Chapter 1 The Wedding

carrionmaria619
Nov 25, 2024
13 min read

Updated: Sep 22, 2025

Peek of Chapter 1

The Wedding

On November 5, 1982, 16 days before my 14th birthday, I felt like royalty in my pearl white dress, and silky brown hair resting on my shoulders. The transformation made me feel confident and beautiful. I stood tall at five feet seven inches, appearing like a mature 21-year-old woman. We approached the church in the Bronx. My heart raced with excitement and anticipation. The wind picked up, blowing fiercely against my skin and causing my wedding dress to flutter. I sensed that something was amiss. Everyone waited for the doors to open, to no avail. Time dragged on, every minute feeling like an hour as my fear grew. Aunt Celeste had been preparing for this day for months, pouring her heart and soul into every detail. She was meticulous in every aspect of the wedding—from the arranged flowers to the food preparations.

Who arranged the church ceremony? My tears threatened to spill over as I thought about how hard my Aunt Chad worked to make this day perfect. People from distant places journeyed to attend the occasion. The guest’s disappointment and frustration etched on their faces. Their eyes beamed at me, whispering to each other with skepticism and judgment. The joyous and memorable day of my life altered into a nightmare. Had I done something wrong to deserve this curse? Auntie Celeste approached a passerby and asked why the church was closed. He slipped his hand into his pocket, perplexed by the question. “Ma’am, this church closed years ago.” He shook his head as he strolled off the pavement. Fear took hold of my excitement as panic set in—this meant something was wrong. Was the ceremony canceled? Was there an emergency? My mind raced with questions and what-ifs.

I stood in silence, helpless in my immaculate wedding dress. Another spectator caught my eyes; his expression conveyed deep sympathy. He paused, taking in my dress and glancing at the church before walking away. My aunt received a call from Uncle Hector who informed the dreadful traffic that besieged the city. Uncle Hector ran late for an event that was supposed to start twenty minutes ago. He was on a long road trip from sunny Florida to New York City, where he and his family often visited to reunite with loved ones and cherished friends. Only a few people waited for the doors of the church to open. “Attention, everyone; let’s meet at my house.” The crowd spread to their vehicles to meet us at Aunt Celeste’s house. Others drove to their homes, claiming they had errands to attend to.

A couple of minutes later, Ricardo’s clenched fists slid to his sides, then swept a hand through his combed black hair in a sharp motion, rolling his eyes to the heaven above as if searching for an answer. “This can’t be happening to me. What the heck is going on?”

The impatient crowd returned to their cars to celebrate at Aunt Celeste’s apartment. Ricardo opened the door with a sour expression as he demanded I go in the car to meet the ring bearer dressed in a black suit and white button shirt in the back of crisp black leather seats.

We navigated the chaotic traffic, and the door unexpectedly jerked open, catapulting the ring bearer out. My quick reflexes kicked in, and I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside before a vehicle crushed him. My heart raced like a gazelle chased by a lion—the mere thought of what could have happened sent shivers down my spine. Meanwhile, Ricardo, sitting in the passenger’s front seat, erupted into a howled hysteria, his screams piercing the air. He didn’t even bother to check if we were okay, making me angry and uncertain. Perhaps the universe was sending a message. Amidst all the chaos, I turned to the shivering ring boy, who was sobbing under my shoulder, and assured him that everything would be alright, gently stroking his hair. My eyes welled up with tears, but I held them back, not wanting to alarm the eight-year-old boy any further.

Upon arriving at Aunt Celeste’s apartment to celebrate the supposed union, my stomach grumbled with hunger. Still, the excruciating burning sensation searing through my feet was enough to quell my appetite. The tantalizing aroma of the mouth-watering dishes she prepared wafted through the hallways of the building and my admiration for the sumptuous feast Aunt Celeste prepared eased my sorrow.

Uncle Hector strolled into the room, his curious gaze causing me to feel uneasy. “Congratulations, my beautiful niece,” he said. His kind words loaded my guilt and overshadowed any sense of joy. I sat across from Uncle Hector, struggling to maintain my composure. Though hesitant, I withheld the truth from him. The thought of disappointing my uncle was utterly distressing. I lowered my head, fearful of exposing the truth to him, which could lead to my return to my mother’s apartment.

“Thank you. Uncle Hector?”

“Yes, Dear.”

