OLWG# 291- The Marriage

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Her name was Acantha Espinado and I first met her at “Alegría de Vivir.” That’s the lunch counter downtown, on Piedras Blvd., across from the bank. “Alegría de Vivir” translates from the Spanish to “Joy of Living” in English, “Joie de Vivre, in French, “Lebensfreude” in German. It was a good name for a lunch counter, a bakery, or a restaurant. Acantha worked there behind the counter. She would take orders, deliver food, refill coffee cups, and work the register. She seemed to be a hard worker, she smiled easily, and her dark eyes sparkled.

We married when she was twenty-one years old. I was eighteen. She was a vision of loveliness; I thought I had died and gone to heaven. At night, in our room, she would trail her long, turbulently coiled, dark hair down my torso – ecstasy.

How was I to know?

A whirlwind courtship followed by unplanned, spur-of-the-moment nuptials left me no time to contemplate the gravity of our actions. I never even considered the implications of her name. I had not yet noticed that her favourite burgundy nail polish was little more than a way to conceal her claws. Or that her quick and easy smile was just a distraction, a way to obfuscate her fangs. Or that her thick, tightly corkscrewed hair, was styled to hide her horns. Eventually though, I noticed.

The marriage didn’t last long. I ran away, and now I live here, off the grid. I am in constant fear that Acantha will find me again. I have nowhere to run to next.

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