Among my very close friends in college was Marge*. She was one late bloomer and at the time, it seemed like she wouldn’t bloom at all.
She didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink, she didn’t date. Generally, she just.. watched. We, on the other hand, never got tired of provoking her into doing something.. well, wild(?) but she never did.
Then, she met George*. He was one of those wholesome guys who were easy to love. He was, as I said, wholesome, he was funny, he was average and most importantly, at the time, he was good looking. Naturally, we matched her with Marge and as we hoped for, they clicked.
They looked good together. They seemed to be having fun. And they were happy. Yes, they were, until we heard the news that George’s parents were going to marry him to someone they chose for him. It was… painful. For Marge, for George, for us..
We were hurt. We were angry. We had to blame someone. So we blamed George. We blamed him for letting his parents manipulate him. We told him how it wasn’t supposed to be that way, that if he get married, it must be with someone he loves, not necessarily Marge, but at least someone he chose for himself, and not someone somebody else chose for him.
Two days before the wedding, a haggard George showed up at Marge’s house. He was asking her to run away with him. But Marge wouldn’t Couldn’t. They were only 19, they had no job, what kind of future would they have. Dejected, George went on with the wedding leaving Marge with a broken heart.
For years, Marge stayed away from guys. She didn’t entertain any idea of romantic relationship and worked herself out. Our friends got married, I got married, which left Marge all the more alone and sad than she already was. She woke up one morning and realized she was already in her mid 30s and still single. And it was all because of that, now ancient, broken heart.
So, we couldn’t contain our elation when she finally met Mr. Right and got married herself. We seldom see her nowadays, but we presume she’s happy, after all, she deserves to be..
*not real names