Church Bells

My chest is tight with nerves. In… Out. Breathe… Breathe my brain is entirely focused on inflating my diaphragm, expanding my lungs, and then slowly releasing the air. Everything happening around me is blurred like the Instagram filter. Tunnel vision looking ahead, but my eyes don’t process the church doors, my brain can’t take in the image because it is too focused on my breath.

I grab my brother’s hand – reminding him not to let me fall in my shoes. I remind myself how I need to place one foot ahead of the other to maneuver around the bows on the toes. I’m not sure I can do this – any of it. I don’t think I’ll be able to go through it.

I have to. I don’t have a choice. The priest is already organizing the procession. The guests are already seated behind closed doors. Lindsey is fidgeting with her dress while I tuck my paper away. Thinking I should have written it on a nicer card instead of the torn piece of notebook paper.

I’m thankful for the veil on my face – it means I don’t need to think about my expression. Should I smile at the familiar faces? Or should I look pious? Whatever I should look I won’t. All I can manage is neutral – numb. My brain can only think of breathing.

As the music slips through the door my Dad, Sister, Brother and I laugh as the tune registers with us. The doors to the church I was christened in open. I begin to walk down the same aisle I walked down for my first communion. Such an elegant dress. The delicate embordered flowers budding from the beaded belt growing to the collar, it was different from the other white dresses. That’s why I choose it. I always like things that are a little different.

Step, Breathe. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor a few feet ahead as I realize everything is now different. I can’t figure out if this is the start of a new chapter or the end of the best book I ever read. I wish I could see my sister’s face. If I could only see her eyes – we could run out, find a getaway car.

We can’t run, I know. It’s too late. It’s been too late for a while now, long before we arrived at the church. There was no last chance to escape my new life. There was never a chance. The priest won’t ask if there are objections during the service. I would shriek if he did. I would proudly march in with the Objection sign my great grandfather hand-painted.

There is no going back, no way to stop, no pause button. I step and I breathe, looking up for a moment to see the row of bright floral printed Lily dresses. Instantly I am back in the dressing room of Bloomingdales on 59th street.

We had a girl’s day in the city. Mom was buzzing because we were going shopping at Bloomingdales for Lily Pulitzer outfits. It would take years before I realized the significance behind the pineapple printed dress she bought me and the pink and green snail shift she bought Lindsey. I had no idea at the time what the day meant to Mom. She bought us the quintessential American summer shift dress. The dresses were a sign of success. Of a life, Mom never thought she could have before she immigrated.

From that day on, we packed bags full of Lily prints for our summers on the Cape. Little Jackie O’s in the making.

Step and Breathe. Mom has three fashion gods: Jackie, Coco, and Madonna. Today I try to channel Coco while Mom has channeled Jackie. She’s stunning in her Tahari dress. The one with the jacket to match. I can picture her arm bent to show off her vintage gold bag.

I reach the altar and realize only we know how beautiful Mom looks. The teary eyes filling the church are focused on the backs of our heads. Breathe my deep exhale bounces off my mask, warming my face. This is actually happening I begin to think How is this real? How is this really happening? my mind is starting to spiral as I look up at the gold altar. An Altar I used to look at with surprise. It always seemed tacky for our town, out of place. I suppose everything about today is out of place.

The music has stopped and it feels as though the room is holding its breath This is it. This is my life. The priest begins, “We are gathered today to celebrate the life and memory….”