[original prose] warnings

[karriezai]

Title: Warnings
Genre: Modern
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 713

I wrote this for an RCR challenge (one I submitted) to write 13 paragraphs concerning superstition.

I was never a superstitious man.  I never threw salt over my shoulder if I spilled it, I never worried about Friday the Thirteenth, and I never thought twice about opening an umbrella inside.  And I never needed to do any of those things, because I led a pretty charmed life.

So I didn’t think anything of it when I met you because of a car accident--the one I got into by veering out of the way when a black cat crossed in front of my car.  You thought the story was sweet, but in a hilarious way.  I was just glad it got me your number.  It wasn’t a bad accident.  All told, I considered it to be closer to good luck than bad.

Ours was not a whirlwind romance, but it had all the power of the rumble of thunder in the distance.  There was no questioning or drama, just a quiet sense of momentum.  I think we both recognized how far our relationship would take us before we ever said anything about it.

We were laughing over a mirror we broke accidentally when we first said we loved each other.  Perhaps this should have been another warning, but we only saw it as a step forward.  Within the month we were making plans to move in together.

We were together three years before I finally proposed.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry you; it’s just that I didn’t think of it because we were already, in our way, married.  A wedding would just make it official.

But when I did go to my mother for her ring (a ring which hadn’t seen a marriage last longer than seven years in generations, a rind which ought to have been a bad omen), though I did make detailed romantic plans for my proposal, in the end I was too impatient.  One night you were on the ladder hammering at a loose light fixture high on the wall, and I just couldn’t keep it to myself.

I cut under the ladder to the bedroom, you yelling after me--“You scared me to death, don’t duck under the ladder when I’m on it!”--and got the ring out of my laptop bag.  I came back out to you and kneeled at the base of the ladder with you high above me and asked... and you said yes.

We still went to the fancy dinner I had scheduled, and it was better this way, because there was no tension of anticipation, only the giddy glow of excited romance.  That night we wondered at potential wedding dates, where we wanted to have our honeymoon, and even when we wanted to have children.

Sunday, July 13th.  You were gorgeous in your wedding dress--white lines and curves straight down to the floor, with your brilliant hazel eyes shining true green.  Not a soul in that chapel could take his eyes off of you.  Every girl wanted to be you.  Every man was full to overflowing with envy that you were moments away from being my wife.

I just felt blessed.

They ushered us into our car with cans trailing from the bumper and messy letters on the windows warning the world that we were newly married.  I was terrified of flying, so we were in for a long drive--but we would be together, so we were fine with that.

They tell us we’re more likely to die on the way to the airport than in the plane itself, but that never stopped my fear of flying.  I wish it had.  Maybe then we wouldn’t be where we are now.

You’re in a hospital bed with dozens of tubes criss-crossing your body, and the doctors tell me you aren’t likely to last the night.  I can’t help but adding up all the little superstitions, things that seemed to lead to this point, and wishing I’d had the sense to see it coming.  It’s the ignored bad luck of decades of my life all accumulated into this one moment: losing you.  And I would work every method of dispelling bad luck right now if it only meant I could take your place.  You do not deserve to die.  But all I can do is hold your hand and wait.