say that. “You don’t like what I picked?”

She turned to me, and with the tip of her index finger, pointed at my collarbone. It slid down to my chest. My breathing quickened just from her faint touch, but to feel it run down me cause the pace to go even faster.

“No, it makes me happy to see the color.” Her slow to rise smile soon faded into a frown.

“But it also makes me sad.”

why does it make you sad? I wanted to ask, yet my mouth didn’t move. For that one instance, I didn’t say anything, just like on the day I met her. The result was the same.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” She screamed, angry yet with tears in her eyes. The white-grey dress splashed with red as she bolted out the door. I tried to cry out to her, but my mouth was still shut. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say anything. All I could do was try to go after her, noticing all the ribbons magically drop to the floor, turning a dull grey color. All but the gold.

The gold ribbon was streaked with red as well, but also laid on the ground with the rest. Everything began to fade, but as I came to seeing the ceiling of my wall, that gold streaked with red stayed in my mind, as if it were trying to tell me something.

“But what the hell does that mean?”





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