February 27, 2016

If You Come to My Wedding [Short Story]


If you come to my wedding...

Please don't cause a scene.

Don't sit in the front row, I don't want to see you. Don't sit too far in the back because I don't want to think about you being in the shadows. When the priest says, "Speak now or forever hold your peace" I hope you remain seated and quiet, you've had long enough to stand and speak. When my burgundy stained lips meet my husband's and we are Mr. and Mrs. don't leave in disgust and frustration. I need you to see the consequences of your actions, why did you run away from me? Why did you set me up to fall for you?  

When we do the symbolic jumping of the broom, I need to hear your applause, your cheers. I need to hear those rough, thick fingers that once caressed me, slamming together with rigorous force. I need to feel your presence. 

As we both walk out of the church and down the long concrete stairway, listen to the church bells chiming a triumphant tune. The bells always sound so angelic, I hope my Heavenly Father is proud of me. As we slowly walk down the stairs with a constant flow of rice raining down on us, smile and be happy for me even if you aren't. If you see my mother, my father, or my brother who all still love you very much, hug them as you always do. 

If we're close enough in proximity, I will be cordial, but don't take me into your arms and embrace me like you used to. Don't make me smell that earthy yet sweet cologne that you wear all the time. I'd be fine with a handshake and a brief introduction to my husband, even during the bustling moment, I want you to meet him. "This is my friend that I told you so much about, honey!" and that's the honest truth. I couldn't stop comparing him to you and telling him all the intelligent things you've said to me. I still dream about you almost every night, I still randomly think of your witty jokes and you still make me laugh. He is an amazing man but even after all these years he's still not you. How could I lie on the steps of a church? We were never just friends.

Once we step off the final stair step and wave to the crowd, please wave back. Even in a sea of people you know I will see your face above everyone else's. Don't do that thing you do with your striking brown eyes, the way your pupils adjust, the way you dig into my soul, the way you penetrate me without physical contact. I know you can't help it because you don't realize the way you look at me, it says everything. When it's time for me to toss the bouquet into the waiting hands of hopefuls, I truly pray it misses you by a long shot.

Copyright 2/27/16, this published work is owned by me.

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