“You need to know something.”

“Tell me whatever you want—what’s on your mind?” His chuckle made his mustache dance.

“Never mind, I’m just drained and overwhelmed with all the wedding excitement.”

“Sure? Okay, let me get something to eat. I’m famished.” He cupped my face and kissed my forehead before heading to the kitchen. Aunt Celeste cooked an abundance of food, including rice with peas, pork shoulder, potato salad, green banana salad, etc. She had enough food to sustain her for weeks.

Everyone enjoyed the food and music while ignoring the reality of the situation. They failed to acknowledge my presence or show concern for what had happened. The congratulations, greetings, hugs, and kisses at the house were insincere. People emphasized their congratulations, but their felicitations felt as visible as the air we breathe.

I smiled at everyone courteously and wondered what would happen to me after everyone left the ridiculous fiesta. The desire to dance was present, but I hoped no one would ask because my feet were killing me. They smiled back with shaking heads of pity or disapproval, behaving self-centeredly. My heart pounded hard, I thought it showed through my white pearl dress. I refused to go back to my mother’s house. I had dreams of completing my education and pursuing a college career.

Ricardo approached with a mysterious grin. “Now what? Everyone is going home. Are you going back to your mother’s house? You’re not going back to school, you know?”

Tears slid down my cheeks, drenched in desperation, anxiety taking over my thoughts and reasoning. “I don’t know. We were supposed to get married.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a wrinkle-used napkin.

“Thank you.” “I have an apartment for us near your family. It’s about a ten-minute walk. You can always visit whenever you want.”

I witnessed in his eyes compassion and understanding. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, of course. I want you to be happy, my love. I’ve already spoken to your mom, Aunt Celeste, Aunt Annie, and Grandmother Rosie. They all know that I will take care of you, sweetheart.”

My grandmother’s words of wisdom reverberated. She always believed that knowledge is power and the key to unlocking opportunities. She would point her index finger while shaking her head, not to scold me, but because that’s how she spoke. My Aunt Annie said, “You can do it better than anyone if you have faith in yourself.” Their confidence instilled in me a great determination to pursue my dreams and ignore those who doubted my potential. A burst of enthusiasm flowed through me.

“Whenever you’re ready, let me know. We shouldn’t leave too late. We must check in at the hotel early. Tomorrow, I will take you to our new home.”

“Okay.”

My heart pounded as I observed the fake celebration unfold before me; a charade, a lie, and I felt ashamed and confused. The thought of the truth surfacing and hurting my loved ones made my stomach turn. Keeping the truth from Uncle Hector was eating me inside. I felt an overwhelming urge to lash out. I must not contaminate all the hard work and effort Auntie Celeste endured for my wedding occasion. And my courage vanished as fast as my dreams of getting married one day. Grandma Rosie and Aunt Annie wore a long face with a mimic grin and nods here and there. Michael, Pedro, Wilson, and Betty enjoyed their food, while they observed the adults swivel their feet to the music.

Aunt Celeste paraded an air of admiration, her jaw dropping as she scanned my dress, but her bulging red eyes simulated she was crying. “Isabel, you look stunning! God has truly blessed you today.” She noticed my unease and offered to help remove my dress, calling attention to my slight discomfort. I accepted her offer, and she handed me an azure blue dress and matching shoes my mother had bought for the wedding. I searched the decorated living room, oblivious to Mom’s whereabouts. “Where is Mom?” Aunt Celeste flicked her eyelashes, pressed her lips together, and rubbed her hands. My heart started racing into tachycardia.

She fidgeted with her words. “Sorry sweetheart-um, well, she was not well. She went down to her apartment.”

“Should I go check up on her?”

“It overwhelmed her with the church being close and all that, you know what I mean? You should let her rest.”

Mom took medication for her heart condition. She abused her body with beer and cigarettes, erupting smoke like a volcano. Sometimes, her cigarette burnt into ashes from top to bottom without a single puff dropping as she immersed herself in a book. She would light up another cigarette and continue with her reading. It was interesting how she held the cigarette, and the ashes were tact to the end between her middle and index finger.

“Aunt Celeste, thank you for everything you have done for me. I will miss you very much. Ricardo said our apartment is ten minutes away. I’ll visit you and everyone else.”

