To The End
1/1
Emma
It was the only thing running back and forth across his tired mind. He lay with his back on the hard mattress of the his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He could picture the way she would look in her wedding dress-- petite and beautiful, like she always did. He smiled, thinking of the way she'd wrinkle her nose while doing her seating chart, or configuring the budget. She'd always wanted to pay for the wedding herself. She was stubborn, even as a little girl, and always wanted to help herself.
Then the smile faded. He remembered thinking these things about his marriage to Emma, not the one two days from now, to a boy she hadn't known for more than a year.
Alan put the heels of his hands to his forehead, and drew in tight breaths. His chest wasn't expanding anymore, he thought, the undertow of his sinking heart must have pulled inwards from his rib cage. He wondered if it was possible to be suffocated by regret.
He stared at the plane ticket on his bedside table, a flight out to Rochester, to see Emma on the most important day of her lifetime, and he knew exactly what he was going to do.
Picking up his small suitcase from under his bed, he tossed it ontop of the quilt, and began rummaging through his second-hand, University-issued dresser. A few shirts, multiple pairs of socks, several pairs of pants, and as his mother had hammered into his head from the time he was little, excess amounts of boxers.
He heard the door knob turning, and looked up to grin at his roomate, Carson.
"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get your ass moving." He chuckled, leaning against the door frame with a smile on his face. He'd met Emma when she visited from upstate, and he'd known for ages that she and Alan deserved to be together. "Go get get her, buddy."
Alan grabbed his old, leather suitcase by the handle, with his ticket in his jacket pocket, and headed for the dormitory elevator. He hoped that by the time he returned, his other hand would have Emma's tiny fingers intertwined with his.
---
After an hour aboard the airplane, Alan wasn't sure what he should have been expecting. There was no dramatic, public reunion between him and Emma. He'd never told her that he would be flying in tonight, but he didn't care. He'd find the most expensive flower shop in the area, and spend as much cash as his frugal mind would allow. He'd give up his life savings, and buy her the pony she'd wanted as a little girl. Nothing mattered anymore, except for getting his girl back.
He grabbed a taxi, with a lot less effort than he imagined, and made a quick stop to purchase a large boquet of lillies-- her favorite flower, and the kind that always reminded him of her. He drove for another twenty minutes to the university campus, and tipped the driver almost three times what he thoughts was reasonable.
Alan walked up the front walk, down the marble-floored corridor, and up the stairs to the third floor. He could walk this path backwards, with his eyes closed. He'd visited so many times since he and Emma had graduated high school, and he knew he would never forget his way around.
When he reached 36D, he stared at the rich wood of the door, and couldn't bring himself to knock.
Was this a terrible decision?
Would she kick him out, and tell him that she would never love him?
What if her fiance answered the door?
His palms were sweating as he raised his hand to the door.
"Alan?"
When he turned, her long blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, with her name tag pinned the the lapel of her pressed, white blouse. "Emma." he grinned, inhaling, and realizing that she still smelled quite a bit like the restaurant where she worked. "Sorry for randomly appearing at your doorstep."
She dropped her things, grocery bags and all, and launched herself at her best friend. She kissed his forehead, leaving a slight mark from the pink lip gloss she was wearing. "If you're not a day early, you're late, huh?" She asked, beaming down at him.
Alan's eyes found the familiar scar near her bottom lip where she'd split it, tripping over the dog, and hitting the coffee table. "How're the nerves?" He asked, messing with her hair. Her brown eyes were twinkling. He didn't know whether to smile because she was beautiful, or cry because she wasn't his.
"Do you want to go get some coffee?" She asked, flattening the shaggy brown hair that was sticking up all over his head.
"I'd love to."
---
The seconds were slipping away from Alan, until his life was completely over. He was tapping his foot anxiously, sitting in the front row, beside Emma's step-father, and grandmother. He wondered if they would hate him for what he was about to do.
"Those with objections, speak now, or forever hold your peace."
Alan stood up slowly, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at him. Emma's eyes widened, "What are you doing?" She whispered, nervously tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
"I can't sit here, and let this happen..." He said quietly. "I know you're here because you love him. And I'm here, because you're the only person in this world I want to spend the rest of my life with, because without you, there's no life at all."
He kept his eyes on hers, not daring to look at his shoes, which his shy nature was begging him to do.
"I love that you need a blanket when it's eighty degrees outside. I love that you can never decide what to order, or make toast without burning it. I love that you wrinkle your nose when you concentrate, and that you can't sit still long enough to finish a movie. I love that you talk in your sleep..."
Emma was crying now. He felt bad for ruining the make-up she didn't need to be wearing.
"I love that you haven't punched me for ruining your wedding..." He sighed, "And I love that I'll never stop caring about you."
She turned her back to him, facing her soon-to-be husband. "James, I'm sorry about all of this." She said, in a small voice. "I love you."
Alan couldn't listen to this anymore. He pushed his hair out of his down-cast, green eyes, and headed for the back of the hall. He closed the door behind him, and walked numbly down the steps, taking a seat at the last one.
He sat there for what felt like eternity, until he smelled jasmine, and the he felt the warmth of someone sitting behind him. He turned, as Emma sat beside him, on the dirty, cobble-stone steps, in her wedding dress.
"I fucked everything up." He said through gritted teeth. "You're going to ruin the dress you're going to keep until you're ninety..."
"It's not like I'm going to wear it next time."
"Hopefully you don't need to get married more than once."
"Alan, look at me."
He turned his head, and sighed, "Shouldn't you be in there with him?"
"I always found break-ups to be quite awkward."
There was a pause that lasted a lifetime.
"Will you do me a favor?" She asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Anything." He said, looking up at the stars.
"Marry me."
