Isaiah

I woke up the other day thinking about him. The funny thing is I’ve never met him. No one has. 

A few years ago in January after a women’s meeting at church, our meeting coordinator asked a few of us stragglers to clear out the treats and snacks that had been brought for the meeting. No one wanted them (January Mood), and so she insisted we take them, and “at least give them to a homeless person”. And how can anyone say no to that?

He was laying in the recessed window outside a restaurant I loved. And once we felt comfortable from afar that he didn’t look dangerous, we approached and asked if we could share some food with him, explaining what treats we had and asking what he wanted.

Side bar: the fact that someone is hungry or down and out does not rob them of the dignity of choice. I learned that in early years dealing with the homeless in DC. Side bar end. 

He was friendly and engaged, asked us questions about ourselves, the meeting we had been at, our church. Then he told us his story. He’d had a pretty good life: a job, a home, a wife. They had been pregnant. A boy. They were going to call him Isaiah. 

But Isaiah came with a storm. Things went wrong, she almost died. Isaiah only lived a few minutes. 

Somehow after that, everything was broken. One mistake leading to another until you’re sleeping in a restaurant window in Tribeca, and your old life is so far behind it doesn’t even seem real. 

I remember his face when he says Isaiah. That one look of such intense longing. That maybe if Isaiah had stuck around, everything would be ok. 

Or maybe not, who knows? 

Today when I thought of Isaiah, I was reminded that sometimes all it takes is one moment we don’t see coming to change a whole life. Makes you think the next time you look a person in the eyes: what was the moment that changed you?

Our Family Wedding VI: Velda

 There is Nothing I Love better than the sound of silence.

As the preacher pauses dramatically at that unnecessary part of the wedding service, I can feel the nervous energy rise to a crescendo in the room. You could hear a feather drop as they all stop breathing. Even though most of them expect that it will be another part of the service, simply a formality, they cannot help their excitement, their anticipation of something extraordinary. 

And then an unfamiliar voice cuts through the silence.

"I DO"... A wildly interesting choice of words.

I smile in spite of myself. I had not expected it. Very few people surprise Velda.

I turn my attention from the oddly familiar stranger’s interruption to look into the faces around me. Every guest looks confused, shocked, wildly curious. I can hear their minds working, spinning the gossip tales they would tell as soon as they can make a dignified exit out of the oak doors of the chapel without running.

The Bride: pale as a ghost, her lips moving, no words really getting formed.

The Groom: if looks could kill.... well, it's no secret that he is capable of murder.

The Groom's Father: Bored, irritated, a man with more important things on his mind.

The Mother of the Bride: Mortified. I know that at this moment there is nothing else on her mind besides what people will say, what the gossip rags will print about the scandal that is about to unfold here. I know because that is exactly what I would be thinking. After all, she is my daughter...

I was born on the fast track. No one recalls if the first word I ever said was "More", but it is most certainly the first thought I ever formed in my pretty little head. More. I have always wanted more. More than those humble two rooms that formed the house I was raised in with my entire family, all six of us. More than my father's job at the Postal Office, and my mother's teaching job at the Catholic School up the street. More than the tiny shop out front that we all took turns managing, earning pennies to keep the roof over our heads and the clothes on our backs. More than the regular occurrence of a free novel and a bright pencil for once again being the smartest one in the class. More than that whistle, that longing look, the scribbled poems and whispered words that men lavished on me. There was only one thing I never needed more of: I was more than beautiful, and everyone knew it.

Working hard, being a great student and settling for the best jobs in the world would not give me the life I wanted. My parents were smart, educated and they worked harder than all the wealthy people I knew, and they worked themselves to the bone day after weary day. I wanted to be like the women I read about and only saw in magazines; they had the world at their feet, and everyone scrambled to do their bidding. I learned to think like them and talk like them and act like them. I watched their men too, they owned everything, even the women. That was the life I chose, all I needed was a fortune to call my own. As soon as I was old enough, I was out of school, choosing to use my beauty and my intelligence for a far greater purpose. I was married and divorced a few times, each time ending up even richer than anyone imagined I could get away with.

People always thought I was too beautiful to be smart.

George's family did too and they underestimated me. He was seventy-nine, battling the weakness that comes with old age, confused that his mind was as sharp as the days when he built the largest business empire in the country while his body died a little more every day. While everybody rallied around, his sons and protégés, treating him with disdain and waiting for him to die and leave them chunks of his life's work, I became his friend. I was barely thirty, and I married him and devoted three years to him alone, showing him the time of his life. He taught me how to rule an empire. "Owning wealth is wonderful", he always said, "but you have to control the people around you. You have to own them." I gave him the one gift he asked of me in return for the one thing I wanted: a little girl of his own in exchange for wealth and an empire. We spent the last few years together in a secluded villa outside the country, and when he was gone, his only daughter and I were heiresses with more money than I knew what to do with. 

We had both won. He showed them all, leaving his family with nothing, and I finally had what I wanted, a kingdom to rule. 

A mysterious heiress, that is what they call me. Some even say I killed him myself after he signed the will.

I bought the villa the morning he died, hired the best caregivers in the world for my daughter, and I returned home alone. For six years she was raised in the villa by herself, protected from the world. Years later, I brought her home with me claiming her real parents had died tragically in another country. I told myself it is for her safety that no one knows that she really is mine. 

