WAIT

Years back, I had once accused a friend, because he forgot my birthday. He defended himself by saying. “I knew it. I had a sign that I was forgetting something. I just didn’t know what.”

 I also remember thinking that he had just called coincidences a sign; he was giving meaning to random acts.

Now, I realize that we all do the same. We search for meaning from within ourselves or an external source. Searching for an answer, direction, a warning, that we’re heading the wrong way, straight for collision. We see the sign. We ignore it or we don’t think it’s the sign or we don’t accept the instructions. We rationalize. We conclude that it can’t possibly be the sign. And other times we don't understand the sign.

What are you trying to SAY?

This place always has a strange way of giving me comfort, especially on days like this. Maybe, it's the colours. The way they draw my eyes towards them distracting me from my raging thoughts.

Mauve purple Asters, Lace pink Peonies, Silver Gumdrop Coral Bells, white foxgloves—I’ll have to thank the gardener for taking extra care of the plants.

I pluck an ox-eye daisy from the ground and I paused unconsciously waiting for my grandmother to scold me. The fusty earthy smell that I’ve come to love reminds me of her. This garden was her home and these flowers her world.

 I take my catch towards the wooden picnic table beside the Lemon tree. Mount the chair and sit on the table.

How does the ritual go again? 

Should we get married? I pluck one of its petals. Yes.

 Should we not? I pluck another? No.

The last white leaf gracefully descends on the grass and I’m left with a lonely stem. No, it is.

 I need a sign, a direction, a warning, an instruction, something. I need to know. Am I making the right decisions or am I about to fall off a cliff? Mayb—

“What are you doing?” she asks standing by the back door with her hands folded.

“Waiting,” I sighed.

“For who?”

“Not who but what. I’m waiting for a sign.”

Her stance says she angry but her brown eyes, a sign, says she’s worried. It’s funny how we can see signs everywhere but not when you actually need them.

“He’s still waiting for you inside.”

I turn towards the fence and stare at the stem in my palm. “Can you ask him to leave?”

“Beige!”

I glance back at her. “Please.”

“He wanted to find you himself. I knew you would prefer to be alone so I asked him to leave. He refused. But he agreed to stay inside. He won’t come here.”

“Thank you. And everyone else?”

“They won’t come here either.”

My eyes find the dirt coated stem. You don’t happen to have a sign for me, do you? I guess not.

“I’m horrible," I whisper.

“Yes.” She sits beside me on the wooden bench and backs the fence. “I mean your fifth proposal in seven years and what do you do? You run away. And what happens? Everyone starts calling me, like I’m supposed to know why you ran. If you’re going to keep doing this, at least tell me why.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I don’t understand why you court them if you know you’re not ready.”

When exactly does one know they are ready? Is there a sign? “To keep my options open.”

“You’re afraid.”

We stare at each other and memories I've tried to repress came rushing in. “Of course, I’m afraid. Mom thought dad was the one and we all know how that ended. She was miserable, we all were.”

“I understand. I sometimes still have nightmares but we promised not to let the past hinder our progress.”

“I don’t want to make the same mistake,” I say with tears in my eyes.

“You won’t.”

“How? Mum was certain she had married the perfect man for her. However, her world turned upside down? What did she always recite, ‘everything changed after marriage’?”

“But—”

“You know that I don’t believe in divorce, for better for worse. I need to be certain before I commit my entire life to someone.”

“Okay. . . What are you waiting for?”

“Do you remember one of the Gideon stories Grandma used to tell us?”

She leans away. “You know that I don’t believe in things like that anymore.”

“But I’m sure you remember, the one about wool?”

She avoids eye contact and stares at her shoe. “Gideon wanted a sign from God. He said, 'God I need to know you’re with me on this, if you truly are show me a sign.’ ”

“Then?”

“He kept wool out and asked God, “let the wool be wet and the ground be dry.’ And the next day the ground was dry but the wool was soaking wet. And he was like, ‘Yeah. I don’t believe this magical jazz. If it really was you, do it again, this time make the wool dry whilst the ground is wet.’ And the next morning, it was like as he had asked. The story goes somewhat in that direction.”

