Infinite Versions.
The crowd broke out in applause as the husband handed a jewellery box to his wife, followed by several oohs and aahs from many of the wife’s girlfriends as she snapped the box open. Unlike popular opinion, the box contained a charm bracelet. She removed the bracelet from its container with the charms dangling delicately in her grasp. Her eyes met her husband, a ribbon of unspoken communication passed between them.
Each of the trinkets depicted the passage of time in their marriage. A fire icon flirted with a pram buggy that crashed into a binary digit. On the other side of the clasp, two trinkets stood out. One was of a book with a pen, a nod towards her literary career, and an infinity symbol. The background noise faded away, and the couple felt they were alone in the room. The wife’s smile hid the sadness in her heart as her husband stretched his hand out to encircle her delicate, bony wrist. Her pale face broke into a smile.
The hooting brought the wife’s focus on her wrist where the amulet rested. The spotlight sent golden rays everywhere. The last bauble attracted the maximum noise from the crowd.
The sister, sitting next to the husband, couldn’t get her eyes off the bracelet as she crushed the lace-lined handkerchief in her right hand. She shot a venomous look at her bare left hand, unadorned by a wedding band, then as iron to a magnet, the amulet was all she could see. The eighth anniversary is not even a milestone. No big deal.
The husband laced his wife’s icy fingers in his warm ones. He could feel her bones, fragile like a bird. His gaze affixed on their conjoined fingers birthed a lump in his throat. That the ocean of tears wouldn’t grant passage to. Mindful of the audience, he raised her hand and kissed it, much to the crowd’s happiness. I wish I could stop the clock but leased time is all we have left on this earth. Our love is infinite if anything, and whether you are with me physically or not, you will always rule my heart. You are my infinity.
The wife lowered her eyes, a shaky hand rising to push an errant lock behind her ear, an unconscious, nervous gesture. Her hand reached mid-way through when she realized the chemotherapy had consumed her once-thick hair, leaving a bald patch in its wake. She gazed around the room, full of people she loved who had come to be with her at what was possible, her last wedding anniversary. This symbol is like a knot; it ties the people I love to me. And me to them. A knot on the verge of being unravelled.
The mother-in-law’s eyes gleamed as she took into the picture in front of her. The gold glinted in her pupils, lightening the dark pools. I wonder how much money did he spent on it. He is such a spendthrift. This younger generation is so shameless, so uncouth. Who gifts his wife a symbol of her boobs on their anniversary? Ugh, I cannot believe he is my son.