“He’s such a godly man,” said Andrea’s mother. “You are so lucky. My little flower.”
Andrea gazed at herself in the mirror; pure white satin draping over her body, all frills and lace and silk and Is this me? Is this really me?
“You look so beautiful,” said mother into the mirror. And Andrea replied, a tiny smile, “yes. It’s perfect.” She turned, and there sat mother on a stool in the stuffy dressing room; terse straight hair and sallow eyes and Andrea, nineteen years old, said, “I can’t believe it. Married. Only three days – me, married.”
Mother smiled. “Yes. When you were little, I told you, I told you. Even when you couldn’t walk – did you know? – I held you in my arms and said, ‘One day you will marry a man, a good man.’ God’s covenant.”
“God’s covenant,” Andrea repeated.
“Just as he comes to take his bride, the church, you will present yourself to him, your husband.”
Andrea turned away. She swallowed; closed her eyes. “You know, mom, sometimes… I still get scared. About the –” She swallowed again and placed a hand on her stomach. “You know. The wedding night.”
Mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, my baby.”
“I just… I want to be enough for him.”
Mother stood up and caressed her hair. “Oh, baby, you are always enough.” Warm hands on her shoulder. “I had those worries too. Every girl does.”
Andrea gazed into the mirror. There she was, and there was her mother, and there they were together and Is this me? “They do?”
“Yes. But,” said mother, licking her lips, “it’s the wife’s calling. The Lord’s design. You must give him that gift.”
“Yes.”
“And God will bless it. God will make it beautiful.”
Andrea patted the sleeve of her dress; the delicate fabric, that tiny smile. “Will He?”
“Of course, Andrea. Of course. What do you mean, ‘Will He?’”
“I don’t know, mom. I get scared.”
“Then maybe you should talk to Pastor again. He knows. A godly man – he’ll tell you.”
“Okay.”
Andrea left the dressing room, her mind swirling; a mass, the churning fear. Praying in her bedroom that night: God, make me beautiful. God, make it feel it.
The church was a small thing: four walls, rows of pews on either side, a modest chandelier; and behind Pastor, two doors led to the back room, where the communion cups were stored, and the hymnals, and the candles, and the tears.
And on this Sunday – two days till the wedding – Pastor was delivering a sermon on generosity. “You,” he said, a smooth, calm voice, “you are God’s gift. You see, brothers and sisters, how He shares creation with us?” In the front row sat Andrea, and next to her sat Isaac, he with legs wide open, she with legs crossed. He loves me, Andrea thought, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?
“And you must be generous with your gifts. Your talents. What would this congregation be,” said Pastor, pushing up his glasses, “without the singers? The greeters? You must give freely; you must sow your seed. The offering bucket is going around.”
As the choir took its place behind Pastor – there was Andrea’s brother, and there her cousin, and her aunt – Isaac, not glancing, passed her the bucket, and she held it in her lap and looked down into it; down down down and it seemed for a moment to have no bottom before she dropped in a twenty dollar bill and passed it to the woman next to her.
After the singing and after everyone had shaken Pastor’s hand and left, Andrea sat with Pastor alone in the pews. “I get scared,” she said. “The wedding night, Pastor.” Her face flushed.
“Ah,” he said, wiping small beads of sweat from his forehead, “Yes. I have heard it from many women here. Many women. It’s quite normal,” smiling, “and natural. But Isaac – and I know him well – he’s deserving, very deserving, of your love.” He shifted in his seat, and Andrea felt he was slightly closer to her than before. “You and him; it will be beautiful. God will bless it. Your love will bloom. As long as, of course, you have stayed pure?”
Andrea's hands fell from her lap. “Oh yes, yes, Pastor. Of course.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t even think of – ” you have to you have to “ – doing it with him; I mean, before. The wedding.”
“Of course.” He leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, you have to you have to – “So God will bless it. You have followed His directive. It will be good.”
“It will be good.”
“And I am really looking forward to the wedding. We are all so happy for you, Andrea. We will be with you every step of the way. Every step. And so will the Lord.”
Andrea drove home alone in her car. Past a strip mall, a vast parking lot, heated asphalt; miles and miles of highway and no trees, dying shrubs. She turned into her neighborhood. There, winding roads and rows of identical houses and pine needles and fences. One of these houses, or one just like them, will soon be hers. Her future, bounded neatly. Is this me?
