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For once in your life, can you have the guts to follow your heart? I plead to myself, blinking away tears as the lump in my throat grows.
My heart beats furiously, drowning out the organ playing in the background. Salty air stings my nose as it gusts through the chapel window from the San Pedro harbor.
My family was born and raised in this crowded port town off the coast of Los Angeles, after my great-grandparents uprooted the family from Mexico to America when my grandmother was eight months old. I’ve lived in the same house and grew up with the same people, in a community where everyone became a longshoreman, just like my father, brother, and sister.
Familiar faces crane their necks to watch me walk down the aisle, since I, the youngest of the family, was getting married. Or were they hoping to catch a glimpse of my baby bump? In my family, secrets burn through the grapevine like wildfire.
Either way, this dress is too damn tight, and my feet are swelling like balloons in these shoes, both of which my mother chose for me.
I’m a few months shy of turning 19, yet moments away from marrying a man I hardly know. He expects me to be his housewife – cooking, cleaning, caring for his children, and tending to his needs. All things expected of a woman in 1972.
I was once enchanted by him. His family moved next door while he was away at war in Vietnam, and I was curious about the army man who was four years older. He charmed me upon his return home as I watched him step out of his red Camaro, donned in a polished uniform, with blue eyes gleaming in the sunlight.
When we began dating, I awoke early each morning to cook his breakfast before school, eager to boast about the older man I was with. I quickly learned it was unlike him to say please and thank you.
Still, my heart skipped like a fawn in a meadow when he asked to take me to my senior prom at the Crowne Plaza. My thrill was short-lived when he refused to ride the elevator with me to the top floor because he was afraid of heights.
“I ain’t gettin’ in that thing,” he scoffed. “You go by yourself.”
As the days passed, I discovered his true colors were dark behind the polished suit. I wondered if this was real love.
Sweat trickles down my tan skin as I inch closer to the aisle. I clutch my father’s arm, hoping he’ll sense my unease and save his little girl. He was stubborn and old-fashioned, refusing to have a pregnant and unwed daughter after working long hours on the docks to make ends meet.
It was a warm summer evening, with Elvis’ “If I Can Dream” crooning from the record player, when I discovered I was pregnant. There was no denying who the father was, which made my stomach churn with dread. This secret tormented me and I was forced to confess when my parents found me lying on the bathroom floor, in a bout of morning sickness.
“Mija, you have two options. You get married, or I’m raising this baby as my own,” my father asserted, while my mother added, “if you don’t get married now, who will marry you later?”
I laid on the floor, sobbing at their feet. I want to be a mother, but I’m not ready yet. I want to be a wife, just not his. How could the two people I adore the most do this to me?
My heart yearns to leave this town, I can’t let my dreams slip through the cracks. Since I was a little girl in my grandmother’s kitchen, I’ve wanted to open my own restaurant. I promised her I’d make it happen; I hope one day I will.
A sage-like voice pulls me back to the present, that of the Catholic priest reading our vows. The striking eyes of my fiancé lock onto mine. Time is running out.
Am I making the right decision? Will I marry this man just to meet an expectation placed on me? But if I don’t, how could I face my family?
Should I do this for the sake of my unborn child? Or would a loveless marriage between their parents be more damaging than the absence of one?
I can’t let my parents raise my child. But how could another man take me like this?
Will I ever find love?
My mind flurries with unanswered questions.
“Nena, do you take this man to be your husband… for as long as you both shall live?”
The words that come next shock me to no end.
About Amanda Sandoval: Amanda Sandoval is a first-generation graduate from the University of California, Santa Barbara with a bachelor’s degree in environmental studies. She is from Lakewood, CA and works as an events coordinator for GNA (a TRC Company) in Santa Monica. She plans to pursue her master’s degree in film production or screenwriting.
Stories Matters is a mentoring program founded by best-selling author and award-winning documentarian Leslie Zemeckis. Co-sponsored by the Santa Barbara International Film Festival (SBIFF) and ENTITY Mag, the writing program focuses on craft and confidence. Guest professional female authors join weekly, mentoring the next generation of female storytellers. A six-week intensive challenges every writer to work on an 800-word story about “A Woman You Should Know.”
