I MIssed It

The minute I opened my eyes at 7 o'clock, Friday morning, only one thought popped into my head amidst the myriads of concerns which had been taking little bites off me me like an army of ants for the past month or so.

She was getting married today.

My mother then called me a little while later and we had a rather long talk. She and the rest of my family were in our home province whereas I was miles away, cooped up inside a room in an apartment I had just moved into two days before. This was my first time to spend Holy Week away from my family. There is always a first time, I thought to myself and I tried to console myself with the thought that I wouldn't get stuck in a horrendous traffic jam while watching procession after procession after procession pass by. Yeah, there is always a first time...just like getting married. I thought about it again.

We were fourteen, I believe, when we first talked about getting married. I don't really remember much about where we were except that there were three of us, seated on the steps of our third floor classroom, the long skirts of our school uniforms tucked under our legs as the wind tried to blow our heads away. She said "I'm sorry you can't be in my wedding. I'm telling you ahead of time so you can't complain that I didn't tell you beforehand." I teased her that I was toying with the idea of getting 'converted' for a day, just so I could see her in a white dress, a veil and make up. She gave me one of her looks as if to say "That is not possible." So I let the matter go like a leaf in the wind, consoling myself with the fact that I just might be there to attend the reception.

That was eight years ago. Now as I got off the phone with my mother, I glanced at my watch and the dial read 8:15. Her wedding had just started.

I left the house ten minutes before 11, having had to fumble through the half-full boxes in my apartment for the car keys with the mental note that I really had to unpack and rearrange my stuff pretty soon or else I could end up tripping over these things and land in the hospital with a broken hip. I had to be in church by 11 to go through some songs we had to sing for the Good Friday service that afternoon. On my way to church, I decided to take the route which would make me pass the church where she was to get married. I entertained the thought that she might still be there.

I slowed the car as I entered the drive which led to their church compound. The wind was blowing rather hard that day and the sun was partly hidden by the clouds. I almost spontaneously stepped on the brakes when I saw someone in a pristine white dress and a white veil clutching a bunch of white flowers walk though the neatly trimmed lawn of the church, a taller man in white standing beside her. Could that be her? My goodness, I laughed to myself as felt like I was in one of those movies where the jilted ex-boyfriend/other guy watching the female protagonist marry the male protagonist the movie watchers would want her to marry. She didn't tell me I could at least do this - sit in the car and from the outside, watch them take pictures. After all that was all I wanted: to see her in her white dress and white veil, clutching her bunch of white flowers.

I called her on my phone and I asked her if she were the girl I had just seen walk by.

"Where are you?" she asked me.

"I'm right outside your church, silly," I answered.

"That's not me. I'm in Cubao now. They are the couple who got married after us."

I thought I heard a thud somewhere and I knew that was not something beyond five feet of my arm's reach.

Great.

"You didn't tell me I could at least see this," I told her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you wanted to be there."

"What do you mean I didn't want to be there? How could you know that?" I answered quickly.

Then we both kept quiet knowing we should not have said what we just said.

Her voice broke as she said "You're making me cry. You're making me feel guilty."

She almost always never cried. We even used to tease each other we shouldn't be with guys who cry more than we do.

"Konsensiya, konsensiya, konsensiya!" I chanted like a tease and we both laughed. I told her I'll see her the next morning, before she goes back home a married woman.

I was back the next day, Saturday at 8 AM. I met her husband at the gate of the place where they stayed. She came out a little while later and the two of us took a walk around their church complex. The sun was shining brightly on that day and a breeze was blowing softly. The garden of their church was beautiful, the flowers were blooming and the grass was neatly manicured. I glanced up to see the white spires of their church point towards the blue sky. I made out a gold figure standing on one of the spires. "That's Muroni," she said. I don't even know if I spelled the name correctly.

She later showed me the pictures of her wedding. She looked perfect in her immaculate long-sleeved white dress. A tiny tiara was on her head and I could make out a short train of a veil somewhere near her head. I told her I liked her dress although I hoped she wore just the tiniest bit of makeup. "After all, you won't ever get married again!" She kicked me and her husband laughed.

I met her mother a little while later and we gave each other the biggest bear hug. She was almost like my own mother also and I teased her that she should be ready to have little grandchildren sooner or later.

I later drove them - she, her husband, her mother and her husband's aunt - to the bus terminal for their trip back home. I told her I'd see her soon although I did not know exactly how soon "soon" should be. She was my best friend. Time didn't matter.

As I drove away, I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw her standing by the roadside near the bus terminal in her green shirt and jeans.

I missed it. I missed the vision of white.