She parked the car. The façade of her house was like any other: two windows, one on each side of the door, a mouth. She turned the key, and there was her mother and her aunt arranging bouquets of roses in the kitchen. The house smelled sickly sweet, slightly dirty. Andrea put on a smile and greeted them.
Mother jumped out of her seat. “Finish cutting these stems, Julie. Oh, my baby.” She hugged Andrea tight and pulled her into the hallway. A hushed voice: “Did you talk to Pastor?”
“Yes. He was very nice. He helped me.”
“Good, good. It’s going to be so beautiful.” She was smiling.
Andrea fidgeted with her necklace – a small silver cross – and looked at the floor. “Mom… Was dad… was he – good to you? I mean when you got married.”
Mother recoiled. “Good to me? Good to me?” She leaned closer, her voice whispered but harsh. “Yes. What do you mean, Andrea? Everyone knows. Of course he was good – so good. It was God’s covenant – everyone knows. What are you saying?”
“I’m just worried, mom.” Is this – is this –
“Stop. Stop. Everyone is coming. The wedding – everyone will see. You can’t worry. Pray tonight, pray baby. There is no fear in our Lord.” Mother leaned against the wall and put a hand to her forehead. “Dad would be so proud of you and you’re asking if he was good? I thought you talked to Pastor.”
“I just – ”
“Everyone knows how good he was.”
Andrea was still looking at the ground, still rubbing the necklace. Do I know? She ran through it again: Dad was a Godly man. Dad was a provider. Dad wanted a big family. Dad drove thirty miles to work. Dad had a new daughter. Dad couldn’t stop working. Dad was late. Dad veered off the road. Dad was going ninety an hour. Dad is a cross on the side of the highway. Does she know?
“Okay, mom.” She wiped a tear and looked at her mother and smiled.
“God loves you, child. He sent this man for you. For us. Don’t forget. And he’s coming – Isaac is coming. Did he tell you? To take the flowers to the chapel. Clean yourself up – maybe you should go with him.”
“Okay.” Andrea felt her stomach churning. “He didn’t tell me.”
“Well he’s almost here. I have to finish.” She gave Andrea a terse hug and went back into the kitchen. “Julie, these are still too long.”
Up the carpeted stairs, then to her bedroom and its pale pink walls. They converged onto the popcorn ceiling she had stared at every night for nineteen years. Thin green lines of paint slithered up the walls – small vines lined with leaves. Her father had painted them. Though she couldn’t remember his face, she always remembered those vines; they had caressed her to sleep all her life and they crowded her mind at school, at church; vines that grew up and up just like her; growing all the time. She sat at the vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. There were her eyes: two almonds. Her nose, powdered, blushed, a berry, and the thin green line of her mouth, that vine, and I am his beautiful girl I am his beautiful girl I am his little little –
The sound of exhaust up the driveway. Andrea peered out the window. There was Isaac’s car. He got out and went up the drive, and there was her mother coming to meet him, and there was their hug, and mother pulling him by the arm, dragging him inside, and “Andrea! He’s here.” Andrea swallowed and patted her hair, reminding herself that God loves her so.
Downstairs, Isaac was carrying vases filled with roses to his car. He passed by her and said “Hello, babe. Coming with me?”
Andrea smiled. “Yes. I am.”
“Jump in the car.” She did as he said, smiling widely because she was going to be married. Married to this man and no matter what happened a few days from now, a week, a month, she was going to be married, she should enjoy this season, the approaching ending and beginning of her life.
The back seat was all roses, bright and garish, filling the car with their heady scent. Isaac, everyone knew, was a godly man. His mother sang in the choir and his father was Pastor’s cousin. He was a construction worker and had grown up side-by-side with Andrea. They were only eight years old when Isaac had leaned over to her in Sunday school and whispered amidst a lesson on the crucifixion, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He giggled, and his friends behind him giggled, and Andrea turned, wide-eyed, and asked him “Why? Why?” And the teacher snapped and told her to quiet down.
Eleven years later, Andrea knew it was God’s design. God had spoken to Isaac, and Isaac had chosen her. She was only playing the part in a story already written long ago. She was the emissary of the Creator. She was His witness and His song; His actress.
