Three years since I received my date, two years of
total planning, one year to prepare. All the errands run, dress
fittings, make-up and hair trials, and countless hours committed to
practicing all led up to this day—this one incredibly special day. I
lounged first in a charcoal black chair embedded with metallic gold
beads running down its sides. Surrounded by my supportive family, I sat,
my mind racing with thoughts and questions, wondering if my dreams would
roll on a tape into reality. I was too frightened—too petrified to move.
My family then tiptoed out and began to get settled. As the rabbi and I
started to pace, I stopped with a brief moment of hesitation. He saw
fear deep within the pools of shady brown in my eyes. He said, “You’re a
confident girl Lindsey, you can do this.” Rabbi Delcau always knew the
right thing to say to me—considering he’d been with me the whole way
through my bat mitzvah process. Chest widening, air now exhaling, at
that instant, I regained the ability to stride forward and become one
within prayer. As I proceeded through the service of prayer, I was
beginning to becoming more and more comfortable with the fact I was
leading a service by myself. The party was soon to come.
Three hours of hair and make-up, two hours’ worth of putting on my
evening dress and taking memorable, professional photographs, one hour
before all the guests arrived. Today—April 25, 2015—I did not know the
Lindsey who constantly wears leggings, Vans t-shirts, and Converse
shoes, and who normally has straight hair. There was another girl. Some
might call this transformed girl a princess with her elegant sky-blue
gown with shining silver petals entrenched into the neckline and waist.
She grinned from ear-to-ear acknowledging her beauty, as her eyes beamed
and opened wider than ever before. This was a day Lindsey had dreamed of
since she was young.
I always heard my mother and grandmother planning; innumerable hours of
conferencing with the decorator and checking the location where we were
having the affair. I had no clue of the astonishment approaching my way.
I walked down the grass green stairs—more liked stalked—constantly
tripping on my extended gown with copious beads. I considered myself a
spy, creeping all around the building when I was not supposed to.
Breathing heavily, sweat dripping from my palms, I prayed not to be
caught. I felt like a princess locked in a tower; the steep rectangular
stairs I stumbled down seemed endless. When I finally reached the
ground, I sensed a moment of alleviation, then I continued on with the
rest of my risky expedition. I peered through the stained glass door,
apprehension coursing through my blood. Gaining confidence, recovering
courageousness, I slowly and steadily turned the cold brass knob. My
face lit up with appreciation.
All around me I saw vibrant colors that ignited the night in the city.
Central Park. Real trees, big signs, roses danced around each and every
adult table. Crystals on the center pieces gleamed letting off gleams
and glowing serenity. Times Square. Myriad people—whom I am extremely
fond of—crowded through the streets. Vivid blue coloring all over and
thrill sprinting through my body. It was a Broadway show, staring me—the
bat mitzvah girl. One year to prepare, two years of total arrangement,
three years since I got my date; and it was all worth it.