Although her wedding night had been ruined by the ritualistic drinking that a groom partook of the first night of his marriage, surrounded by his closest friends and, in Yoon's case, his new brother-in-law, Meahri could not help but think of her honeymoon with fondness. There had been shyness, bashfulness but there had also been laughter, impatience and exploration. Her honeymoon had been a time for pushing the boundaries of what had previously been expressly forbidden and now was freely allowed. It was, she thought, a time when Yoon really saw what it meant that Im Meahri was a woman. It was a time when he realized his needs as a man, understanding for perhaps the first time, the loneliness that had pervaded him since Jung Ah's death.
He was careful with her those first nights, as if he were afraid she would break, as if he were afraid she would disappear while he cradled her between the sheets. He was tender. He was kind. He appreciated her youth, her vigor, her nakedness. He was intimidated by her inexperience. So he held her close and cautiously because she was his new bride, and his to care for and cherish.
She was unsure of herself those first few times when she understood the reality of what it meant for Yoon to be her husband. It meant that there were few secrets between the couple. It meant that she was a woman in his eyes and his embrace. She clung to him tightly, afraid he would leave, realizing that her youth and innocence were too much of a burden to bear. To her, their new marriage bed was a place of giving and taking and the formation of relationships which were meant to last a lifetime.
When he held her, unsure of himself, his actions rather than his words admitting the years of solitude he had dwelled in, the time he had spent without the comfort or care or touch of a woman, she understood. And when she brought him close to her, her movements rather than her expressions revealing that, for the first time, she didn't know how to express what she wanted, he understood. Those first nights, for the first time, they came together as human beings, as a man and a woman, equally aware of the other's desires, fears, worries, and needs.
Meahri soon learned that it would not always be like those first nights. There were times when she didn't want to be held by Yoon or him by her. She became angry by the generational differences, the age gap, that surrounded them even as she understood the impossibility of ever totally eradicating it. She became upset over the slightest differences of opinion, when she didn't always get her way. Marriage to Yoon was not the fairytale she had always imagined. But when he held her in his arms, in the privacy of their bed, showering her with kisses, she thought that few things could make her life better than it was.
Afterwards, he always held her close, wrapping his arms around her so that her head rested on her chest or on her pillow next to his. Afterwards, he always whispered words of affection and confessions of love, intertwining his fingers with hers. Afterwards, he always made sure she was alright, brushing her hair back away from her sleepy eyes. Afterwards, he always showed her how grateful he was, how much she was cherished.
In the privacy of their bedroom, Meahri knew Yoon showed her how dearly she was loved. Their physical relationship had blossomed from shyness to passion. With every passing year, she knew that his love for her grew rather waned. He always gave her everything she needed and as much more as it was in his power to give. Outside of their bedroom, the ogling passerby might ungracefully list everything that was wrong about the couple, but inside the four walls that housed their marriage bed, Meahri could only see the goodness, the rightness, the truth of their relationship. And inside those for walls, all was well.
She supposed this was why it was her favorite room in the first days of their marriage, even after those first nights and the honeymoon period others claimed would soon fade. She preferred their bed to all other seating in their home, and liked it when he laid beside her. In the first days of their marriage, she was consumed with an all-engulfing passion that manifested itself spectacularly. At the end of the day, she greeted her husband in short skirts, in shirts that generously revealed more than they covered, in dresses she would never go out in public in. She allured him with lace teddies and underwear bought with him in mind. Her favorite perhaps, was the robe under which she wore nothing. And he would take her into the bedroom and show her just how much he cared for her.
But as the days and the months and the years of their marriage passed, Meahri began to like the bedroom because it was where she and Yoon could talk away from the fast-paced world outside and the children that wailed for their parents. In talking, Meahri found a new kind of intimacy with her husband that had very little to do with their bodies and everything to do with their relationship. They talked about his work and hers, their family, their friends. They discussed their ideas and hopes and dream. And in time, they learned to discuss the age difference and the never-ending troubles it brought. And in time, Meahri learned to accept the inevitability of what the age difference meant.
The seventeen years that separated them meant that he would grow tired and grey before she would. The seventeen years that separated them meant that he would be old while youth still clung to her. The seventeen years that separated them meant that he had already loved and lost while she had merely begun to learn the meanings of those words. The seventeen years that separated them meant that their life together, while not always difficult, was never easy.
And as the years passed by, their speech which was once of a youth speaking with her elder, a child talking to an adult, a girl pleading with a man, formal, constrained, and careful became free and easy. As the years passed by, they learned to speak informally with one another, their speech was now that between a husband and a wife, a man and a woman, a human and a human. And Meahri, and Yoon, found new freedoms in that ability and the intimacies that developed after the first days of their marriage.
Meahri had once appreciated the four walls that surrounded the marriage bed she shared with her husband. Those walls had offered them privacy from the prying eyes of the outside world. Those walls had offered sanctuary for a new bride and her husband. Those walls had housed her marriage bed. But now those walls offered peace and easiness and a place where any words could be said and be accepted gratefully. The room that those four walls enclosed, became a refuge and a haven.
Although her wedding night had been ruined by the ritualistic drinking that a groom partook of the first night of his marriage, surrounded by his closest friends and, in Yoon's case, his new brother-in-law, Meahri could not help but think of her honeymoon with fondness. It was the time when she had first blossomed into a woman, first understood the meaning of the word wife. It was the time when she stopped being's Yoon's junior and became his equal. It was the time when they became family. It was a time of learning and understanding. It was a time of accepting-her choices, her marriage, and the realities that accompanied what was now her life.
As promised, Yoon never let go of her hand-even in the seclusion of their bedroom.