Shattered By Love

He entered the sanctuary an hour early, just to be sure. He swelled with love, knowing his bride would soon be walking toward him. The Best Man arrived fifteen minutes later. He brought the music for the organist, and ribbons to mark the pews for the parents and families. He had the money for the priest, and even checked that the florist delivered all the flowers.

In quick succession, the groomsmen arrived, and stood nervously in a cluster. Her young cousin, serving as the ring bearer, ran up and down the aisle reporting on arriving friends and relatives. Right on cue, the men lined up and walked toward the altar.

The organist played the pre-service music, waiting for the cue to begin the special melody selected for the processional. People spoke in whispers, checked their watches and phones for an update on the time. The priest smiled at the groom, who nervously returned his smile. A few children tapped their toes on the wooden floor. Every one of the hundred guests wondered, “Where is the bride?”

The groom stood quite still as the seconds, and then minutes ticked past. He thought of the day they’d met, her sweet face and gorgeous smile. He thought of the day she said “Yes” to the most important question he would ever ask anyone. After an hour, a few people got up quietly and left. The priest suggested they retire to his vestry. The groom just stood still, not moving and barely breathing. As the church emptied, his friends gently guided him to a car, and then into his apartment. The Best Man stayed for a while longer, but eventually departed. Silence is difficult to deal with.

The next day his friends dropped by one by one, to check on him. They each stayed for ten or fifteen minutes, and still he stood silently. Days, then weeks passed, and the friends stopped their visits, getting on with their lives. He could not speak, could not move, did not notice they were even there.

His beard came in full and dark; his hair reached the shirt collar, and still he did not move. Not even his eyes blinked as he lost himself in thought, repeatedly reliving each moment he spent with her.

Weeks passed by, then months, and still he stood silent, unmoving. His nails grew long and curled around each other; his beard touched his waist, as did his hair—the dark tones changed to grey, then to white as years turned into decades. No one came to call anymore; they had all forgotten him, the man lost in silence. He stood, replaying every word she uttered, every gesture she made—all of her outfits, her puzzled look, and her happy look, and her thoughtful look.

Eventually, a tenant, needing permission of all residents in the building to begin remodeling, knocked on the door. Still, he did not respond, could not talk or call out, did not even notice the knocking. The silence was unendurable, and the tenant called the police.

When they arrived, they got no sense that anything living was inside the residence. Pounding down the door, they were astonished to find him inside, standing silently, white hair, long nails, and a huge toothy smile. Paramedics, summoned by police, grabbed his arms to lower him onto a gurney. He seemed to fall apart. Piece by piece, the suit fell to the floor. Strand by strand, the hair drifted downward. His nails clattered when they hit the wood, sounding like so many mice scrambling for dark corners. Police and paramedics were stunned, had no idea who this man had been—the man shattered by love.