I
tried to forgive them. I really did, but
some things in life are simply unforgivable.
I loved Caleb, and my best friend Aubrey knew it. She knew that Caleb was the best thing that
had ever happened to me. He lit up my
world. He was my first true love.
When Caleb asked
me to marry him that fall day at the depot, I said yes without batting an
eye. We celebrated by having mind
blowing, earth shattering sex right there and toasting our happiness in the
afterglow with a chilled bottle of wine.
Aubrey seemed
more than willing to celebrate with me and help plan the wedding. She was to be my maid of honor. A week after Caleb’s proposal, Aubrey met
Steve and it seemed that she had found happiness too. Everything appeared perfect. Caleb and Steve became best buddies and
inseparable. Soon the four of us seemed
to always be together. I don’t know at
what point I started doing more of the wedding planning alone, but it
happened. It was such a busy time. I was so blissfully happy and obviously
blind. The day of the rehearsal dinner
all three of them disappeared. No one
had seen or heard from any of them since the night before.
Naturally I went
looking for them at the depot. It is
where we always hung out. Caleb and
Steve had been helping the owners renovate it so naturally I assumed they would
be there. I hadn’t planned on finding my
future husband and Steve engaged in sex with my best friend nude and drunk as a
skunk watching. It was a rude awakening
to discover that my soon to be husband was not only bi-sexual but perhaps
preferred Steve to me. It was the ultimate
betrayal!
Stunned and
appalled, I was sickened by my discovery.
Anguished, I rushed to my car and drove.
I don’t even remember where I went or what I did exactly, but I do
remember going back. The events of that
day are still surreal to me. I was distraught and in shock, shocked even
more to find Daddy’s gun in my purse later.
I simply cleaned it, and put it back where it belonged, no harm
done. The next day, I feigned surprise when not one
of the merry threesome was at the church.
Coolly I donned sequins, lace, and an obnoxious amount of satin and
waited expectantly for the organist to strike up the wedding march.
I didn’t have
to wait long. They had been found. The police arrived at the church and broke
the news of the homicide scene they had discovered at the depot upon
extinguishing the fiery inferno that had demolished the place. The revelation put an abrupt halt to my
impending wedding. I produced the
required shock, hysterics, and tears. My
dear father, the minister, asked the entire congregation to envelop me with
love, prayers, and the goodness of the mighty Jesus as I cried my eyes
out. After all, I was the congregation’s
darling. They had watched me grow up,
and in this one horse town, the church community protected their own in
everything. Forgiveness from all sin could be found with
Jesus. Everyone knew that.
Looking at an old photo of the depot years later,
I reminisced. I
could have tried to forgive them, but forgiveness has never been my forte. I
have often wondered which sin was greater, mine, theirs, are all those well-meaning
folks who did everything in their power to look the other way and cover it
up. At any rate, vengeance was sweet.
While I have my reservations about wearing
orange in public, I have absolutely no problem splashing it all over my kitchen
walls. Last spring I was delighted when
my husband and I painted the kitchen a brilliant orange. Coupled with red curtains, it kind of shouts “Hello!”
when you walk in the room. I LOVE
IT! Simply love it. It looks like the kitchen is on fire and
gives another great excuse why the fire alarm is constantly going off out
there. I simply hate that damn
thing. I love to cook, and I am good at
it. One of the few things that I am good
at, I must admit, but every single time I cook that damn thing goes off! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! God help us all if there
was a real fire because everyone just assumes I am cooking when they hear it
and go about their business. 
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