“You’re welcome to visit us whenever you want. You better visit or have a legitimate explanation for your cousins.” She cleared her throat and turned serious. “Isabel, you’re a married woman now, and it’s important to listen to your husband and follow him wherever he goes.”

Unable to unscramble the significance of her words, I changed the subject. “Is Mom coming back upstairs? Does she know I’m leaving with Ricardo? I want her blessing before I leave.”

“She’s still sleeping. It was a rough day for everyone. You forget about everyone else and go without saying a word to anyone. She gestured her hand toward the exit. My blessings to you both. Now get going and call me next week.”

Hypocrites do not deserve my goodbyes. They don’t care about me. Since Mom remained sick, I left without her blessings. But I thanked God that I always had blessings from Grandma Rosie’s, Aunt Annie’s, and Aunt Celeste.

We moved near Hunts Point Avenue, the neighborhood on a peninsula in the Bronx of New York City with the largest food distribution facility in the world. Anyone who had a car bought everything in bulk to save money. The cozy apartment was in a basement on Seneca Street. A furnished bedroom, nothing fancy, a full-size bed with a beige platform frame, a camel-colored dresser, a decent-width closet, and a small shower with plenty of space for one person. The enormous kitchen doubled the size of the bedroom. A propane stove fitted with two trim pots. I equipped the small white refrigerator with a quart of milk, soda, water, cheese, juice, and eggs and placed the rest of the groceries in the small pantry. It was exciting to make our first grocery trip.

During the initial three nights, overwhelmed with anxiety, discomfort, and fear. One night, his outburst left me bewildered. “I think I am kissing a darn mannequin. What are you, a dummy?” He cups my chin, lifting my head to face him, screaming like a maniac. I didn’t want him or anybody to touch the sacred parts of my body—it was not in my plans. I thought it was inappropriate and disgusting; he had no business touching my body. People crave intimacy in a relationship, but I had no desire for it. He yanked the blanket off of me, throwing it over himself with an exasperated huff. His eyes flashed with anger, and his jaw clenched tightly. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than with a doll.”

I curled into a fetal position, feeling nervous and vulnerable. “Please, give me some time. I’ve never been with anybody.” After a few minutes of silence, “Ricardo, come to bed.” The inevitable and expected from a married couple happened on the third night. I cried myself to sleep. Romantic novels illustrate the opposite of a perfect couple in love living happily ever after; it’s not a fairy tale with a happy ending. I lacked knowledge in the marriage department, but I acknowledge our relationship flopped. Determined to mend things between us, I gave in. Pretending and lying became second nature, a coping mechanism.

“Do you like making love to me?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it. Tell me you love me more than anyone.”

“Ricardo, I do.”

Days after I lost my virginity, he launched annoyance toward me. “Shut up and go to sleep. Tomorrow is a workday, and while I sweat to provide for you, you sleep more than Sleeping Beauty.” Once again, I failed the person who cared about me and wished everything happening was a nightmare and that I soon woke up in Puerto Rico.

“I don’t sleep all day.”

“Oh, in that case, those chores should keep you occupied until I come home.”

I sighed and sank onto the bed, crushing the sheets between my fists. I’ve lived with Ricardo for a few months, but it felt like an eternity. Adapting to my new life was far more challenging than I expected. I was navigating uncharted waters alone, with no sign of familiar surroundings. I spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, and trying to make the house spick and span.

One evening, Ricardo stormed in the kitchen, looking tired, rumpled, and moody. I raised my head from an old newspaper to a bitter expression instead of a warm hello. He scolded me for reading instead of having his dinner ready, but I prepared dinner early, or the house didn’t smell clean. The enormous lump in my throat constricted my breath at his scathing criticisms. My voice quivered. “The house is tidy while you work; I sweep, mop, scrub the bathroom, hand-wash our clothes, dust, cook, and clean dishes. I read after I’m done with my chores—I promise.” He zoomed past me and slumped onto the bed, after switching on the TV above the dresser. I had envisioned a collaborative partnership in our marriage and communication, but our relationship deteriorated by the minute.

“How nice, while I work, you read. It’s unbelievable. You shouldn’t be wasting your time reading.” Although Aunt Celeste advised me to obey my husband, I craved an education more than anything in the world. This would allow me to speak in public without shame, and convey my emotions, fears, and accomplishments without people mocking me. I considered my pocket-size dictionary my tutor.

