June 12th, 2016 - Alyssa Evans

“As a literature-lover, I’m drawn to symbolism in stories, and there’s a lot in ours. For example, the number 12…” A slight breeze folded the page in my hand, and I glanced up at him before continuing. It was the most I’d seen him all day. I wanted to memorize him, the way his hair curled at his neck like the wisteria swaying in the pergola above us. Though not much of our wedding was traditional – the fact that we were standing in a graveyard garden – we’d decided to keep some customs, like waiting to see each other until walking down the aisle.

Earlier, we stood back-to-back – the closest we’d been all day – taking photos in a local bookstore. Nervous for the event that took almost a year to plan, sweat gathered at my neck, as I felt the heat of his back. His demeanor was entirely different from mine. That morning, I paused my make-up so the tears pouring over from stress didn’t ruin my mascara, while he was goofing around with his groomsmen. The only proof of his slight nerves was his number 2’s were more like number 1’s.

“Don’t look at me yet. You can’t peek.” I said, sneaking a glance over my shoulder.

“I promise I won’t, but I’ve missed you,” he squeezed my hand continuing, “I can’t wait to kiss you.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

His energy radiated through me before I realized my mood shifted. He was present every minute, while I worried hours away. They slipped by so quickly, I almost wished we eloped that morning, so we could have spent the day together.

The only thing that kept me from doing so was the hundred people staring at us, waiting for me to finish my vows: “In sixth grade, we met at 12 years old. Several years later, one December, the 12th month of the year, we had our first kiss. That following May of 2012, we started dating, and a few weeks later, on June 12, we first said, I love you. Just over three years later, on July 12th, we got engaged, and, today, on the fourth anniversary of our love, we are getting married. So, I want to add one more piece of significance – 12 vows…”

Though I noticed this pattern a decade ago, it took me until now to look beyond our story, deeper into the symbolism of the number. Like much of my self-rreflection at that time, I identified the motif but did not interpret its meaning. Our Christian school taught us that 12 represented the divine, the number of Jesus’ disciples and tribes of Israel. In numerology, 12 symbolizes completeness and perfection, and as in our case, 1 as individual joining 2 as partnership.

Additionally, the word twelve comes from the Old English twelf, or two left.^[1]

That day we vowed to be disciples of one another, to be our own divine tribe, for better or worse, richer or poorer, and in sickness and in health. As 21-year-old newlyweds – we were, of course, the symbolic number reversed – barely old enough to drink, intoxicated with love and hope for our future together.

~ 2026 ~

One month before our 10th anniversary, my husband had surgery to remove a malignant mass in his colon. Three weeks earlier, we were jolted into our worst nightmare. At 3:00am, he passed out on the bathroom floor, blood filled the toilet bowl. Medics took him to the ER, where a doctor with a soft voice told us about the tumor.

We met the surgeon on May 6th, the anniversary of when we began dating, and she scheduled his colectomy six days later, on May 12th. That day took its time, the way I hoped our wedding would. Waiting for hours with his ring on my necklace, I prayed, spinning the silver with my finger, like a rosary. The words I engraved on the inside years ago seemed like a promise – one’s not half two. / it’s two are halves of one.^[2] Soon, we’d be together again.

When the nurses finally took me back to see him, the first thing he said to me was, “kisses.” Leaning his face forward, swathed in a white veil of warm towels. I closed the distance covering his chapped lips with mine before slipping the ring back onto his finger.

During our hospital stay, we held hands, laying side by side thanks to the reclining chair I pushed against his bed. Although I meant our vows all those years ago – in sickness and in health – I never anticipated using them so soon. Seeing him with incisions across his abdomen, hunching with every movement felt like we had aged fifty years. We were an old couple, trudging through our lives to the top floor, the hospital healing gardens, or heaven. About to be discharged, we wanted to sojourn there, before going home.

“I can’t look at you. Don’t even talk for a second.” Standing in the rooftop courtyard, wearing two fluttering hospital gowns to ensure full coverage, he nudged me behind him.

Walking hand in hand along the wooden carvings of Christ’s crucifixion and windows etched with motivational quotes, I read Gandi’s – strength does not come from physical capacity, it comes from an indomitable will – and the feelings from the past three weeks poured out of him. As he clutched the railing for support, the tears seemed to reopen his wounds. We found out moments before, when I said one carving with the Shroud of Turin, Christ’s imprinted facecloth, looked like him after surgery, it hurt worse to laugh. Thus, I was banished out of sight. 

In silence, my hand softly circled his back – a white gowned bride, bowed before Christ’s mirrored portrait, shaking from tears and laughter, religious ecstasy. When the courtyard clock chimed twelve bells, he turned towards me, reaching for my hand to cover it with his lips. It was noon, time we two left.

References:

^[1] “Twelve.” Online Etymology Dictionary, Douglas Harper, Accessed 4 June 2026. 

^[2] ee cummings

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Alyssa Evans is a visiting professor of writing at Grand Valley State University, where she completed her MA in English. Currently, she is finishing an MFA specializing in poetry and nonfiction at Alma College. Her writing explores the intersections of women’s experiences with gender, sexuality, and religion. Outside of her literary pursuits, she enjoys traveling, crafting, and spending time with her husband and cats.

In honor of National Cancer Survivor Month, she invites readers to consider donating to the Colorectal Cancer Alliance, where contributions are being doubled by a donor match. She encourages readers to also familiarize themselves with symptoms for early detection.