But I have always looked after her. She has never worked a day in her life, and everything she owns has been handed to her on a platter of gold, including her husband, her marriage. I ask for nothing in return from her, from all of them, except complete obedience. I own them, all of them in this room, their businesses, their homes, their secrets.

It is not really a secret that I do not approve of this laughable charade, this marriage that will never be. But even the most powerful people get tired of pulling all the strings and working behind the scenes. I am an old woman, ready to dance with the devil for eternity and pay for my many sins. It is not enough to be rich and famous and powerful and then die while no one is watching. I want more. And now it seems I have found my stage.

I look at all their faces again and smile to myself. More.

Coming up: Our Family Wedding VII (Strangers at the Wedding)

Our Family Wedding V: Father of the Groom

Nine Hours Before I have to be on a plane to Mexico. Six hours ago, I should have been in a meeting with the team in Canada. Oil in Canada will not wait for my son's wedding.

My Son. 

I could not control the loud scoff that escaped my lips with that thought if I tried. But I quickly remember where I am as my wife pinches my arm, reminding me to behave myself. I attempt to stare her down with a dark look; a futile attempt really, the woman has never been a pushover, or we wouldn't be here. A supportive family putting on a lavish ceremony for our undeserving son. The bane of my existence. A murderer, a waste. If I had my way he would be far away, a destitute, not living off my wealth like he has a right to it. But his mother always has the last word, and because she wants us to be here, here we are. 

For a man feared by many, my wife has a big influence on most of my actions. Lesser men would say she wears the pants in our home. I say, I love her, and why not indulge the woman who has sacrificed most of her life to give me a wonderful home? I know I am a difficult man, and yet she has never complained. Letting her have this day is one of the ways I reward her for pleasing me. 

Of course, there is another woman here who holds the reins on my decisions even more firmly than my wife does. Her wishes to me are law. I look to my left and watch in fond amusement as she sits still in her pew, her back straight, eyes fixed on an unseen object in the front of the chapel. Velda. Tough matriarch. The single most feared woman in the room. And my benefactor.

No one remembers now, but there was a time when my now-sprawling empire was only a far-fetched dream. I was a young man with a shell of an inheritance and big dreams, and no means of ever achieving them. And then a mysterious heiress changed my whole life in one afternoon. No one really knows the true source of Velda's wealth, and naturally I was curious, but when she offered me her unlimited means to pursue my dreams of reviving my family’s legacy by tapping into the earth's liquid gold, I asked no questions. In seven years, I was wealthier than I had ever imagined. And now, thirty years later, Velda still remains in the background, giving advice, planning the great future, pulling the strings, learning my many secrets...

Like my son. 

Many years ago, I had gone to Velda with fury and murder on my mind. My wife had come to me with good news that after years of trying unsuccessfully to have a child, she was finally pregnant. I knew without a doubt that she had been unfaithful, it was impossible for me to have children. Velda had listened quietly, without judgement, speaking only after I said all that was on my mind. She looked me in the eyes and said firmly "You will go home, tell your wife that you are happy and excited about the news, and you will love that child like he was your own. You need an heir. No one ever needs to know. No one." It was difficult, but Velda was right. So, I accepted my first son, and my twin daughters, knowing every day of their lives that they were proof of the greatest betrayal from the woman I loved with my whole being.

Only, a secret I thought I could live with turned out to be almost too much to handle. Our son grew from a delightful boy into a reckless young man. The ungrateful bastard has caused me and his mother more grief than any other problems we have ever had to deal with. From the horrible behavior all through his younger years, to more dangerous activities as a teenager, all culminating in the murder of an innocent man outside a bar abroad. At every turn, his mother pleaded and I obliged her, paying off the best lawyers to make his troubles go away. But after he was convicted, I knew that he could never inherit my empire. His mother asks why I hate him, it is not hard to point at his actions instead of his conception...

I look away from him and exchange a nod and smile with his Best Man. He could be my heir. He lost his family at a young age and we officially adopted him as our own. It was the best decision we ever made. He is everything I want in a son: smart, respectful, responsible. Velda agrees. It was also a brilliant coincidence that he was in love with Velda's god-daughter. We had it all planned out, we would wait until she was done with her MBA, and guide them gently into a lasting relationship together. He would be my heir, she would be Velda's heiress, as well as her father's. Together, we would create the greatest empire in the country, and I would finally have a son I could be proud of.

But as she walks down the aisle towards the wrong son, I have no choice but to accept that even without a penny to his name, he has again thwarted my plans, reminding me why I hate him so much. But there is still time to put our plans together. Velda has a plan and she is patient. So am I.

We all face the priest.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join this Man and this Woman together in holy matrimony; which is honorable, instituted of God..."

God. This needs to be over soon. I glance at Velda and her displeasure is evident on her face. I always wondered why she never said anything to stop this sham. But as I have learned, things are never as they seem with her. The priest continues to drone on and on about the sanctity of marriage, I tune him out as I rehearse again the few words I have prepared to sway the Board of the new company I am acquiring.

"Now, if anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."

The silence gets my attention and I look around. Everyone is staring at the one person who dared to interrupt this joyous occasion. And for the first time, Velda may be smiling...

Coming up: Our Family Wedding VI (Velda)