Normally when I imagine being in a chapel like this, in some fancy outfit, with people, I don’t exactly feel excited. Or happy. Or anything positive really. Not until right now. I guess this day is a lot of firsts. A reframing of some of the things I’d grown to dislike.

For one, I got to pick my formalwear! Normally when there’s some big once in a lifetime event, my mom forced me into whatever new stiff, boring, suit she could find. Well not today mother! This suit is specially made. And it’s made for me. No tight pants, or itchy fabric, or boring all black. This is in a color I enjoy, and there’s something actually going on! Not that I’m one for high fashion or bright fun patterns, just give me something. Also the fit isn’t stuffy, I can breath! And the fabric is so comfy I want to sleep in it.

Also the priest for this one is supper nice. He didn’t take one look at me and immediately start spouting off about hate the sin, love the sinner stuff. He was nice. He gave a quick blessing, wished me luck and we continued on our planning. And he makes jokes. God I’ve never seen that in a priest before!

I shifted nervously on my feet, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me. That’s the part I still couldn’t really enjoy: crowds. Not that it’s a big one, it’s almost entirely people I know, it’s still a crowd. It’s fine tho, it’s perfect. It’s just a tiny part of such a big moment.

My brother stands behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving a small squeeze, as if to say “you’ll do great” or “I’m right here” I’m glad he’s here for a moment like this. His support is always nice.

Then the music starts. Everyone is facing the entrance as people begin to enter. One by one girls in fancy gowns with flowers walk in, standing to one side of the altar and then she enters.

Annie is as gorgeous as ever, the widest smile on her face as she enters. This is the woman who reframed everything for me. Who took a broken man and made him whole, she saw my damage and my scars and she drew stars on them. She made everything I hated enjoyable.

She reached the front of the aisle, her white dress and veil obscuring her face, making her no less beautiful yet I’m still so excited to see her clearly, as her at her shakes my hand and I turn to face her.

I gently lift the veil, getting a good look at her. Her brown watercolor eyes stare right back at me, with the brightest toothy grin. I don’t think anyone’s look this good smiling that lovestruck. It’s all so sappy, but I love it.

The priest begins the speech, and this is the moment in weddings where I begin to zone out, mostly just there to see the couple kiss and be on my way. Not this wedding. I’m focused on my Annie’s eyes as I listen, listen to someone talk about a love I never thought I would have. And it’s all ours.

Annie squeezes my hands, her grip almost comically tight as always, she likes seeing how tight she can squeeze me before I react in any way. I just look amused.

Father Joseph turned to me. “Thomas, would you like to start of our vows?” I gave him a nervous nod. Annie squeezed my hands again, this time as a form of reassurance. I’ve never been good with public speaking. Or spilling my guts out all poetically. I look into her eyes, I focus on her not the onlookers filling the chapel. Just my Annie.

“Annie… I want to start with thank you. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for taking my hand and for holding and squeezing it as tight as you can, for guiding it through woods and desserts, through pain and new experiences, through memories I will forever hold. Thank you for seeing my face and not running away scared. For not taking my stoicalness, my silence, and moving on. Thank you for seeing my layers, for seeing my faces, my moments, my moods, and for loving me through all of them. Thank you for saving me.” And now I’m about to cry. That’s fun.

Annie also looks like she’s nearing waterworks. It’s cute. “Tom, Tommie-bear, my dearest onion, my big strong teddy, my groom, I want you to know that when I look into your eyes I see so much more than the stoic man who never talked to anyone. Who sat in the corners and never smiled. I see the man who laughed at cheesy romcoms with me, and painted a house with me, who hiked a mountain, graduated college, and planned this wedding with me. I see the man who called my attempts at courting incredibly cheesy with the fondest smile, who listened to me rant about jewels and their meanings and remembered enough to pick out my favorite for my wedding ring. And who spent weeks digging around storage with my mom to find my grandmam’s old ring to propose with, despite never once being a fan of traditions or legacies, because you knew I loved that ring. I see the man who bought my dad his favorite chocolates and then awkwardly squirmed when he accused you of trying to bribe him the day he asked for his blessing. I’ll have you know my dad was ready to give it for years. I’m so excited to find what more I’ll see in those eyes, Thomas, what more layers my dearest onion will gain and will peel. You said you never understood my love for eye contact. Just know this is why. I get to see into the windows of your soul, and I cannot be more in love with the view.”