Through those years, Andrea had come to really know Isaac. The Isaac that was always there, waiting. The one who, after dinner at a bland chain restaurant, ran his fingers up her thigh as he drove her home. The one who said he had trouble with his flesh. Who was undergoing “spiritual warfare” over Andrea, over her arms and legs and breasts. “The Enemy is tempting me,” he said. And she could even see the tear in his eye as she replied, mind sick and swirling, “But we’re not married. We’re not married.” And he could only say “yes. But it’s coming.”
And now on the drive to the chapel amidst roses he was asking her something. He was asking her – something. But she was thinking of the vines, and that lesson in Sunday school eleven years ago, and the cross on the side of the highway, and the chandelier in the chapel, and her own fear, the blind desperate fear and “I said did you see Pastor today?”
“Pastor today?”
“Yes. Did you talk to him? I heard. I know you did.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat and fingered her necklace. “Yes. I did.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “I’m excited.”
She stared ahead and smiled, too. “Yes. It’s going to be great.”
“You know, all my friends know.”
“Your friends?”
“Yeah. Caleb and Peter and them. Caleb’s married so he knows how it is. How great it is. Anytime, he says. Anytime the man wants. Isn’t that what Pastor told you?”
“Yes, Isaac. It’s what God wants.” She was still smiling. “And I’m so happy you’re going to be my husband.”
He was smiling wide. Very wide. “I am. It’s a beautiful thing.”
One day until the wedding and Andrea was having brunch with her best friend. Mary, only two years older than her, had been married for three, and the third child was on the way. “A big family,” she was saying, dipping potatoes into ketchup, “is God’s way. Right?” She giggled. “Have you and Isaac talked about it?”
Andrea sat in a green t-shirt and ruffled hair. “Yeah, girl, lots of kids.” She giggled too. “Soooooo many kids.”
Mary laughed and nearly choked on her potatoes. “It’s like so different when you’re married. Well the first thing is you can see – you know.” She leaned in and whispered. “His parts.”
Andrea blushed, covered her face. “Oh my goodness. I know, I know.”
“I was scared at first but it’s not so bad.”
“No?”
“Oh no. And I know how to like it now.”
“It’s gonna be so good.”
Mary cleared her throat and reached across the table, squeezing her friend’s hand. “I’m so proud of you. We all are. You’ve gone through so much, just you and your mom. And now you’re getting married!”
Andrea’s eyes shone. “Thank you, Mary. Really, thank you.”
“Yeah, and Caleb was telling me the other day, ‘Now she can come with us to all the marriage retreats!’ Pastor loves those. I’m so excited.”
Andrea looked out the window: the shrubs, the highway, the trees, the sky. The sun shining into her glass of water, reflecting dust. She brought it to her mouth, took a sip, set it down. “Me too.”
The wedding was a mellow affair. It had rained all through the night and into the morning. The usual audience – now suited and dressed – packed into the tiny chapel and brought with them the earthy aroma of rain on pavement. Over it all was the smell of roses, slightly decayed. The air was heavy, indolic. At the front, Pastor gave a short sermon on Genesis, the creation of man and woman. She from his rib. Then the two were married. The families filed out, and bride and groom left in the car they came in. But they were now a new creation. They had fulfilled God’s covenant. She stared ahead as they drove to the hotel. He glanced at her and grinned ear to ear.
In the days following, many called to congratulate her. They had heard about the rain but the couple nonetheless looked so beautiful. They said her father would have been so proud. Andrea said “Thank you, thank you, praise the Lord.” Mary asked how the wedding night had gone. “Oh, great,” said Andrea, smiling, “Really great. It was just as He intended.” And Mary said she never had any doubts.
One Sunday evening, Andrea’s mother asked her about it, too. “Wasn’t it just as Pastor said?”
Andrea was sitting in the living room, hands on her lap. She was now a knowing woman, a dignified woman. “Yes. It was. And it was good.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Ah, I always knew. We always knew.” She sipped her tea. “We always knew you would do so well.”
Andrea looked at her. “Who knew?”
“The church. And your father. Your father and I.” Mother was smiling. She was smiling, Andrea thought, quite strangely. In a way she had never seen her smile.
“Oh.” She looked down at her hands.
“You know,” said mother, setting her mug on the coffee table, “you know, when you were little, your dad said, ‘I always wanted a girl.’”
“Yes. You told me.”
“Because he was waiting for that moment.”
Andrea looked up at her and was startled to find that her smile had grown wider. Her eyes, too, were very wide. Eager. “What moment?”
“For you to be married. To fulfill God’s covenant.”
