Lonely People

Love of The Loved

I prefer to remember the happy moments rather than the sad ones. I've had plenty of both; ups and downs, rights and lefts, joy and misery, I've felt it all. Some left scars on my body that will never quite heal, others left feathers to lift me higher than my woes. With enough happiness, eventually, those scars can be worn like jewels on a crown.

I focus on the happy, not the sad. Whenever I think of Janice, I don't think of the meek girl I met that day on the Liverpudlian coast. I don't think of the broken heart she wore on her sleeve after her hearing had gone silent. Whenever I think of my friend Janice Hallieford, I think of the radiant queen I saw walk down the aisle. With her sparkling gown and face as bright as the sun itself, she looked like the Valkyries of Norse mythology. She was a hero with a past, and there was no better person to save the world.

"Vera, please, stop fussing," I practically begged.

Molly glanced up from the baby bag and frowned, "I can't find her bottle."

"Didn't you put it in there?"

"I thought you did."

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "Check the side pouch?"

"I'm looking in the side pouch and it isn't there."

I cringed. Vera was always fussy when she didn't have her bottle, eventually she would start wailing. When Vera didn't eat, she made everyone around her think the world was ending. Her cries were the last thing we needed to interrupt Janice and Peter's wedding.

"Is Ringo coming?" Molly asked.

I nodded, "Should be, all the lads were invited."

"Maybe Mo'll have a bottle. We've got her formula."

"We've got the formula but not the bottle. My, what a brilliant pair of Mums we make," I grinned.

Molly chuckled, "Ah, she's alive, isn't she?"

"But for how long?"

Molly rolled her eyes. The cabbie rolled up to a street lined with cars of varying different sizes, shapes, and colors. It was like a parade of mix matched vehicles with the occasional hippie van thrown in. Just by looking at the cars, it was easy to tell which carried Janice's family and which carried Peter's.

Janice had chosen to have her wedding in one of the smallest churches I had ever seen. It was a tiny shack built on a hill and long forgotten by most of the population. The paint was peeling, half of the shingles had fallen off, and the steeple had a large gap in it from a recent storm. Yet, the gardens around it were beautiful, covered in snow and glistening like the perfect winter landscape. Even the interior of the church was just as beautiful. Janice didn't care about the looks, she cared about the history there. As she had told us, her parents had gotten married there.

Molly bundled Vera in her coat as I gathered the baby bag. We stepped out together into the harsh wind. A snowstorm was coming, I could feel it in the change of the breeze. The very smell of the air smelled like freshly fallen snow. Molly and I stood close together, with my arm around her shoulders, and braved the wind together. She kept a tight grip around Vera, leaving me to protect her.

We made it into the church with rosy cheeks and bright smiles. People were already filling the pews; one side had Janice's family and the other had Peter's. One side was filled with hippie's and nomads while the other held businessmen and housewives. The two sides were so completely opposite that they went together better than peanut butter and jelly.

"Wonder if we could get back to Jan," I said.

Molly shrugged, "I s'pose we could try. Only the groom isn't allowed to see the bride in her wedding dress."