Seth knelt before me; took my hand. “Marry me, Cecilia.”
I’d dreaded this day since my eighteenth birthday. I looked at the ring he’d slipped onto my
finger, stuck at my knuckle.
I slid the ring off and handed it back. “No.”
He stood. “We can
“I don’t love you Seth.”
Despite thirteen years of Catholic education, I found the lie slipped
off my tongue easier than the truth of Madame Maria.
Just so we’re clear, seeing a fortune teller doesn’t sit
well with the Church either, but after so many years of rules and regulations
and requirements, I was ready to let it all go.
Yet, I needed somewhere to place my faith.
The fortune teller told me I would injure my right knee.
And I did.
The fortune teller told me I would switch colleges after my
And I did.
The fortune teller told me I would reject my first marriage
And so I did.
Seth walked away and out of my life.
The fortune teller didn’t tell me if he would be happy.
The fortune teller didn’t tell me if I would be.
The fortune teller didn’t say that at the age of thirty-two,
I would still be single, teaching in a far-away place, still trying after all
these years to forget Seth. She didn’t
mention that I would be walking down an isolated road one day and come upon a cow
foraging in a street without cars. She
didn’t tell me about the little girl paused in childhood, feet prettily
arranged on a sidewalk extending into forever.
She didn’t tell me about the pain of standing alone.
I smile at the girl; admire her stuffed bear. I slip my cell from my pocket and dial Seth’s
number from memory.
I wonder whether he still has the ring or if he placed it on
I wonder if there’ll be a second proposal.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge