Sam & Ella: The Wedding 5

This is the fifth segment of this story. It's been updated in the last few days, and is longer than the original.

Ella

As I watched the sun slowly rise from my bedroom window, I thought of Sam finishing her morning prayers. I decided I would make pancakes for Sam, one last morning before her life transformed permanently. The sun was shinning brightly by the time I grabbed all the required ingredients and made the walk across our freshly cut lawns. I smiled when I saw Aunty Zareena sitting on her porch with her tea.

“Good morning Beta!” she smiled. “Hi Aunty! Are you ready for tonight?” A fews tears accompanied her smile this time. “As ready as I can be, Beta.” I hugged her before I went in looking for Sam.

“Helloooooo! Here comes the bride's hot friend! Here comes the bride's hot friend!” I sang as I walked into Aunty Zareena's kitchen. Sam was setting the table for the two of us. The henna on her hands had deepened, making the paisley design even more beautiful on her skin. “It's about time you made me breakfast, I am starving!”

I waved the bag of semi sweet chocolate chips in the air as an offering of peace, before throwing it at her. We chatted about unimportant details as I stirred the batter. Sam wasn't allowed to do anything today, Aunty Zareena and I had decided. As I listened to Sam go over the night's schedule for the tenth time, I realized that I was loosing her tonight. By next week she would be moved into Shehzad's parent's home in New York. She would no longer be across the lawn on Sunday mornings armed with her spatula in hand.

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Sam

Her eyes stare back at me from the mirror. She is a bride, waiting for the Imam to walk in at any moment to ask for her signature. Then it will be done. There is no turning back now, her eyes say to mine. There are no words between us, only the quick rhythmic beating of our hearts.

“Sam Beta, I'm sorry but we can't make them wait any longer.” Ammi's voice was calm. I could hear the swelling of tears in her tone. She was right, we couldn't wait any longer. Shehzad had patiently delayed the ceremony for the last hour at my request. I wanted my father to be there, I longed for him to be my wali, my gaurdian. I wanted him to take this one last responsibility of me. But he had not come. I had waited again, and he had not kept his word, again.

“Sam Beta...Summar?” Ammi's voice trailed, and I noded. Yes, it was time.

Within moments, the gentle aging Imam came in with the witnesses to ask for my consent. Ammi hugged me, weeping softly as they left with the signed papers. Ella stayed by my side, she wiped Ammi's tears, fixed her sari. When Ammi left the room to witness Shehzad's half of the ceremony, Ella stayed with me. For a few minutes it was just us again. “You are going to be fine,” she said, my face cupped in her hands. “Now I don't want to see any of those tears, we have to walk down to see your man.” She winked. We laughed, and blinked the threatening tears back.

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Ella

Even in this moment, as I watch Sam sign her consent, I am uncertain of her happiness. There is a sadness that shadows her smile, a hesitancy whose origin I do not know. Perhaps it was her father's predicted absence, but I wondered if there was more. What I did know, is that Sam has never looked more beautiful. The deep red fabric of her mughal inspired skirt floats around her with each step. Even in all her bridal grandeur her simplicity is eminent. Like the glow that clings closely to a full moon.

“Ready? Remember you can't trip today.” We smile. Sam nods, and we walk over to the over sized doors that take us into the banquet hall. Her hands we tightly wrapped around her bouquet of fall colored roses, arranged in perfect circles. When the music began, the doors were opened, and all five hundred eyes were on Sam. But she didn't flinch, she floated with each step, moving closer to meet the gaze of the man she had agreed to spend a lifetime with. From the moment she entered the room, Shehzad was standing, waiting. He had waited a long time for this, his eyes never left her, his smile never faded. And then he did something unexpected - he walked to meet her half way. I saw the shadow linger in her eyes but for a moment, and then as Shehzad lead, Sam followed each step. When his hand found hers, he grasped it tightly, their fingers interlocked, and they walked together.

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Sam & Ella: The Wedding 4

This is the last of Sam & Ella's current story. I'm still working on the final installment... until then...

Ella

With two days left until Sam’s wedding, I still have not had a moment alone with her. Part of me is relieved by the crowd that surrounds us, because I would not know what to say. At 3pm I make my way across the lawn to the Khan house. I found Sam sitting in the sun room, waiting for her cousin’s to start applying henna on her hands. I closed the door behind me and sat down beside her, “Hey.”

She smiled, and then nodded over to other side of the room where the dining table stood and upon it was a large vase filled with some two dozen red roses. “Go read the card” she chuckled. Confused by the peculiarity of her tone, I walked over to the table and opened the envelope.

My Dearest Samar,

“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.” You are my world Samar. As we embark on this journey, I am excited for every blessed moment that we will share throughout our lives.