Andrea cleared her throat. “Yes. Well all dads look forward to that, I guess.”
“Oh, yes, but not all dads can see.” Mother’s voice was wavering slightly, quivering.
“See?”
“Of course he isn’t with us. But he could have seen.”
“Yes. At the wedding.”
“No, no, my little flower.” Mother leaned in close. She placed a hand on Andrea’s thigh. “Seen the night. The wedding night.”
Andrea just stared at her mother – those wide, wide eyes. “The wedding night.”
“Yes, yes. You did a good job, you really did.”
Andrea swallowed. “I did?”
“He’s very proud, I know. And I am too. And so is the Lord.”
“Yes.”
“There’s another one tonight.”
“Another one?”
“Yes.” Mother leaned in closer. She was up to Andrea’s ear now, whispering. “Another screening.”
“Oh. A screening.”
“Come, come. Get your jacket.” She grabbed Andrea’s arm and led her outside to the car. “We don’t want to be late.”
Andrea’s mind was strangely calm as her mother drove. She could only think, This is who I am. This is who I am.
Mother pulled into the parking lot of the chapel. It was full. Like usual, families were filing in, all polo shirts and blouses. Andrea thought she must have dreamt of going to church that morning. This must be Sunday morning, everyone is going to service, everyone is going to sing and see Pastor speak and shake his hand. But no, the sky is darkening now. No, they are going to the chapel for something else. “Come, come, baby.” Mother’s eyes were still so wide. Her mouth was quivering manically, and her voice was breathless, stilted. “It’s almost started.”
The moon shone overhead as they walked into the church hand-in-hand. The lights were dimmed and the pews were empty. The air was cold; the chandelier swayed above. Andrea had the slightly giddy feeling of being somewhere after hours – somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Oh, hurry, hurry,” said mother. She led them up past the stage, then swung open the door to the back room.
There, a man in a black suit and red tie stood amidst bright lights. It was Caleb – Mary’s husband. “Oh, there you are!” His voice was warm. “Woman of the hour! Well, you two can go in. Free of charge.” He gestured to his side, and Andrea saw a square hole cut into the floor; an open trapdoor and a descending staircase.
“No, no,” said mother. “We all have to pay our dues.” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out two five dollar bills.
“God bless you,” said Caleb. “Come on in.” Mother led Andrea down the stairs. As they hurried down, she began to hear commotion. Voices; excited chattering, the swelling of a crowd. This is who I am.
Down down down the stairs until they came upon a narrow hallway: a carpeted floor with bright green swirls. “Okay, baby,” said mother, patting down her dress, fluffing her hair. “Don’t worry, I was nervous my first time, too. Just try to enjoy it, baby. You’ll do so good.”
They continued down the hallway, the voices growing ever louder, until it opened into a large room – a theater. A white sheet at the front, and extending toward the back, rows and rows of seats, every last one filled with people – people she knew and had always known. And now they saw her, and they were standing, all standing and applauding for her and there’s her aunt and her cousin and her best friend and everyone from Sunday school, and there’s Pastor, right there is Pastor toward the front row and next to him is my husband Isaac; my husband Isaac is clapping for me and they’re all smiling so so wide and they’re cheering and laughing and This is me this is me this is me.
There, at the end of the very front row, were two seats marked Reserved. Mother looked at Andrea, smiling, eyes all the way open; Andrea had never seen them so open and “Come, baby,” she was whispering, “this is all for you.” They sat, and the crowd quieted. Everyone took their seats and the lights dimmed.
The flick of the projector. Bright light. On the screen, Andrea saw herself laying in bed in that hotel room. The camera appears to be affixed to the ceiling. She is naked. She is not smiling. From just out of frame a man approaches – Isaac. He, too, is naked. From this angle, the audience only sees his back.
Andrea stared at the footage of her wedding night. Behind her, everyone she has ever known watched as he bent over her. There are gasps from the crowd as he enters her and thrusts.
Isaac goes, and goes, and goes. Booming from every direction are the sounds of rustling sheets and bed springs. Andrea brings her hands to her face. She is crying. Isaac stops. He asks, “What’s wrong?” Andrea wipes her tears. “Nothing,” she says. “I love it.” Isaac continues, harder.
“I love it. I love it. I love it.” And there is applause.
-- Natasha Mardare is a writer from Chicago. Her other work can be found at natasha-m.com. She thanks Ramleh for inspiring the title of this piece.