And then we did the I do’s, the priest announced his power and said “you may kiss the bride” and that’s all I needed.

I’m not ashamed to say my grief has been an ever present force. They say grief is love that has no where to go. I’ve been feeling that a lot lately as I roam out now empty halls.

Your mother tells me I should keep going, that you wouldn’t want me to sit here writting this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe sitting frozen writting letters to a daughter who will never return isn’t good for me. Still I sit here and I think.

Your team had their game today. I stopped by to show support, to cheer them on. I imagined you on that feild, kicking that ball. They won, Angela. And they dedicated that win to you. I wish you could’ve been there to cheer with them.

Your room hasn’t been touched since you last left it. I don’t have the heart to let it. Don’t have the guts to open that door and to soak in the loss.

Not until today. I promised myself, today I would face it. If not just to say I could, to take a step in a healthier path. My knuckles ached as I gripped that doorknob, I turned it slowly and pushed the door open as carefully as I could.

Creek… __

It didn’t used to creek before. Maybe it was the house’s way of grieving, of acknowledging the bareness of the once bright room.

I stepped inside, and I looked around. Your paintings are still on the wall. They’re as gorgeous as ever. Teddy sits lonely on your bed, in dire need of a cuddle. I can’t bring myself to grant her that. Not yet. Your tables are messy. Seems I never succeeded in teaching you to organize them. I can’t bring myself to do that for you right now. Not like I used to.

I walked out to the balcony. You used to spend hours out here, feeling the breeze. I never understood what about it made you so comfortable. Why you insisted it was the best place to paint. Not until now. Now I understand. As I look out at the sky and the roads I understand.

I miss you, Angela. More than words can speak. I always will. But I’m glad I took this step. I needed this. I think the house did too. Maybe the wounds will begin to heal now. Maybe my grief will learn to settle. Not leave, I don’t think it’ll ever leave. I don’t think my heart will ever stop looking for somewhere to put all the love I have for you. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll calm. Maybe I’ll be able to keep going like you would want.

Keep cheering for me, my dearest Angela. I’ll beat my suffering. One goal at a time.

“Oh no no no no no…” I watched in fear as she trembled, her small frame shaking. She was just on the other side of the room. I could see her so clearly, and as relieved as the sight made me it also broke my heart. “Vivi-Anne please” She didn’t hear me. Maybe the sound reached her ears but I could see it in her face, she didn’t process it. I ran as fast as I could too her, the pain in my sprained ankle feeling like nothing. I owed it to Lazerbeam to save his daughter, no matter what.

“Please, Vivi, listen” the moment I got close to her she began to squirm. Thrashing, kicking, screaming. It broke my heart. Poor girl didn’t deserve this. She had no business being roped into her and father and I’s secrets. Especially not like this.

I kneel down before her, reaching out to hold her. “No! Stop!” Her voice was desperate, shaky. She backed as close as she could to the wall behind her, and as far as she could from me. “Vivi-Anne… please, I’m just trying to help you.”

She shook her head. She didn’t believe me. She curled into a tiny ball and hid her face in her knees. “Vivi… please.” I searched desperately for something, anything, I could do to help the poor girl. Before finally, with no other foreseeable option, I took off my mask.

“Vivi, please. It’s just me.” She looked up at me, her teary eyes widening with suprise and recognition. “U-uncle..?” I forced a smile. “Yes, sweet girl. It’s me.” She smiled, a hopeful relieved smile.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I grabbed the chains of her handcuffs “Do you trust me?” She nodded. I smiled, just a second ago this poor girl couldn’t even bare to look in my eyes. It warmed my heart how much she trusts me.

I yanked the chain, successfully breaking it. I opened my arms up and Vivi-Anne jumped into them, nuzzling into my neck. “I’ve got you, sweet girl.”

I looked down at the chains constraining her ankles to the wall. My hands ached from the strain I had already placed them on. That didn’t matter. What mattered is getting Vivi-Anne out of here. I yanked the chains out of the wall. The cuffs will have to stay on her ankles till it I can get her somewhere safe. Her dad’s laser powers are probably the safest way to get them off her without breaking something.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

I never understood why people like poems

Or how they see what they claim to see through them

Bittersweet words and flowery messages

Over complicated analogies of bare bone skeletons

Writers with feelings they can’t seem to process

So they write it all down for the world to see

Well the world seems to understand their stresses

So tell me, why is it that the world doesn’t include me?