The room feels small, and wood accents set about make the light glow in a deep amber color. Whether intentional or not, it sets the mood-- warm and friendly. The king-sized bed is centered in the room, covered with a white and blue, floral quilt and an unnecessary number of matching decorative pillows line the large, oak headboard. Though later I know this will be the bed I sleep in for the first time as a wife; for now it is littered with hairspray bottles, bobby pins, and differing shades of red lipstick. I am not alone in the room. My sisters, dressed in a variety of flowy chiffon dresses from a palette of deep fall colors are here with me, but I only vaguely remember their presence. I can hear my heart beating, and I can feel it--like when you feel the beat of a song that has captured your soul. There is a chattering of excitement that is silenced when "Marry Me" by Train begins to play on an old box TV from Comcast's "today's hits" music channel. I pray a sigh of relief, and my heart's song begins to fade.
I wipe my sweaty palms across the white and blue, floral quilt, and look at myself in the mirror. "This is it," I think to myself. I run my hands down my silhouette, as if to flatten out wrinkles that aren’t there. My dress, long and ivory, with a delicate line of beading along the sweetheart neck line. I sway from side to side and watch as my dress moves freely with the motion of my body. I glance up into the mirror, first looking at the fallen pieces of my bohemian up-do, and then for a brief moment I stare into my own eyes. Time stops, and everything turns silent. Then someone, though I am not sure who, gently touches my arm.
Amber Lea Gray: photographer, story teller, & light chaser