Wed Me FOR TEDDY AND POPPY
it was a young couple, whom , in a kind of retreat , had launched themselves from the immortal, chaotic bodies of the tall eastern coast cities to the inconspicuous and, more homely in comparison, swamp coverings of the south. they had taken up to an indefinite stay at banks’ bed and breakfast, their arrival a prelude in short to that of poppy’s. she had grown to only see them together, daphne lowell and trevor parrish. they folded into each others company as if there were no other place on this dirt crust they could better belong. an atypical arrangement of relevance to their corresponding existences, almost an instinctive sense of gravity and awareness of their significant other. like it had all been hinted in their genetic make-up since the beginning , and once they met , it was piecing together a design to make it complete. it was a sensible assumption to resign yourself to the belief that daphne and trevor were married. but in fact, when asked, one would look at the other, blinking. then their mouths curled with some youthful secret and the reply , always met with surprise, issued as no, decorated with polite chuckles surrounding.
at one point poppy overheard this and was quickly assessed with her own degree of puzzlement. she mentioned it to teddy one evening and he hummed pleasantly, smiling too with that same separated and distinct aura of knowing.
❝ hmm, to be quite honest, ah, they’re better off than most married couples, ❞ teddy banks’ mused, mostly to himself than his angelic companion.
❝ but i thought that was what you do. getting married to someone you especially like, ❞ poppy kicked out her leg from underneath her, sitting on the floor of the parlor and slumping back against the leg of a sofa chair rather than actually taking a seat in it. her lower lip jutted out as well, working to comb through thoughts ; had she misconceived yet another mortal tradition in it’s plainest fashion. she watched her employer fit a cigarette between his lips because the guests were retiring and the windows had opened for the delight of letting in crisp fall air. ❝ why wouldn’t she get married. ms. daphne would make a lovely bride. ❞ silently they both agreed. daphne would be an ideal vision dressed in white, her aristocratic upturn nose, square shoulders and chestnut brown hair. teddy lit his smoke, this time pressing out a particularly content sort of humming.
❝ well, ah, my dear , sometimes marriage isn’t so much about the ceremony and the fuss, ❞ and he speaks vaguely like a married man himself, with the same fondness and disinterest in the idea. ❝ a union, yes. marriage is a union, not always defined by whether or not it’s been officiated before an audience and —— . ❞ ❝ and god, ❞ poppy offers, finally climbing into the furniture, to which teddy opts to just amiably smile and nod, affirming. ❝ ah, yes, before that fellow too . ❞ they sit for a moment in silence of various waves of contemplations being sifted through and dissected. it would almost feel like the topic had met it’s close, but.
❝ so then, could we be married. ❞
the cigarette is kicked up in between his teeth, nearly lost between stammers he hadn’t quite realized were waiting around inside of him. ❝ ah, well ——- hmmm . ❞ she doesn’t like the sound or lilt or melody of that answer’s start. so the angel continues in a nonchalant rush of words, sniffling for no reason at all and lifting her chin to set about a certain poise to her otherwise always windblown mess of hair and absentminded posture. ❝ it’s just that i like you and you like me. we get along just fine, actually , maybe, very much enjoy each other. on television wives and husbands cook and clean like we do. ❞ if you asked i’d stay here with you more than mornings and afternoons, but entire days after day after day. we’ve got alice and igor. but the rest, those bits , of course, don’t make themselves as freely known. another interval of stillness, teddy ducks his head, blowing quiet smoke. cigarette smoke, too. when he laughs, even though it’s always a carefully approaching sound, never too loud , almost reluctant to leave him, it still causes her to jump in her sitting place. her eyes widen, dancing speckles of gold-crusted anxieties pooling in those hues.
❝ ah, yes. quite. then, i do believe, we’ve done it all but bustled to an altar, hm ? ❞ his smile is aimed for the wall but hits directly in the meadow of her chest. her cheeks smother in colour, so she abruptly pats her face in order to blame the red sting on anything but a soreness of the heart. teddy, maybe forgotten for a bit, arches his brow in ever so itching question but refrains. ❝ no need for that though, wouldn’t you agree, ah, poppy. ❞
poppy stops swatting at her cheeks, peering over at teddy banks. the smile she presents is unearthed like a treasure, hands clasp together underneath her chin, ❝ yes, i do . ❞ i do, i do.
