Under it, in the album of the plastic sucking noise whenever opened, she wrote, “Second thoughts?”
She’d been graciously examining a box. It probably contained a gift from Sears or mail order. The lighting was fluorescent, the wedding dry. It was sober in more than one sense of the word. Inches of rain fell during the ceremony. He’d been gazing off, deep in thought, turning the new gold ring on his finger the way one right twirl a lock of hair or tap a foot. He wanted to leave, I think. Not her - the building, the people who surrounded him and waited with expectant smiles on their faces.
Perhaps he knew that the rest of his life would literally consist of richer and poorer, sickness and health. He was about to board a rollercoaster, and she was the cute girl who took his ticket and released the turnstile. Second thoughts would never be tall enough to ride along with him.