I prevented an enraged outburst and prolonged silence by conversing with him. A massive fib is told every night. Pretending became like second nature. My wounded heart screamed for the truth to come to light. I’m trapped, wounded, and lonely. Mother, Aunt Annie, Aunt Celeste, and Grandma must never learn the truth. To avoid problems, I kept my struggles to myself and didn’t involve my loved ones. I limited my conversations with Ricardo and only spoke when necessary, choosing my words carefully to prevent his violent eruptions.

“There’s something wrong with the air,”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Every time I blow my nose, I see black stuff on the tissue.”

He blows his nose and shows me the wrinkled tissue, almost smacking my face. “Nothing is coming out of my nostrils. Stop inventing whatever comes to your mind for attention—you’re making shit up. Do you want to move back with your mother? I have no problem taking you back, girl.” I ignored his insinuations, refocusing on the topic before he deviated from the conversation, making me the subject.

“I’m not making it up.”

He stormed out, jamming the door with the aggressiveness of an American buffalo. Tears welled down my face with saltiness and bitter regrets. Getting into trouble for opening my mouth without thinking about the consequences became a daily routine. The inhalation of the boiler’s fuels placed my health in jeopardy so determined to verify the truth, I climbed the stairs to the sweet lady landlord with the plumpest and reddest cheeks I’d ever seen. “I’m sorry for not being in touch, but I’m glad you’re here. I meant to talk to you and Ricardo about something important.” My hands were sweating as Mrs Baker strolled back and forth in her living room. She stopped to a deep stare and saddened eyes that sent chills down my neck. The boiler is malfunctioning, and the basement is at risk of carbon monoxide poisoning. You have two weeks to search for an apartment. “Mrs. Baker, I don’t want to move. I like it here.”

“I’m sorry, Isabel.” She gently closed her door, my heavy legs ambled the stairs to the home that soon would belong to another couple.

When my husband arrived from work, my legs trembled with fear. His expression turned serious. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying again?”

I trembled expecting his response when he discovered we had to vacate immediately. “We have to move—Mrs. Baker warned that the boiler’s malfunction releases toxic fumes, and we risk fatal consequences if we don’t leave.” My words tumbled out in a frantic rush, leaving me gasping for air. In anger and frustration, he stormed through the room, slamming drawers shut and muttering vehement curses under his breath. “I fucking warn you not to step foot out of—”

“Wham.”

The blow felt like a bullet had flown past me, leaving my head spinning in exorcism. I was cognitively disoriented and struggling to regain my bearings, attempting to process the intensity of the impact. I steadied myself and looked ahead. “Do you comprehend the magnitude of your actions, you imbecile? Your senseless acts have resulted in us being homeless,” He perched on the edge of the bed, concealing his face with both hands. I reached to touch his arm between sobs. “I’m sorry.”

My husband has the privilege of working out in clean air while I spend my days inhaling poisonous carbon monoxide from the boiler. The detrimental effects on my health were severe, causing me to experience daily bouts of headaches, nausea, dizziness, and a complete lack of interest in food. Regrettably, my condition only continued to deteriorate. Our wise landlady had forewarned the consequences of staying—she said it could be fatal.

“Stop, please, stop imagining things. There is nothing wrong with you.”

“So, why am I experiencing headaches, nausea, and vomiting?”

“Who the hell are you talking to, you stupid shit? We’re moving soon, so quit complaining.”

We relocated to a cozy bedroom on the fifth floor of my brother-in-law’s apartment, our fresh start. The space and the worn-out furniture resembled a gigantic box with a frameless twin bed and a dingy, antiquated wooden dresser. A flash of disappointment slapped me into reality and I hoped it was temporary. Once brimming with joy and merriment, the festive seasons now cast a gloomy shadow over my heart, an emptiness that consumed me. I spent many lonely days and sometimes even more desolate nights in the room. Despite the hospitality of his brother and wife, I refused to engage in conversation and struggled socially. I returned to my room, a frequent respite; the sanctuary, where I could unleash my vivid imagination and my most treasured pastime playing with a Barbie doll my beloved Aunt Celeste gifted during Christmas. I spent hours combing her luscious hair and applying makeup to enhance her natural beauty. Reading extracted me from my reality to the lives of the characters I read. I prayed for healing, asking God to give me the strength to face future storms.

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