It was December cold. The air crisp and dry. Friendly clouds hung in the sky, blotting out the sun. No snow on the ground; no snow in the forecast. Oh, how she had wished for snow on this day! In hindsight, she reflected that the weather had tried to warn her in its cold silence. But the eyes of love see no such forebodings. It was her wedding day. Every kind of excitement crossed her mind. His smile. His jokes. His laughter. His eyes, big, round, dark and glassy. Sometimes the eyes were thoughtful, but mostly full of mischief, smiling with childlike glee at Christmas. Every worry crossed her mind. Is this real? What if I go into labor? Will he say I do, or make some joke of it? Can we look at each other without bursting into laughter? Without tears? Does this happen to everyone on this day?
The ceremony went without a hitch. No laughing outbursts. No tears. All smiles and “I do.” And they lived happily ever after… The reception was well done, though the lack of alcohol made the bride a bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t that everyone knew she was pregnant, it was those self-righteous church folk who made it so. They didn’t stare, but it seemed everywhere she turned, people were whispering. Was she imagining things? And then it was time to cut the cake. There they were, the newlyweds, cake in hand. Unknown to the Bride, this being her first wedding, the couple was supposed to feed each other. The Groom was standing in an odd way, like he’s ready to throw the cake instead of offering it to her. “Smash it in his face,” someone yelled. Confused, but smiling the Bride looked out and said, “Nooo. Now why would I do that?” Her voice full of ignorant innocence. Smiling still, she gently feeds him his piece of cake, when all of a sudden, he’s smashing cake into her face! She couldn’t hide her surprise nor the rage welling up inside her so she bent over and put her hands over her face. The crowd laughed; no they howled with laughter. They cheered. The Bride had to recover quickly, lest it be known that she neither knew of this “tradition” nor was she happy about it. She stood and allowed the Groom to wipe her face. She searched his eyes. She found that childish mischief she thought she loved so much. She could feel the tears welling, but managed to keep them at bay. He finished and handed her a napkin to clean her glasses. “Try it again.” Someone from the crowd was looking for more. The Bride looked out the window. The friendly clouds looked darker. Maybe it’ll snow after all. This brought her back. Her smile returned. She didn’t speak, only shook her head and moved to sit down, feigning fatigue. Then came time for the toasting. Mother of the Bride went first. The microphone wasn’t working and it frustrated her. “Congratulations,” was all anyone heard as her shoulders sagged in disappointment. Father of the Bride came next. Of course the mic worked fine for him. “I’m so proud of you.” The Bride looked up in surprise and amazement. It was the first time he’d ever uttered those words. She beamed at this. This was even better than getting married! Daddy’s proud of me! She could not stop smiling. Daddy’s proud of me. The words echoed throughout the day. The words changed everything. Even the cake smashing was forgot. Nothing could breach the good of what she felt. Comments are closed.
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AuthorJust being me. Archives
December 2016
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