After the Wedding

- William J. Gibson -

The coat-room of the church hall was locked.

Her coat inside. I found the man with the keys

And he unlocked the door for us.

“I must tell you a story,” he said

In a gentle voice and though

We were tired and wanted to go home

I asked him to go ahead and tell his story.

 

Two little girls rushed past me

And jumped up at their coats. They giggled

Ran back out the door and down the stairs

To the church hall and the end of the reception.

 

She got her coat from the rack

And he began with a small smile.

He said I looked exactly like a doctor

He had known back in Yugoslavia.

Same face and build, and beard.

Except the doctor was blonde

“...Not in the darker way like you.”

 

He smiled and told us that the doctor

Always told his patients to look after

Themselves, but never took care of himself.

 

“Gone at 45.  He left four children behind.”

His face said that he was back there

And there was no more to tell with words.

We were ready to leave so

I smiled and told him I would look after myself.

He smiled but his eyes said his doubt.

I put my hand on his arm and said goodbye.

 

She and I walked out to the church parking lot

Into the cold, bright October air.

An afternoon reception for a morning wedding Mass.

We turned up the street to reach the car.

She with her blonde hair and blue eyes,

I with my darker way.