by: Yetinayet

Blue eyes — eyes lit lightening blue with anger and anguish — could not rip themselves away from the side of her neck. That spot where, to the indifferent onlooker, vertebra met muscle and skin — that spot where heaven used to reside for him. He remembered that spot in its many faces: how it lengthened as she awoke in the morning to raise sleepy, warm eyes to his; how it swung side to side when she was caught up in the pulse of her favorite amarNa grooves; how it strained to capture that moment when ecstasy overrode ingrained modesty and she shivered in his arms. That spot was his … he had claimed it enough times. But now as he stood at the front of the church, it was too far away for him to reach.

Clear across town…

Tears escaped yet again from her downcast, liquid molasses eyes as she soaked the last tissue in the packet. Her other hand clutched the program as she pretended to pay attention to the hymn everyone was meant to sing. For eight years she had endured it all with him -- medical school, internship, residency, specialization. Her body, her time, her energies and emotions, her money — all had been his for the taking. Not now, he’d say, my father has only just passed away. Let’s wait, he’d cajole, we need to plan this when we have more money. Baksh teyN!, he’d snarl, I don’t want to talk about this any more. Now there was no more to say.

The caramel colored hands could no longer clutch the program she had been given, and the slip of paper softly fell to the floor, unnoticed. She bent lower in the pew and let her tears flow unchecked directly to the floor, marking a dappled design on the dark tile. She was impervious to the curious glances coming her way — nothing mattered any more anyway.

Clear across town…

The blond locks above the blue eyes looked like he had run his hands through them throughout the night in despair. He had only heard last night — almost by accident. He couldn’t believe that no one had thought to tell him — after all, they had known; they had all known about him — about them, even if she hadn’t seen him, "ferenju’n," in months. He hadn’t slept a wink all night and had gotten to the church before anyone else had, even the priest. He had sat for hours, looking for some answers and hoping for some relief. But nothing had worked, and probably nothing ever would. The hymns washed over him as he clutched the program in his fist and tried to focus on surviving this moment.

~ .. ~ ~ .. ~

In one part of town, a funeral cortege left the church, wending its way through the parking lot to the nearby cemetery.

And clear across town, the ililtas shook the walls of the small church as the grinning bride and groom strode out into the sunlight.