This post was inspired courtesy of “tumblr short story ideas”….writing the story of a wedding from 3 different perspectives. See if you can note which players I picked.
He sat shifting and uneasy on the hard pew. Catholics, can’t make anything comfortable for people. Gave a simpering grin to the white-haired lady sitting next to him on the bench. Her bony ass has to be hurting. It felt like hours he’d been sitting, staring at the painted glass fragments in the windows, and listening to the echoes of footsteps and whispers as people entered the hallowed space. Why am I even here? But he knew why he was in this church, waiting in a monkey suit that clenched at his neck, and shoes that pinched his toes. He was waiting to see her. One last time. Seeing her with him, in a white dress that shouldn’t be white….maybe that will erase the mud on her cheeks next to me in the bucket seat of my truck, and the moonlit dips we took up the creek where no one would see us. The music started and he stared down at his calloused hands. This was it.
She’d better not say anything. He had played this same song so many times for so many occasions that he didn’t even have to focus on the music. His eyes were on the pretty organist, earnestly plunking her delicate fingers along the keys. She’s been so disobedient lately, I hate when she’s like that. She lifted her foot off the pedal a moment, and his eye was drawn to her thigh. That dress is so short…its too short. Who is she showing off for? His eyes darted around the room and he missed a few notes. No one noticed, their eyes were on the display of colorful dresses parading down the center aisle. His buddy Frank caught his eye, standing behind the fidgety groom. Frank knew where his mind was, and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Whatever, he thinks I’m too hard on her, but look at his wife, she dresses like a skank, and no one respects her. He’d been sinking into darker and darker places lately, even his violin playing couldn’t pull him out. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he was losing her, in the midst of this blessed occasion, he was losing her.
She was the last to enter, before the bride at least. She walked alone, preferred it that way. She’d ignored her sisters begging, and insisted on being a solo act. She took her steps swiftly and gracefully, being a wave of beauty had never been a problem for her. She was indifferent to the eyes watching her. Her dress was a chiffon rainbow of colors that flowed behind her like a cape. Regal, just be regal. Her nose was in the air. By the time she reached the altar she almost felt it. But then the real promenade started and all eyes left her. She felt hollow and empty. This is her day. Be happy. Please just be happy! She had already shed tears this morning and had to re-apply her mascara twice. No matter which way she played it in her head, this day felt like her own funeral. “You look great”, the grooms voice was warm and reassuring. His eyes were kind, and he nodded helpfully at her. She knew he was a good soul, but his life was thousands of miles away from hers. And he was taking her sister there. Her best friend, her confidante…the only person in this godforsaken town who understood her demons. I loved her first.