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 HER TEARS FINALLY UNDER CONTROL, THE BRIDE LOOKS OVER THE CROWD FOR THE BEST TARGET FOR HER BOUQUET. |
When the bride started crying,
things began getting weird
of TheColumnists.com
Everyone at St.
Aidan’s Episcopal Church last Saturday wondered if the bride
would ever stop crying. She cried so hard when she started down
the aisle that she leaned into her father’s shoulder, almost
stopping his progress. The women stared at her eyes to watch
her mascara run. The men smirked, thinking the bride wept from
fear of the night to come.
When he handed her off to the groom, her father lost his chiseled smile. He wiped his own eyes, and let go of her slowly. He never liked to see his little girl cry and would do almost anything to stop her tears when she was little. Maybe he should haul her back up the aisle and out the door.
The bridesmaids, who had stepped down the
aisle with the practiced poise of fashion models, softened visibly
once they received the bride at the altar and saw the determination
of their girlfriend’s tears. The groom looked whipped when
he took her hand, like he was responsible for her abject misery.
He offered his handkerchief but she refused to take it, keeping
her hands tucked beneath her bouquet–a tight ball of blush-colored
rose buds.
The maid of honor should have been more solicitous--at least
touching the bride’s arm in comfort, instead of staring
at the white runner that led to her best friend and the groom.
When it was time to exchange the rings, the maid of honor took
the bridal bouquet without making eye contact with the bride.
Instead, she exchanged a quick but deep gaze with the groom that
only a few discerning guests in the front rows could possibly
notice.
The bride gasped her vows of faithfulness between choking sobs. The groom promised to forsake all others.
The bride thought he did that when he gave her the engagement ring. The frat pin was different–when you live with 50 guys, you’re bound to fool around just like they do and she knew that. But the engagement ring–that’s a sign of faithfulness that says his life is no good unless he and she spend every minute of it together. It’s about undying love, not duty like the wedding ring that comes with the set. No other woman could ever attract him again, he told her.
Imagine how shocked she was when she found out–-and it was just last week--that he had been meeting the maid of honor in Vegas, instead of those important people he always talked about. She retreated to her room for three days, almost missing the last fittings of her gown.
But some things can’t be stopped and this wedding was one of them. The bride couldn’t possibly embarrass her daddy before his clients. And she couldn’t make herself look like a fool.
At the end of the ceremony, the minister took the couples' hands and nudged the newlyweds to face the guests: “I give you Mr. and Mrs. Ross Thompson.” When the bride turned, she caught her mother’s eye in a lingering gaze. For the first time she spotted the worn resignation and practiced smile on her mother’s face that all of us have noticed for years. Her mother nodded and mouthed the word “courage.” The recognition of shared experience flashed between mother and daughter, and the wedding tears were staunched.
Now that she was a wife, the bride knew what she had to do: stay with her man and demolish the opposition.
She grabbed the groom’s hand and walked in triumph up the aisle. The guests smiled with relief.
When the wedding party reached the end
of the aisle, they slipped out the side door and returned to
the altar for photographs. A few of us stayed in the church to
watch everyone pose. The minute the last portrait of the assembled
entourage was snapped, the bride stepped forward and faced the
group. “Catch!” she shouted and hurled her bouquet
at the maid of honor.
Just like a grenade.
©2005 by Joyce Kiefer. The
illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco
Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first
posted May 30, 2005.
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