A Blonde

The brisk breeze blew carelessly outside my bedroom window. I watch it carry the fallen leaves of autumn across the brick paved streets I had come to know over the past five years. I would return to those streets a different man in the coming twenty-four hours; a more broken man than I already had been.

"Gray, hun, we're gonna be late." I tear myself away from the scenery to see the Innkeeper's daughter, and my close and personal friend, leaning against the doorframe leading into the hallway. Her everyday attire was replaced by a simple red dress, the one she wore every Sunday for church. Her hair was let down for the occasion; deep waves of red framed her small freckled face. "My, my," she paused slowly making her way to my side of the room, eyeing me up and down in the process. "Don't we look nice." Her slender fingers grip the cheap yellow tie that hangs carelessly on either side of my neck. They intactly weave the polyester blend so the tie falls crisply down my chest. Her fingers curl against her palms as they linger for a moment.

If you ask any villager in Mineral Town, they would pin Ann and I as a couple. Over the years we have given up trying to tell them we are no more than friends. There was the one summer in our adolescence where we were an item, but it was too strange for us both so we began to see other people. Even when Ann and I, respectively, were seen around town with other dates, everyone's minds still remained in that summer.

"Thank you Ann," I mumble placing my lips gently on her forehead. My fingertips push the fiery red hair from her cheeks, my thumb wiping away a lone tear.

"We'll pull through." Her blue eyes flicker up to mine as her serious expression breaks into a small smile. "We always do." I had to remember this was also a sad day for Ann as well, for she was also losing the love of her life.

My arm wraps around her shoulder as we walk out of the room and down to the lobby to join her father. We would be joining my grandfather at the service.

The walk to the church was rather quiet with the only noise coming from our group being the quick murmurs escaping Ann's lips. It was always something she did when she was upset; her attempt at calming herself down before being among her joyful peers.

A crowd was gathered in the front of the church, most of the young women and men were anticipating the main event held just beyond the church doors.

My eyes, shifting the Ann, catching her transforming her face from the sorrowful expression she held just moments ago to one of delight. I would have done the same, but putting on a mask would only allow my peers to question my odd behavior. Dropping my hand from her shoulder we made our way to them.

Greetings at the just the right times, gossip about the after party, and compliments tastefully crafted to suit the receiver were all placed on the table before we headed inside for the service.

I broke away from the group to join my grandfather in the last pew of the church. He wasn't one for socializing with other attendants, even if he'd been working in this town all his life. But, we were hear to show support, not chew the fat with the townspeople.

The church began to quiet down as the time grew near. I watched as Ann stood from her seat and sat on the bench in front of the organ and began to press the keys. The Wedding March echoed inside the small church, the townspeople turned to the back in search of the bride.

She emerged from the double doors; the morning light flooding in behind her and engulfing her. The wind brushing the blonde hair from her shoulders settled once the doors were pulled shut. Her steps rhythmically matching the tempo of the soft melody while her gaze was locked on the alter where her future husband stands. From my seat, I could see the look of love pass through her eyes while he takes her hand.

My eyes meet Ann's, she smiles at me and wipes her left cheek, doing her best at keeping it together. I can imagine her thoughts are uniform to my own.

My mind wonders, wishing that I could be standing up there with you, holding your hand, watching you give me the same loving look you have always given him. Knowing that I'll never get that look, having to see you with him everyday across the wooden fence that separates us, makes my stomach churn. For the rest of my life I'll be forcing myself to be supporting while inside I'm beaten down to a shell of a man.

You'll never love me. Not in this life.

"The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don't love me back"