Anxiously awaiting this Saturday…

Yours,

Shehzad

I could feel Sam watching me as my eyes re-read the card a half dozen times before putting in back in the envelope. Nervously I glanced upon Sam to find her smirking.

“So what do you think?”

“That’s… nice of him” I said hesitantly. My face was never any good at hiding my emotions, and with one glance at Sam, our laughter filled the room. We were still laughing when Sam’s older cousin, Zahra walked in with the henna for Sam’s hands and feet. Caught off guard by our roaring laughter, she glanced at us both like we were lunatics let out of a mental ward. After a few painful moments of uncontrollable laughter, Sam and I were able to regain our speaking skills.

“What was that all about?” Zahra asked as she placed the henna tray on the floor.

“Did you see the delivery that Sam got today?” I said pointing to the flowers. Zahra turned to look at them, and turning to us she said, “There’s nothing to laugh at there, he’s trying to be romantic. Appreciate it Sam, it doesn’t last very long.”

“Show her the card,” said Sam as she rolled up her salwar. Once again, I pulled out the card from its hiding and handed it to Zahra. We waited for a few moments for her reaction. A smirk, a smile, perhaps a chuckle? Zahra had been like Sam’s older sister for most of their lives, most of our lives. She had always been there with advice, with a different perspective, perhaps to shed light on something we had both missed sight of in trying times.

At last the smirk crept upon her lips. And with her voice as low as it could possibly go she said, “He’s anxiously awaiting Sam.” Another roar of laughter was born, except this time, it was only me and Zahra who laughed. Sam had turned crimson and pretended not to hear Zahra as she rubbed her arms and legs with eucalyptus oil, preparing her skin for the true bridal mark, henna.

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Sam

I’m still sitting in the sun room. It’s been a few hours since Zahra started decorating my hands with henna. Ammi has decided it would be a good time to take a break and serve dinner. With the henna applied to my feet and partially to my hands, I have now begun my bridal transformation. So I sit here, with no responsibility to do anything except look pretty for the next several days. Being a bride has been a lonely experience for me, my fears unresolved, my anxiety so intense that on some days I feel as though a burst of emotion will break through my skin. I’m told it’s normal to feel this reluctance, to have cold feet or so they say.

About two weeks ago, I had decided to take on a task that Ammi was unwilling to support me through – I sent my father an invitation to my wedding. I had not spoken to him in many years. He had randomly come in and out of my life, with each time bringing more disappointment and broken promises. But I still loved him. Days passed as I waited for his response, and finally today he called. He was going to come! I couldn’t believe it. Ammi was less than ecstatic to hear the news, but she knew what it would mean to me have him here.

“Sam do you want something to drink?” Ella voice brought my drifting thoughts back to reality. I nodded as I picked at my food with my one free hand. Maryam, Zahra’s first born, came up to me asking to look at my hand. As her eyes admired the intricate designs that had been carefully cast upon my skin, I wished that I could share in her innocence. “Sami Khala, Abba said I can put henna on my hands too if I’m a good girl” she declared. “Really? Is your Abba going to do it for you?” I asked teasingly. Maryam chuckled, “Nooo. Abba doesn’t know how to put henna.” For a few brief moments I was lost in the innocence of her giggles. The thought of her father doing intricate henna designs was so hilarious, that Maryam skipped away to share my silliness with him. As I watched her, I hoped the coming days would bring me such a moment as well.

Sam & Ella: The Wedding 3

Ok here's some more of Sam & Ella's story. It's a continuation from the previous posts (I would recommend starting with the first couple posts and then read this one).

Sam

Ella and I have not spoken since the arrival of my trousseau a few days ago. I have had several conversations with myself, searching for words that Ella would want to hear. There has never been an awkward silence between us, never anything that we have not been able to talk through, until now.

When Ella left to visit her father in April, I didn’t tell her of Shehzad’s family visiting us that weekend. And I didn’t tell her when they called Ammi following that visit to formally propose. I had not even called her to tell her that I had accepted, and our engagement announced to our families. Instead I waited. On the morning that she returned from Phoenix, Ella stormed into our living room demanding an explanation for my silence. But I had none to offer.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” I lied.

“Whatever Sam, you should have called me, emailed me, heck you should have sent me a post card,” Ella said emphatically, “How could you not tell me!”

“I told her to call you,” my mother chimed in, “But she wouldn’t listen beta, she kept insisting on telling you when you came home.” Ammi was surprised by my lack of excitement through this decision, but mostly she was just relieved that I had finally agreed. Upon seeing Ammi’s beaming smile, which she had worn on her face for over a week now, Ella’s anger subsided.

“Did you show her the ring?” Ammi said, sounding like a child with a shiny new toy.

