[ RF ] A father and daughter talk as he prepares to walk her down the aisle .

`` You ready to give this a try?'' asked Dad, reaching out for my hand. Try. Give this a try. For Dad that's all this was. Setting me up for failure, again. He seemed determined not to fail with me, but I could sense that deep inside he was expecting this to end in tears. Not in a sadistic way, but just because that was how he looked at me, at everything. Always expecting me to fall. 
 
 `` No,'' I said. Maybe he thought I was afraid. And I was. Afraid of so much. I looked down the aisle at the faces of strangers, couples and singles. Some with children, some without. How did they do it? It seemed so easy for them. Some were happy, some sad. But they all seemed so confident, stable, solid. How was it possible? I wondered how many of them were just leaning on each other. Just waiting for everything to collapse... 
 
 `` You just have to try,'' said my father, as if reading my mind. `` Just try. You go one step at a time, and do your best.'' 
 
 He was one to talk. Had he done his best? Where was my mother? Not here, certainly. He'd lost her. She had wandered off with some stranger, and he'd just let her go. And now he was doing his best to do the same with me. How could he do this? Just let everything he loved walk away from him, so easily? Did he care, really? Was he just pretending? Did he really want a stranger to just walk along and take me away forever? To be rid of me? 
 
 `` Come on,'' he said, hand pulling gently on mine. I tugged back, resisting. Not consciously. I was n't really conscious of anything just then. It was all reflex. But somewhere deep inside, I knew, I could n't resist forever. 
 
 Tears welled up. I could feel a good sob coming. I could see the faces around me, preparing to fill with pity. Just a sea of pity, all down the aisle to the two men standing at the end. Strangers, all of them, just then. I was alone. And I knew it was because I was missing her. 
 
 `` Mom...'' I mumbled. 
 
 My father sighed. 
 
 `` Your mom's not here,'' he said. Trying for concern, managing just patience. Wearing thin, perhaps. `` But we can do this. You and me.'' 
 
 `` No,'' I said. 
 
 `` We can. I know it. You and me. You just take one step at a time. It's easy. Trust me.'' 
 
 I sniffled. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe he was right, and that was the only way to do this. The only way to do anything. One step at a time, and hope for the best. 
 
 `` Okay,'' I said. 
 
 `` Okay,'' he repeated. `` Then let's go.'' 
 
 And we did. One foot in front of the other. One step. Two steps, almost in time with the music, the awful music which I hated. 
 
 For a moment everything seemed possible. People smiled and looked on, and I imagine my father's heart filled with just a little bit of pride. But then I thought of my mother. Where was she? Why was n't she here? Why had she left? Why was n't she here watching me too? 
 
 Dad was wrong. I could n't do it. I could n't do any of it. I was n't strong enough. Not like him. Not like any of them. 
 
 The world blurred as my legs shook, and I fell, one of my shoes tumbling loose beneath my dress, my beautiful white dress, now probably torn and dirtied. It did n't hurt, not really, but as I pushed myself up off the ground I could feel their faces looking at me, staring. The tears came of their own accord, then, maybe trying to quench my burning cheeks. There was no stopping any of it, so I did n't even try. 
 
 I was a failure. I could n't do anything right. And neither could my father. 
 
 `` Mom...'' I screamed. 
 
 And then, suddenly, there were hands beneath my arms, lifting me up, putting me back where I belonged. But when I looked up I did n't see my father's face. Instead, through my tears I saw her face, her beautiful face, staring down at me. Gone, forever I thought, but somehow miraculously here, now. When I needed her most. My beautiful, perfect mother, her face a mixture of concern and disappointment. But beneath it all, I knew, was love. 
 
 My tears faded. My sobs subsided. Life made sense again. 
 
 And then she spoke. But not to me. 
 
 `` Stop taking her out of the shopping cart,'' she said to my father. `` This floor is filthy.''
