The Wedding Day

The long train of white flowed slowly down the aisle, like the tiny ripples of waves in a calm, tranquil stream. Bright, magnificent flower petals floated on the silky train reminiscent of a watery flow embedded with falling leaves in autumn, leaves gliding slowly along, carried by the push of the wind and the ebb of the waves. The dress was superb, immaculately superb, flawless, the creamy white only interrupted intermittently by the yellowish shades of water lilies. Her tender shoulders peeked out from the box cut of her pearl laced bodice. Her steps – precise, her eyes – focused, her breathing – controlled, her smile – radiant.

“That dress must have cost millions,” the robust female sitting directly in front of me whispered to her annoyed neighbor. She had been making similar derogatory remarks all through the morning and was relentless in her criticisms despite receiving no response or acknowledgement from her chosen audience. The lady seemed determined not to permit anything to interrupt her. She had entered the church like everyone else who turned up early and planted herself succinctly into one of the church pews. Her shoulders were erect, motionless, staring straight ahead towards the altar, her eyes glued and unswerving. I couldn't see her face but I could figure out exactly where her gaze was directed. She remained in that almost motionless position even during the bride’s entrance and, unlike everyone else, did not stand to ‘ooh’ or ‘aah’ at the magnificence. Her eyes remained fixed on that one target, even when her view was blocked by the standing audience. 

He was nervous, like all men usually are. I've attended over a dozen weddings in my lifetime and only on one occasion did the groom not appear nervous. In fact, he did not appear at all. That was most likely because he spent the time he should have been waiting on his bride in the female bathroom with one of the uninvited guests. Of course he was no longer the groom by the time the feisty flower girl, who, even after being paid off, made the shocking declaration to the entire waiting audience “aunt Camille and Jesse are doing it in the bathroom.” I guess he didn't pay her enough to keep her mouth shut.

As she reached his side and he unveiled her face I could almost see, even from my distance very close to the back, the trembling in his fingers. “She doesn't deserve him,” the robust lady continued. “This poor, parent-less brat doesn't deserve to be married to a man of his caliber. What does she have to recommend herself to him? She doesn't even have a decent family.” There was no reply, as usual from the lady to her left.

“Did you get invited to the reception?” Carmen asked. Carmen was a close friend of the family.

“No I didn't,” I responded. “I’m told only his family are invited.”

“Well I can understand why,” continued Carmen. “Given how poorly she has been treated by the skeptics I am not surprised that he didn't want any of those two-faced hypocrites to pretend they were happy for him.”

“Probably it was her idea not to invite any outside guests. She is the reserved type you know. She’s probably still very much afraid of the cynicism surrounding the marriage of a beloved man in the community, with a practical nobody.”

“Don’t say that, Aijah,” she isn’t a nobody. “And besides it is apparent he loves her. Have you seen how much he dotes over her? He spoils her rotten.”

A thunder of laughter pierced through the audience so I looked up to see the source of the amusement. “It’s not time for the kissing yet,” the priest interjected, with a little smirk on his face. “Don’t race ahead of me son, you’ll get your chance in a little while.”

“She does make him happy and that’s all I can say.”

Carmen smiled “yeah he’s happy.”

As I returned my focus towards the impeccably decorated altar my view was temporarily blocked by the lady in front moving from her seat. There were layers of silk, the color of sunrise, sunset and winter, plaited around the columns on the altar. Lovely lilies and columbines dangled off the edges. They were standing, staring into each other’s soul, lost in their love, almost cut off from the world. “I have something to say,” the deep, almost masculine voice interjected. The lady, who had only moments before sat before me, was lumbering towards the altar. There was a pause in which images and expressions changed. The bride looking up and locking gaze with the intruder, looked stunned and her skin gradually took the color of her gown until it seemed as if she had disappeared – so transparent her color had become. He too turned and their gazes locked – a ghost he became.

There was a long moment of mayhem and confusion in the audience. Curious to know what the discussion up front was about. “I knew there was something strange about her,” said the robust lady to no one in particular. And then there were tears and hugs, as a child, not more than six years old, was led into the church by an elderly man. We were all confused.

“That’s her daughter,” someone behind me said, “she had been taken away from her two years ago and she’s been fighting ever since to get her back. Looks like today is the happiest day of her life in more ways than one.” The ceremony continued with some still in awe and wonderment. The bride, though, couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes and her new husband couldn't help his tears of joy for her.

The Wedding Day  © 2008 - The content appearing on this blog is the exclusive copyright of S.L. Lawrence and should not be copied or reproduced without the explicit written consent of the copyright owner.