It was the only thing running back and forth across his tired mind. He lay with his back on the hard mattress of the his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He could picture the way she would look in her wedding dress-- petite and beautiful, like she always did. He smiled, thinking of the way she'd wrinkle her nose while doing her seating chart, or configuring the budget. She'd always wanted to pay for the wedding herself. She was stubborn, even as a little girl, and always wanted to help herself.
Then the smile faded. He remembered thinking these things about his marriage to Emma, not the one two days from now, to a boy she hadn't known for more than a year.
Alan put the heels of his hands to his forehead, and drew in tight breaths. His chest wasn't expanding anymore, he thought, the undertow of his sinking heart must have pulled inwards from his rib cage. He wondered if it was possible to be suffocated by regret.
He stared at the plane ticket on his bedside table, a flight out to Rochester, to see Emma on the most important day of her lifetime, and he knew exactly what he was going to do.
Picking up his small suitcase from under his bed, he tossed it ontop of the quilt, and began rummaging through his second-hand, University-issued dresser. A few shirts, multiple pairs of socks, several pairs of pants, and as his mother had hammered into his head from the time he was little, excess amounts of boxers.
He heard the door knob turning, and looked up to grin at his roomate, Carson.
"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get your ass moving." He chuckled, leaning against the door frame with a smile on his face. He'd met Emma when she visited from upstate, and he'd known for ages that she and Alan deserved to be together. "Go get get her, buddy."
Alan grabbed his old, leather suitcase by the handle, with his ticket in his jacket pocket, and headed for the dormitory elevator. He hoped that by the time he returned, his other hand would have Emma's tiny fingers intertwined with his.
---
After an hour aboard the airplane, Alan wasn't sure what he should have been expecting. There was no dramatic, public reunion between him and Emma. He'd never told her that he would be flying in tonight, but he didn't care. He'd find the most expensive flower shop in the area, and spend as much cash as his frugal mind would allow. He'd give up his life savings, and buy her the pony she'd wanted as a little girl. Nothing mattered anymore, except for getting his girl back.
He grabbed a taxi, with a lot less effort than he imagined, and made a quick stop to purchase a large boquet of lillies-- her favorite flower, and the kind that always reminded him of her. He drove for another twenty minutes to the university campus, and tipped the driver almost three times what he thoughts was reasonable.
Alan walked up the front walk, down the marble-floored corridor, and up the stairs to the third floor. He could walk this path backwards, with his eyes closed. He'd visited so many times since he and Emma had graduated high school, and he knew he would never forget his way around.
When he reached 36D, he stared at the rich wood of the door, and couldn't bring himself to knock.
Was this a terrible decision?
Would she kick him out, and tell him that she would never love him?
What if her fiance answered the door?
His palms were sweating as he raised his hand to the door.
"Alan?"
When he turned, her long blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, with her name tag pinned the the lapel of her pressed, white blouse. "Emma." he grinned, inhaling, and realizing that she still smelled quite a bit like the restaurant where she worked. "Sorry for randomly appearing at your doorstep."
She dropped her things, grocery bags and all, and launched herself at her best friend. She kissed his forehead, leaving a slight mark from the pink lip gloss she was wearing. "If you're not a day early, you're late, huh?" She asked, beaming down at him.
Alan's eyes found the familiar scar near her bottom lip where she'd split it, tripping over the dog, and hitting the coffee table. "How're the nerves?" He asked, messing with her hair. Her brown eyes were twinkling. He didn't know whether to smile because she was beautiful, or cry because she wasn't his.
"Do you want to go get some coffee?" She asked, flattening the shaggy brown hair that was sticking up all over his head.
"I'd love to."
---
The seconds were slipping away from Alan, until his life was completely over. He was tapping his foot anxiously, sitting in the front row, beside Emma's step-father, and grandmother. He wondered if they would hate him for what he was about to do.
"Those with objections, speak now, or forever hold your peace."
Alan stood up slowly, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at him. Emma's eyes widened, "What are you doing?" She whispered, nervously tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
"I can't sit here, and let this happen..." He said quietly. "I know you're here because you love him. And I'm here, because you're the only person in this world I want to spend the rest of my life with, because without you, there's no life at all."
He kept his eyes on hers, not daring to look at his shoes, which his shy nature was begging him to do.
"I love that you need a blanket when it's eighty degrees outside. I love that you can never decide what to order, or make toast without burning it. I love that you wrinkle your nose when you concentrate, and that you can't sit still long enough to finish a movie. I love that you talk in your sleep..."
Emma was crying now. He felt bad for ruining the make-up she didn't need to be wearing.
"I love that you haven't punched me for ruining your wedding..." He sighed, "And I love that I'll never stop caring about you."
She turned her back to him, facing her soon-to-be husband. "James, I'm sorry about all of this." She said, in a small voice. "I love you."
Alan couldn't listen to this anymore. He pushed his hair out of his down-cast, green eyes, and headed for the back of the hall. He closed the door behind him, and walked numbly down the steps, taking a seat at the last one.
He sat there for what felt like eternity, until he smelled jasmine, and the he felt the warmth of someone sitting behind him. He turned, as Emma sat beside him, on the dirty, cobble-stone steps, in her wedding dress.
"I fucked everything up." He said through gritted teeth. "You're going to ruin the dress you're going to keep until you're ninety..."
"It's not like I'm going to wear it next time."
"Hopefully you don't need to get married more than once."
"Alan, look at me."
He turned his head, and sighed, "Shouldn't you be in there with him?"
"I always found break-ups to be quite awkward."
There was a pause that lasted a lifetime.
"Will you do me a favor?" She asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Anything." He said, looking up at the stars.
"Marry me."
♠ ♠ ♠
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