“There’s a ring!” yelled Ella, “Sam, why aren’t you wearing it? Where is it? What else are you hiding? Aunty, what else is she hiding?” With that outburst of questions, both Ammi and I began to laugh. Ella had never changed, her energy had always remained two steps ahead of me.

“See Samar, even Ella thinks you should be wearing your ring all the time. Go and put it on before everyone comes over tonight.”

After rolling my eyes at both Ammi and Ella, I walked up to my room. There it was, in the navy blue box that I had received it in, sitting on my dresser, my engagement ring. An emerald cut 1.5 carat diamond shined back at me. Everything I had ever imagined my ring to be lay within these satin walls.

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful,” Ella’s words pierced the air of discontent that hung around me like a foggy morning. With a smile I took out my ring and handed it to Ella for further admiration. “It’s exactly what you wanted Sam, how did he know…” her words trailed into silence as she looked at me. “You’re not happy. Tell me why you’re not happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” I said as I took the ring from her and slipped it onto my finger. “Because you always answer my questions with a question when you’re lying.”

“Should I wear a brown or beige scarf with this?” I asked, blatantly trying to change the topic. “Beige and we are not done talking about this” said Ella, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine. Really.” I smiled. Anyone would have bought that smile except Ella. The truth was the past had still followed me to this moment.

“You need to let him go Sam,” Ella said reading the thoughts that only she could see written across my face. My father’s failures had haunted my childhood. As much as I wanted to hate him, I realized that I shared his weaknesses. I had not inherited Ammi’s strength.

Later that night, it was decided that Shehzad and I would be married in two months. And two months later, here I was, two days away from my wedding and still filled with uncertainty.

Sam & Ella: The Wedding 1

The Wedding

Ella

Aunty Zareena had never looked so ecstatic in her life. She was floating, her cream silk sari neatly pinned, her graying hair swept away in a bun. She was laughing and weeping all at the same time. A week remained for Sam’s wedding, and her in-laws were going to be coming over today with the traditional bridal trousseau and to begin the official festivities. I knew Sam would be upstairs going through her closet still trying to decide on the appropriate outfit for the occasion. I shouted out to her as I ran up. It was odd but I didn’t hear her reply. So I knocked. A few long minutes later, “Ya, come in.”

As I entered Sam’s room, I noticed the expected pile of clothes on her closet floor. What I didn’t expect was Sam standing in her jeans by her window. I closed the door behind me and waited for her to say something.

“I can’t do this, Ella.”

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Shehzad had approached Sam about two years ago after he had seen her at a health clinic that she volunteered at every month. Although originally from New York, he had recently started his residency at Cook County Hospital. He had decided to dedicate some of his time at the health clinic in efforts to meet new people, perhaps in hopes of making new friends. For the first few months he didn’t say more than the occasional “How are you?” But then one Sunday afternoon, he asked her if she would like to get a bite to eat afterwards. Sam, being herself, had agreed.

“Samar! Are you dressed yet? They’re ten minutes away!”

“She’s almost done Aunty!” I replied before Sam could say anything. She looked at me, her eyes looked dry as if all that they could give had already flowed. With nothing left to say, I helped her get dressed in silence. I handed the pale pink salwar khamees to her. As she got dressed, I ironed her hijab. My eyes didn’t have the courage to meet her gaze because I knew I had failed her. As Sam pinned her hijab and slipped on her glass bracelets, we heard door bell and the many excited voices in her living room. For a moment I stood admiring her, her pink khamees embellished with embroidery that looked like a delicate flowering vine, along the edges of her neckline and sleeves. Her long duppata, covered with embroidered flowers of pearls and crystals, lay on her shoulders. Her eyes carefully lined with dark khol, her glossed lips sparkling.

Sam waited to be summoned downstairs, and I waited beside her. The hour had passed by in silence, but it seemed like each passing moment had been an eternity. The door opened and Ahmed quietly motioned for us to come down. As I followed Sam down the stairs, I could see the faces of her in-laws light up at their descending bride to-be. As Ahmed walked Sam across the room, all eyes were on her - studying the curve of her cheekbones, her every step, and every piece of gleaming glass that adorned her wrist. Ahmed seated Sam next to Shehzad, her eyes lowered. Her silent sadness veiled by the blush of a new bride. They made an odd couple, like a sturdy oak and a delicate Orchid vine planted side by side. Both beautiful, but somehow unmatched. Shehzad's face was filled with his usual confidence – bronzed and chiseled, he reminded me of a statue prepared to face anything nature threw at him. He sat tall, his navy blue jodhpuri ironed crisp, his brown eyes sparkling behind his silver frames.

