Fugue #110

In this dress she sees her mother and grandmother. It’s timeless.

It’s 1942 and her grandmother is nervous - about marrying, but more about marrying a solider leaving for Pearl Harbor in a week. She wasn’t cut out for this. Her smiles are forced, her fears are visible, even as she glides through the silken blur of her most beautiful day.

It’s 1965 and her mother isn’t nervous at all - except the heat, and the frosting of the cake in the banquet hall. She was made for this, being a bride. Her smiles are on cue, insincerity so real it masks anything approximating emotion in the entire wedding party.

Ana knows the pictures well. She has studied them for years. The albums were in the drawers of the living room table. She holds the dress up in front of her, looks in the mirror, and tilts her head to the right. She decides to put it on.

- Hey...
- Hey! Ever heard of knocking?!
- What’s that dress?
- It’s the dress that my mom and my grandma wore at their weddings.
- Why–
- Paul.
- Ok, I’m leaving. You look pretty, Ana.
- Thanks. (points to the door)
- Going...