Settling Down

"There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." - Nelson Mandela

The thought of being able to describe my life in four to five sentences has always invoked terror inside me that usually leads to irrational behaviour. Most people retreat further and further into the comfort of routine, perfectly content to become less as they get older.

I never wanted to be a case study in a psychology text book detailing the supposedly inevitable act of "settling down". This has become a stage like the "rebellious teenage years" and eventually the "midlife crisis" that everyone goes through.

Settling down means letting go of all those things you'd always thought you'd do or see because let's face it, it just isn't realistic to dream so big anymore. Maybe your priorities have changed and the things you knew you wanted eventually have become the things you are settling for having right now.

I'll just have to move backpacking through Europe for a summer onto the back burner for now. I'm not giving up on it. I'm just holding onto it for later. There are more practical things to worry about right now. As there always will be.

Still, as I pencil in my endless obligations and deem them more important than all those things I used to want to do, I think, I know that back burner will forever be heating dreams that can never come true.

When I unexpectedly run into a old friend from college it isn't even five minutes before we have rattled off the gist of our existence.

"Yeah, I work at a law office downtown doing reception. I live in a one bedroom in the East end. Yep, I'm still with Alex (we have stalled on an emotional and sexual plateau but I'll never admit that), we got a cat last month. We have discussed getting married (what else is there to do BUT get married?) Oh, definitely, we should get together for a drink some time. I'll call you."

I never call her because it hits me later that I have already told her everything. Or everything I'm willing to admit at least.

Most things are filed under "do not say out loud unless you want to make them true" so I have become a walking, talking vow of silence.

Alex and I discuss American Idol and the growing distress in the Middle East over a dinner of lasagna and red wine. I finish the bottle while he plays Gears of War on Xbox Live.

The silence has descended and there is no shaking it. And yet, the thought of changing anything leaves me with a churning acidic ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I couch up empty reassurance and take a swig of Pepto Bismol so I appear content. I have fought tooth and nail to appear this way. Appearances are, in fact, everything.

I have lied to myself this whole time because it was easier. Easier than facing the truth. I hate my job. I haven't been in love with my boyfriend since freshman year of college when we didn't know any better and I fucking hate cats. There, I said it. I hate cats. They stink. They scratch. And they crawl all over me when I'm trying to sleep.

When did knowing become so convoluted? When did I stop trusting what I knew and start listening to what everyone else thought they knew about me?

Maybe sitting in front of an antique vanity in the bride's room of a charming little chapel an hour outside of the city isn't a good place to contemplate these things. My makeup is flawless and so is the single murky tear that leaves a tell tale streak down my left cheek. I can't even wipe it off, it will only smudge the mask I have plastered over my face ever since I agreed to this wedding. Or should I say marriage. Because when all these happy, congratulating guests head home at the end of the night, I'll be stuck here - smack dab in the middle of a life I knew at one point I didn't want.

I let them convince me. So here I am. The room smells like my mother's mix of essential oils. I asked her to give me a few minutes alone and she gave me a reassuring hug. She could see it in my sad excuse for a smile. She could always see it. But she was no different from all the rest. This was what I should want. So why didn't I?

The tear left a dry column of mismatched skin on my cheek. I dabbed at it with my powder foundation brush.

It's just cold feet, my best friend insisted. She was nervous on her wedding day too. It happens to everyone. But the nerves hung like a curtain of fog all around me, never lifting.

Even my dreams had become dull and lifeless like I was seeing them through a dirty window. The future wasn't limitless anymore. It was a dirt road through the countryside. You would think they would have paved this road by now considering it's frequent use. But maybe the people that took it were content with the bump bump bump of pebbles under their tires.

Such a beautiful bride's room. The spring breeze rustled the white lace curtains while I stared past them at the fluffy clouds in the sky. A knock on the door yanked me back to reality.

"Are you ready Ky?" my father was sanding behind me, a hand on my bare shoulder. He smiled at my reflection. He knew nothing of the dread that hung heavy over my head.

"I'm ready," I said and smiled.

I stood. What else was there to do? Leap through the open window and run barefoot through the cemetery that lay like a vision of the future behind the tiny marriage chapel?

"Dad?" I said.

He looked back at me.

"It is too late to back out?" I asked.

He just let out a choked chuckled and shook his head. He thought I was kidding. Of course I was kidding.

I took his elbow and the doors to the rest of my life opened. Friends, family and a few expectant eyes I didn't recognize turned to stare at me. The jitters would vanish when I looked at my fiance standing there waiting for me at the end of the white mile. They all told me the same thing.

I looked up. He was standing there beside his brother, both smiling.

I looked up at the column of yellow light that streamed through the stained glass window and lit the way to my place on the altar. I waded through the specks of dust that floated all around me like quicksand.

Alex took my hands. He had tears in his eyes. I swallowed hard and smiled. A million thoughts sprinted through my brain. I glanced at the door once. Again.

"We have gathered here to day to witness the union of Kylie Turner and Alexander Rycroft," the minister began.

There was a loud rumble. Alex forced a smiled and lifted an eyebrow. A whisper rippled through the 75 guests. The ground vibrated minutely. Then a little stronger. I yanked my hand out of Alex's grip and took a step back as a cloud of dust sputtered from the ceiling.

"What is that?" Alex asked quickly, as if the minister would have an answer for him. He tried to step towards me but I took another step back. The walls of the church shook. The stained glass clattered against their panes. A crack appeared on the step of the altar and the shaking floor split the entire church jaggedly down the middle from the altar down the white aisle to the front doors.

Guests screamed and grabbed at one another. I fell back as I watch the crack widen and deepen. The church separated into two pieces as the ground shook with the strength of an earthquake.

"Kylie!" Alex shouted. I watched as the church split and migrated further and further apart. I didn't scream, I just sat there and watched.

"Kylie... Kylie.. Ky?" Alex's voice jerked me into awareness again.

I blinked. The church was whole again. The guests murmured amongst themselves. Alex looked at the minister and nodded.

"Do you, Kylie Turner, take Alexander Rycroft to be your lawful wedded husband?" he said. Clearly it was the second time he was saying it. I looked down. My wedding band was securely on my left ring finger.

"Kylie? Everyone's waiting," Alex muttered under his breath. He had a pained look in his eye.

Well I wouldn't want to keep them waiting. They had given up a perfectly lovely Saturday in April and put their lives on hold to witness the end of mine. What choice did I have?

"I do."