They were surrounded by the many trays, baskets and gift boxes that had been presented to Sam’s family. Rich reds, bright blues, antique golds, delicate silvers – glittering in all their glory. I moved to the back of the room where Aunty Zareena stood, watching her daughter blossom into the bride that she had always dreamed of. After all, she had planned for this day since Sam had been born. She would finally pass on to Samar the family heirlooms, the recipes, the traditions she had so protectively guarded, waiting for this day to be. With my arm around her shoulders, we shared our tears. We were both losing Sam in someway.

With the energetic beat of the dhol, Shehzad’s aunts began singing the customary Punjabi wedding songs. Everyone clapped with the steady beat of the dhol, the aura of excitement filling every corner of the Khan home. Sam sat as demure as ever, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. Her platinum emerald cut solitaire that carried the weight of her world twinkled amongst the camera flashes. Shehzad’s mother, Mrs. Akbar came forth with a square burgundy box. She took out two gold bangles, delicately carved and studded with rubies and emeralds. She gently slid them on to Sam's wrist, her face covered with excitement. She then kissed Sam's forehead, and attempted to whisper unsuccessfully, “A beautiful bride for my Shehzad. Now all I have to hope for is many beautiful grandchildren.” As the room burst into giggles, Sam smiled, and Shehzad’s eyes never left the prize that he had just won.

Sam & Ella: New Beginnings

Sam

4046 Woodlawn Street. A fairly new taupe townhouse stood before me. The small front yard was beginning to show signs of the approaching cold winter on this November morning. I pulled my pashmina around my shoulders to warm myself. The unpredictability of Chicago weather had never changed; I wish I could say the same about my life. After staring at the front door for over ten minutes, I rang the doorbell. Suddenly I was warm and anxious. I wondered if she would recognize me. I wondered if we would still be able to pick up where we had left off eight years ago.

And then the door unlocked, and with it the Pandora’s Box of my past lay open before me.

For several moments we stood speechless in her doorway. Time had frozen around us; at this moment it was her and me and our memories. She looked just as she did when we had parted several years ago. Her hair more gray, her face showing signs of fatigue, her eyes flickered like lanterns that had survived many dark nights. I felt my scarf begin to suffocate me, my emotions waiting to explode. With tears streaming down my face I managed to smile. And finally the eight years of silence that stood between two best friends was broken with tearful laughter and one uniting embrace.

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I found myself sitting at Gisella’s dinning table, on the second floor of her home, staring at the walls that seemed so unfamiliar to me. I noticed that she had pictures neatly framed and displayed on her mantle and walked over to them. Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of what I had missed. And there it was, between her wedding picture and the portrait of her parents, was picture of us from our eighth grade field trip. Our untidy and wrinkled uniforms hung from our shoulders with the same disdain that we had felt for them. Our skin burnt from the summer sun, Ella with her baseball cap worn backwards and me with my bandana. Our bright colored identical friendship bracelets tied on our wrists, standing out from among the two dozen black rubber bangles that were so in style that year. We recanted the happening of that day to our families for years afterwards… how we had gone on all the roller coaster rides consecutively, how we had sneaked away from the rest of our friends to secretly ride them once again, how on the way home we were both victims of motion sickness…

“Those days were fun weren’t they?” she said almost consolingly as if she could see the remorse that clouded my eyes. I nodded without saying anything. “Do you want something to eat? You know Sam I can still make better pancakes than you,” she said smiling. Sam. For as long as I can remember, Ella had called me Sam. No one referred to me with that name anymore. I had been just Samar for so long.

“I’m sorry Ella,” I muttered. I’m sorry about everything. “I’m sorry about Aidan.”

With that the air in Ella’s little townhouse became dense and difficult to breathe. Aidan had passed away almost a year ago, two weeks before his forty second birthday. As I looked away from Ella, my gaze fell upon our reflection in her window. I realized how old we looked compared to the picture that stood on the mantle behind me. I realized I would never be able to speak to Aidan again, to tell him how sorry I was.

“So chocolate chip or cinnamon raisin?” her voice trailed with her over to the kitchen counter. This was a rhetorical question, for old time’s sake perhaps. All through our childhood summers Ella and I would have breakfast together every Sunday morning. She would have cinnamon raisin and I would have chocolate chip. Her pancakes were topped with bananas and mine with pecans. She had her whip cream on top and I had mine on the side. Our summer Sunday morning was routine, we would eat breakfast together at either of our houses, and then spend the rest of the day recreating our favorite tales: Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. I was always Alice, perhaps I still was, wandering my way through life looking for a dream that always escaped me.

“Well? What will it be?”

“Hmmm, chocolate chip,” I said. Ella laughed, “Well, it’s good to know you haven’t changed all that much.” Her eyes betrayed her thoughts because we both knew that a lot had changed.