Elm City Scrapbook is a column alternately written by Daniella Sanchez (MC ’25) and Catherine Kausikan (GH ’25), which each week reflects on a different artwork in and around New Haven.
Dear Tiger Bride,
I don’t think about you very much these days. Sometimes it feels like we are hardly ever in the same room. You only see me walk in at night—watch me take off my shoes, undress, tie my hair back into a knot, and get into bed. You watch as I do this every night, as I turn my head away and shut my eyes.
Do you remember the first time I laid eyes on you? A cool August day in Mexico City spent running around antique markets looking for something worth bargaining for. And then there was your silver frame, shining on the carpet floor, surrounded by postcards and vinyl. You were the most beautiful bride I had ever seen, veiled with a tiger helm and baring sharp, red teeth. Words swirled around your polka-dotted dress: Con todo mi cariño. With all my love, I swore right there and then. I pressed my right hand against yours, painted in red, yellow, and blue.
I took you home and carried you to school, where I hung you above my desk, saying, “What a blessing, to look at something beautiful every day.”
But now my eyes hardly meet the black pits of your gaze. Now all I can write about is the memory of encountering you for the first time. I wish I was a better lover.