A PICTURE TELLING 1000 WORDS OF MY STORY

Of course when papa said something about meeting mama, I did not care because I was
convinced that their love stories were very different from ours. However, I overheard something,
“Love is never easy.”

Why is it never easy? That, I didn’t know, but didn’t want to know since I had other serious
business to worry about. The next day was a graduation party at school. Everyone had been
preparing so hard, and the waiting was finally over. Everyone had their plans; like everyone else,
I worried much about my day’s outfit. For one, I wanted to look good in the pics which I’d one
day hang on my room wall and stare at every night, before I sleep, and remember what a day it
was. For another thing, I wanted to match with his outfit—and therefore impress him. The pic
with him wouldn’t be on the wall like others. It’d be under my pillow, so I could romanticize the
thoughts of laying on his chest. What troubled me was wondering if he thought the same as I
did.

Before I feel asleep, the pictures of different dresses I could wear flipped in my mind, and they
all had one thing in common: they were dark colors, for though he didn’t tell me the exact color
of his suit, I knew form our conversations that he likes dark colors.

When the alarm rang in the morning, it didn’t abduct me from my dreams as usual. In fact, I
haven’t slept because of eagerness for the day. Who wants to talk about the shower and
breakfast? Nobody, I only was keen to see myself in the outfit.

Seven is my lucky number; I tried to count, to find which one was the seventh dress that I
thought of the last night. The fact that we were on Sunday made me feel so sure in the decision
I was making. A dark blue off-shoulders dress decorated in some bright color flowers. It was
sweet as I turned in the mirror to appreciate myself. A white bracelet agreed with the dress, and
a Christmas-gift leather side bag enhanced my confidence of how smart I was. I however knew
how much my eyes could deceive me when talking to him, and put on some sunglasses—also
shyness-glasses for me.

The shoes, God! They frustrated me too much. I got myself the J-ones because they felt
comfortable under my feet (or maybe because I’ve seen a similar outfit on pinterest, and didn’t
want to admit that I was cheating).

On the bus going to school, I sat next to a slim and preachy guy who seemed to believe that his
Spanish made him look great: he turned the volume up, and went with the song, but with a
terrible voice, “…aprendi que el amor mata si de tu lado no esta….”

I only knew amor in the whole words. That meant love. I had been thinking a lot about love in
the past days, so I asked.
“What does that mean?”

“it means a lot beyond the letters—” he started, enjoying the opportunity to preach.

“—love kills when it’s not on your side…” And the rest which I didn’t hear because I was
wondering how I was going to sound an intellectual lady (he loves brilliant ladies) as I tell him
that love kills when it’s not on your side, but that we don’t have to worry because it’s on our
sides.

Reaching at school, we went straight to the mass. I was watching him from a distance, and trying
to control the adrenaline which made my heart beat so fast, but couldn’t. Is he felling the same?
I couldn’t answer that. I was pleased with one thing: my outfit was after all going to be
impeccable with his. The white shirt and white stripes on the tie were going to agree with some
white flowers on my dress, and also the bracelet. The rest of the outfit was black: black, suede
safaris, black pant and black suit, shinier than the pant; I knew his heart was shiny too.

Finally, the moment I waited for so long reached. We went out for some pics. The thought of
having the unique pic under my pillow pushed me hard. I left my fears behind and went to him.
Well, some things hadn’t changed since we left school. He was still taller than me, and I loved
that. But others changed as well: he never understood me like he used to. I thought he was
trying to sound funny when he said in a WhatsApp group that we divorced. I may not have been
keen enough to read the signs.

All I wanted was a pic. Actually, I got it, but not what I wished; not this one I’d put on my pillow
and go wild in dreams. I started feeling like love was not on my side, and that killed af.

God, love ain’t on my side! I can’t take it anymore. Now, I give the benefit of the doubt the
validity of quotes and sayings. One, like papa said, “Love is never easy.” Two, the Spanish-
obsessed guy’s orations, “Love kills when it’s not on your side.” I’m pretty sure that another
saying holds truth: “A picture tells a thousand words.”

So from now on, I won’t be telling this whole story like this. If someone asks me what Belami did
to me, I’ll only give the picture: