AM Gray's blog: Gray Matters: Nuptials

Writing practice from the Write practice

“Write about a wedding, a wedding that takes place in your work in progress, a wedding you've been to, or even your own wedding. Write for fifteen minutes. When you’re time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to comment on a few practices by other writers.”

My effort skewed off very quickly somewhere that I didn't expect it to go. It really didn't fit with all the other efforts (they were romantic and sweet) so I posted it here on my blog, rather than on the page. And I wrote for twenty minutes. Oops. My bad.

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Nuptials

She clutched her handkerchief, ready for the inevitable tears. Weddings. They got to her every time. Every single time. She knew better than to wear eye make-up or to wear a top that showed the damp spots where her tears spilled over and onto her chest. Dark colours were best or perhaps a busy pattern.

It was all camouflage.

The groom stood, holding his own hands as if to stop them shaking. He wore black. She thought it was appropriate. He was not camouflaged and perhaps he ought to be. He also wasn’t looking the right way. He was staring at the window in front of him and his bride would enter from the rear.

As the music started, his best man thumped him on the shoulder and they exchanged a shaky grin. The photographer took a few shots and then encouraged the groom to look towards the rear.

He wanted a shot of the groom’s face as he saw his bride in her special gown for the first time. The shock; the awe, the happiness - the love, she supposed. That was what the photographer hoped to catch.

But this groom took a step back. His face fell. He shook his head a little.

Oh, no. This was a first.

He muttered something to the best man.

He looked at the bride with no trace of recognition.

He shook his head again and then he turned and he ran. He disappeared through the door to the vestry.

The minister looked lost. Maybe he was only used to runaway brides, and a runaway groom was a new thing for him?

The bride had come down the aisle alone; their father had died a long time ago. She stopped next to the bench and hissed at her, “Sister, what happened?”

“It wasn’t me,” she hissed back. “Nerves?”

The congregation started to mutter and talk amongst themselves.

She stood and waved imperiously at the best man. Go get him, her gesture said. He scuttled off after the terrified groom. She grabbed the bride by the arm and walked her back up the aisle to the entry area where they could talk privately.

“You almost had him in the bag. What went wrong?” she quizzed the bride, as she lifted the veil back.

She got an odd look on her face.

“Oh, no! Tell me you kept the sex up.”

“He wanted to wait… until after… you know?”

Whoops. “You idiot! You know better than that.”

“I know… but it meant so much to him. He wanted it to be special.”

“You fool! You know the spell won’t continue to work if the sex stops. This isn’t your first wedding. You know winding up the pace before the big day is the best way to handle it. Then they can’t wait to get you down the aisle and back into bed.”

“Until they sicken and die.” She sighed. “I know… and I have done this before.”

Suddenly, she understood. “Oh, stars in the sky, this one is special.”

“No, no. No he’s not.”

She denied it too vehemently. “You are in love with him!”

The bride’s face crumpled and she started to cry. Her sister passed her the clean handkerchief and patted her on the back. “I know it gets harder,” she commiserated. “But we need the money. And it was your turn to get married this time.”

“I know!” wailed the bride, dabbing at her face.

“Stop that! You’ll wreck your make-up.”

“I d-don’t w-want to get m-married now,” she sobbed. “Even if he c-comes back. I’ll say it’s off. That I can’t trust him after he ran.”

“Well that’s actually true. And he’s not likely to come back if he saw your true face.”

“And then he can go marry someone else. Someone who won’t suck the life out of him. He’ll be happy.”

“So you love him. Does he love you?”

Another wail. “He doesn’t love me! Nobody really ever loves me. Not for me… you know?”

Her sister sighed. “I love you,” she said.

They hugged.

Over the white shoulder she could see the minister approach.

“Ah…” he started, clearly at a loss about how to break the bad news.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” she pre-empted.