By Emily - Peace Corps 2006

Am I settling in? Is that what this is? I can’t say. All I know is that the days are shorter, the nights more frequent. I wander in my mind and suddenly it’s later and here there this that six months in December.

Yesterday I put on the best of what I own and lined my eyes with black. We got into a dirty old Mercedes and felt like kings. Maybe we were kings. Maybe down that muddy road of potholes and gravel we were kings. We strode into that house like we owned it. We did own it. He with his respectable himness and broad shoulders and I with my mythical Americanness and shiny golden hair. He went to smoke and drink vodka with the men in the pig shed and I went to attend the bride in her chamber. Where was this? When was this? Can this really have been me and only yesterday? Has my existence become an 18th century British novel?

But no matter, as I froze on my chair by the door she ironed and teased and sprayed that poor girl’s hair in hopes it would distract from the nose and the moustache. The other ladies came in and out, the groom too, and finally it was time. We accompanied her to the main room, for this time we were important, we were somebody. And as the room warmed up from the bodies and the wine, and he maneuvered a seat across from me the accordion started up just five feet away but still with a huge speaker. So with that driving, pulsating music, as old as God here, shaking the floor boards, the red and gold patterned wallpaper making my eyes lose focus I thought everything was perfect again. I thought that it was one of those moments. You know the ones, that make life worth living.

And later he held my hand and we danced and I wanted him to kiss me but of course he couldn’t and he whispered that everyone was looking at us and I said I knew and we didn’t care at all and just danced like we probably shouldn’t have but what’s a little scandal now and again? Finally the music stopped and some protested but between the time the drink and the language I couldn’t figure who was on what side of the argument.

We bundled up again, having forgotten it was so cold, and made our way out, over muddy cobblestones in the dark in heels, thankful to have made it to the car alive. She slid in between us of course, but he stroked my hair behind her back and I lay my head on his shoulder. They dropped us off in the square, I am still wondering why, it was freezing and we made our way home, careful not to let our heels sink into the earth. And so, a casual goodnight with our chaperone to mediate as ever, as always. I watched him go in the dark, gray smoke trailing behind him.