 “Don’t you use see blue—” She glares at me. I always wondered why our mother had a thing for colors. “Sorry, Brook. God showed him a sign. All I want is a sign, my sign. I want to know that I’m not making a mistake. I want to know that I won’t come to regret this. I love Michael, I really do but I have come to realize that love alone might not stand the test of a forever marriage. I need to know that God is with me on this.”

“Did you get your sign?”

“I had always asked for a sign even before they proposed. Even before Micheal proposed but the answers –”

“Yes?”

“They were inconsistent. It might be yes, then I ask again to reconfirm and then it changes to a no.”

She’s on her feet. “I’ve tried telling you this before, stop letting a myth rule your life. Do you really believe there’s a God?”

She moves towards the fence and turns to the table not before kicking the bench and startling me.

“If there is one, He hates us. He hates us the most. He’s never cared about us, neither has he tried to help us. Never. He let us grow up in that house, he let all those happen to us. Why don’t you see it? Everything we are today is based solely on us.” She takes my hands and stares at me with tears in her eyes. “Please, stop letting a myth rule your life. You ruined what could have been a perfect marriage, five times. Five beautiful times.”

I pull out of her grasp. “It’s not a Myth. Maybe I’m doing something wrong. The problem is with me, maybe I’m misunderstanding the signs. Maybe—”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew how you’ll react.”

She kicks the bench again. “Beige! Carl is married and he has a three-year-old daughter; that should have been your family.”

“Calm down.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her palm. “I don’t know what hurts more the fact that you’re allowing someone that doesn’t care about you to ruin your life OR that you didn’t think to tell me about it sooner. Every breakup I was there. I cooked. Cleaned. Cuddled you for weeks. I consistently asked you what the problem was, but you didn’t budge. Do you know how that hurt me, for years? I thought it was because of our past. But you were blocking me out like mum used to do. I understand that I’m younger . . .” Her voice gives in to the tears.

I climb down the table and pull her into a tight embrace. “Blue. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t understand. I thought you’d be angry at me.”

She pulls out. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at God. This is the second time; I’m watching this myth crush people’s hope and ruin their lives. Mum always had hope. She blindly thought that things would change even till her death. This myth snatched away her life and its snatching yours. God doesn’t love us, not mom, not us.” She hugs me tightly,” What did we ever do to offend Him? Why does he make us suffer?”

“He loves you Blue. He loves you more than you know. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry, I couldn’t protect you. . . God is the reason mum and grandmother could smile and endure whatever life threw at at them. God loves you blue.”

“What about the sign?”

“You didn’t let me finish. Whenever I get inconsistent answers, I take it as God telling me to wait. What did Grandmother say, ‘God always answers prayer. It’s either a yes or a no or wait.’ I’ll wait, but usually my supposed significant other moves on. I believe it’s not meant me.”

“I can’t change your mind on this?”

“Yes. I saw the signs even before he proposed. Perhaps in the future, God tells me otherwise but for now, I wait.”

We walk back into the house. Michael is sitting on the floor beside the center table, staring at the ring box. He’s lost in his world, that he doesn’t hear us come in. Maybe he’s also angry at me.

“Where’s everybody?” Blue asks breaking the silence.

He hurries to his feet. Heavy bags are underneath his red eyes. “They left. They said thank you for the food and they’ll revisit later.”

Blue rampages through the empty plates and trays. “They ate all the food? I barely got to eat anything.”

We stare at her.

“Sorry, I’ll excuse you.”

“I saved two bags of Cheetos behind the cereal box for beige. You can have one.” He looks at me and smiles. “They are your favorite.”

Blue grabs a bag and grins. “He's a keeper—sorry. Bye.”

“I’m sorry. I scared you. I really didn’t mean to spring it up on you like that. I shouldn’t have proposed here. I know this place means a lot to you and I know you liked when those you love are part of important moments, so I—I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong. I loved it. I really do. It was my favorite. I’ll always remember this day.”

Tears gather around his eyes as they struggled to stay on his eyelids. “What? But –”

“You shouldn’t have stayed.”

“I couldn’t leave without making sure you’re fine and also without a response.”

“I’m waiting.”

He pulls me into a warm embrace. “Then, we’re going to wait.”