The Place Where Two Phones Met

I dreamt of her.

I didn’t want to but I did. I assume my subconscious wanted to. Maybe It was trying to tell me something about her. Through this journey of transformation and growth, it knew—I knew I needed this little piece of bittersweet healing.

The light bent in a sepia-grey color. In one statement it was a bold bland color. It was her wedding. A gothic chapel like something you’d see in the movies. The crowd was a mix of people mostly I knew and some of her family I had seen. Even some of my friends from high school were there and I know they’ve never met her. The chapel was near a beach, on top of a hill next to a city my subconscious had built. A place I’ve visited multiple times but I wondered how this chapel got here. I built it, but why? I often revisit places in my dreams and I wondered if I will come back to this place.

Most of the men were dressed in black suits with slim ties, and others in the back like me dressed more casually. I wore black shorts, a white shirt, and a black and white Hawaiian shirt that was unbuttoned. The groom was roughly my height, and maybe a little taller. He wore the same black suit as the rest of the men. The women were dressed in secondary color dresses. Tight, not slimming but tight. As I scanned the room to see everyone everything shaded grey. The mood shifted, her family smiled and was happy. Her father was already seated holding on to her mother. Her entire family was laughing, and some of the others were too. But most of us were quiet, it wasn’t sad but it didn’t feel like a wedding. It felt like a funeral.

Her dress had nothing spectacular about it, it was a long simple black dress that stopped just above her ankles. Her hair was blonde and cut shorter than I had remembered before. I don’t even remember the wedding. More like I don’t want to remember it. In the end, we formed a semi-circle around them. Most of the men on her side and pretty much all the women and her parents on his. They walked down their sides. The women cheered almost as loudly as they did for Aaron Pierre. He danced, they hugged him, and her mother held on to him tightly welcoming him into the family.

The men shook her hand, some hugged her, but most just gave a brief unemotional hug. They smiled, we smiled, we were happy, but no one seemed happy.

The reception was at a venue on the cliff, it was open-air, and the beach made it cool. I was there with another rejection and a current crush. They noticed I would steal glances at the bride, but would never go up to her and talk about what happened. Congratulations. Congratulations. Con-grat-u-la-tions.

I was near her thinking of going up with a smile, a genuine smile to say how happy I was for her. But I overheard her say my name, write something down on paper, and put it in a yellow envelope. Her brother handed me the envelope, Unsure if he should, and just as confused as me. He told me to meet her where the two phones met. I had a feeling I knew where that was, but I told myself I couldn’t go. The women convinced me to go, now was my chance. May chance to do what exactly? I don’t know, but they were right.

I left the venue and passed the resort and lounge chairs. I walked down to the beach to one of the wooden beach chairs planted in the sand. Her right leg dangled over her left. She was reading a book. In the same position I imagined her. I was so close to saying I love her. The brief time of all that emotion we felt. It was now gone. I opened the letter and as I began to read exactly she recited the words she wrote. “He healed me.”

For my own satisfaction, I wanted to know from whom? From me? From your trauma? From what? But I didn’t ask. I was happy she was healed. She had more to say, honestly, I didn’t want to hear it. I heard the best part already. He healed her. I could only hope for the best, it had to be since she married him. He must have done the job he was designed to do. Heal her. It wasn’t a job I couldn’t do. It just wasn’t me that was supposed to do it. Or maybe it was also a job I couldn’t do too. I got up and backed away from her. She continued to read what she wrote out loud to me. The words were lost in the envelope I had thrown away months ago. “Come along, my son,” He said. He placed His arm around me and walked me up the stairs with a smile “It hurts, but she’s in good hands, trust me.”

Her husband passed me. She was healed. Maybe not now but I had to trust she would be healed later. It wasn’t my job, but His.

When I woke up. I prayed for her and her family. I thanked God that he will heal her. I thanked Him for destroying the chains that bound her in isolation. I thanked God she found the love she deserves and lives the life He gave her. I’m not meant to save everyone because He has already done it. She will be healed. I trust in him to do so. I was healed. I can let go.