I took a holiday to Chicago with my good friend Bria during the term holiday in my break from my studies, just a nice beach holiday whilst exploring the city. Normally we’d get up early, and drink a cup of tea on the beach with a book. I finally managed to get around to reading Carrie by Stephen King which was a nice read. We also visited a few different libraries on our trip, I tend to buy books more than I read them however.
One day, about 3pm in the afternoon, we were eating subway sandwiches in Garfield Park by the lagoon. It was relatively cloudy, but not dark, and across from where I was sitting cross legged on the grass, a meatball marinara half eaten in my hands, I saw a woman perhaps in her mid twenties or early thirties in a wedding gown.
I felt a bit underdressed in my lovejoy t-shirt and jeans.
She was staring away from me, into the city. There wasn’t anyone coming after her, or with her. There was no sort of wedding procession; she was just there. I felt like I should approach her, something about her making me feel compelled to get closer, although I didn’t plan on swimming across to her.
I stood up, leaving my backpack and my coffee, and walked around the lake to see her. As predicted, she was gone by the time I’d gotten to where she was but I saw a glint of her dress from outside the park. I didn’t think much of it and carried on with my holiday for the most part.
Until two days later at Newberry Library when me and Bria were walking around and browsing, and I took a book off a shelf and then I saw her again a few rows down, in the same wedding dress, looking away from me. It was an odd experience, I mean it couldn’t have been the same person no one gets married twice in one week and leaves that wedding each time.
I started to wonder what her story was. Is she a widow? Was she left at the altar? Is she like Miss Havisham except she doesn’t live in isolation? The journalist inside me wanted to know more and I wanted to talk to her, see what she looked like under the dress, and know anything about her.
I decided once more, to try and approach her and find out. I walked past each aisle till, looking down each one (left and right) for any sign of her. Alas, I didn’t see her again. Like the time before. I started to feel a bit paranoid, like I was hallucinating or that someone had slipped something in my drink.
After a quick recovery bottle of coca-cola and a sit down the holiday went on. I started to go a bit mad, like I was seeing her wherever I went. From reflections in windows, to a wedding gown in the distance, to the image of the back of her head in my coffee.
It repeated like that for the rest of the holiday. The last appearance was at 4am during boarding on my final day in America. I was sitting on the plane, phone set up on the little table ready to binge watch Breaking Bad, when I looked out the window and saw her. Once again looking away from me.
She started to turn around, her hair now visible, long and brown. Her face seemed normal, pretty even. As she turned around more however, I could see the other half of her face. It was rotting, the skin peeling off and rotting. Her skull was entirely visible, and her eye was missing. The skull that was visible was a dusty grey, like the build-up on top of a shelf. The hole where her eye was left a black empty void, that not even a brain was visible in.
I did not end up watching Breaking Bad that flight, I was too caught up on the current circumstance to focus on it. Since that trip, that ghastly face has been stuck in my mind. I see it in my dreams when I sleep.
Closure is what I need, but I know I’ll likely never get it.
Celestial Publishing 