Wafts of pale pink roses sift through the air, swirling
around me. I’m engulfed in silk, heavy ruffles tugging downwards. The day most girls
dream of from a young age, well, mine was finally here.
“Sylvia, it’s time.” My father raps on the dressing
room door. My bridesmaids, light yellow daisies with beaming smiles and delightful
giggles, hustle me out of the room, whispering furiously while slapping creases
out of their bouncy skirts.
Tall, arched doorways stand as barriers between me and
my fear of the unknown. The musty, welcoming scent that all old churches seem
to possess drifts gently towards me, battling the roses clutched in my hands. My mouth is dry behind my plump, twice-glossed
lips, and my tongue feels like a slab of lead. The ushers yank the creaking,
grumbling doors open, and someone tugs on my floor-length veil.
The organist’s stiff, wrinkled hands begin pounding out
notes, and the first booming melody echoes throughout the sanctuary. The
bridesmaids and groomsmen are making order of the chaos, getting in line,
fixing ties, fluffing curls, tightening heels, and rearranging the bouquets.
The first set stumbles past the doors, the second, the third, the fourth.
Someone trips on the carpet, someone else drops a flower. Time seems to be
moving in fast forward, as if they are sprinting down the aisle. Faster,
faster, faster and faster.
“Sylvia, let’s move! Everyone’s waiting!” I blink in
confusion as my father tugs me forward, and then elbows me in the side.
“Look happy, for goodness sake,” he snaps through
clenched teeth. I plaster on a fake smile and take my first step on the stream
of scattered petals.
The pews are decorated with large ribbon bows strung
together like a staircase leading up to the altar. All eyes are on me,
sparkling smiles blaring and cameras flashing, one after another, like
electrifying lightning.
I can feel my needle thin glass heels puncturing the
carpet beneath me, leaving dainty imprints behind, such as a trail of breadcrumbs
that could lead me back to freedom.
Another step.
I shiver as goose bumps spring out all over my body. My
skin feels like it is shrinking beneath my dress. Slinky, silk sleeves sit
gently off my shoulders, while the snug, heart-shaped bodice leads to a
billowing mountain of sequenced layers. Every surface of me is outlined with
glitter, beads, lace, or flowers, as if I’m a prized cupcake on display in a
bakery.
I’m half way to the altar.
My veil tugs my head backwards, dragging behind as if
trying to slow me down. Unrecognizable strawberry blonde curls flounce beside
me with each step, the finale of hours of work from the stylist earlier today.
My steps have slowed, and I’m discreetly being towed
forward by my father.
A hint of mint lingers in my mouth. Oohs and aahs jumble
around as the guests reminisce to when they were in my shoes, years ago.
I’m close enough to the altar now to smell the heavy
incense, swinging like a steady pendulum on the clock of life.
I clench my hands tighter around the flowers to steady
them from shaking. My feet are getting wobbly, lightly rocking with each step.
The back of my neck is on fire. Why isn’t anyone noticing? The veil, it must be
the veil.
I’m seconds away from the altar. A few steps should do it.
The choir is belting out melodies, but I can’t hear them
over the thumping of my heart in my ears. All I see is their mouths wide open,
heads thrown back, expressing their souls to the heavens. A stream of candles sits on the side of the
altar, flames flickering like small children laughing and taunting me.
One more step to go.
This is it. The final moment. Nothing matters
anymore…not the rose petals beneath my feet, the makeup plastered on my face;
not the burning stares on my back, my father’s firm hand around my waist, or the
shining lights dangling above. Nothing matters except the words I will repeat
in seconds.
My toes graze the first step. My father squeezes my arm as he gently
kisses my cheek.
“Don’t mess this up, sweetie. Mark’s a gem.” His mouth
brushes past my ears and his words linger in the air. I’m frozen still, but
manage to slightly nod.
Mark is standing besides his best man, Charlie. He
leaves Charlie’s side and escorts me up the stairs. Time flies before my eyes,
and soon the pastor is reading the vows. I’m first. The pastor finishes and
everyone is anticipating my next two words.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I look past Mark and I know what I have to do. I reach
up, take Charlie’s hand in mine, and stare straight at my dad.
“I don’t.”
