Write…Edit…Publish, the home of the monthly bloghop of the same name. You are welcome to submit any of the following – flash fiction, poetry, non-fiction or playscripts to a word count of 1,000 words – artwork and photographs accompanied by your written inspiration in creating your work/s.
WEP's November blogfest, SHARING!
THE BIG DAY
Three weeks to arrange a wedding wasn't as hard as people said it would be. Some people assumed that she was pregnant so it was a shotgun wedding, as if that would happen these days. Nobody in their right minds had to get married in this day and age, albeit some cultures still used arranged marriages but mostly in modern times people married for love.
The bridal shop had a large range of magnificent dresses from frothy, bouffant styles with yards and yards of lace, tight bodices, revealing strapless dresses that didn't suit most ladies but who still suffered and squeezed themselves into tight corsets after months of trying to become the right shape, denying themselves meals and treats, suffering torture and torment of hours at the gym.
Stella mentally shrugged her shoulders, she was the size and shape she was, three weeks wasn’t going to make a difference no matter what she did. She wasn't ungainly, in fact she had a wonderful 20 year old figure, her fiancée had never complained.
Sharing her day was becoming bigger than Stella and Rob had thought it would be. Rob’s family was small, he was an only child of a single mother and there was a cousin and her family and an aunt and her husband, so for his side that was about it. They could make up the numbers by inviting their friends on to the guest list.
Stella’s family, now that was turning into a nightmare. Her mum insisted that you could only invite this person if that person was invited and if you didn’t invite that person then you couldn’t invite that one. Stella said she had wanted a small, intimate wedding. Her father then put his foot down and said if he was paying for it then they had to invite the people her mother said.
The acceptances and responses came flooding in, everybody accepted. Stella was going to share her big day with hundreds of people and all she really wanted to do was share it with her husband-to-be.
She wanted to share her life with Rob, share the ups and downs and share bringing up children, share joys and sorrows. She wanted to share her life until Rob was bald and she had grey hairs, cleverly coloured. She wanted to share the pleasure of seeing their own children have children, enjoy the company of their grandchildren; this is what Stella wanted to share.
So in the grand scheme of things, as her grandfather was wont to say, what did one day actually mean? Yes but it should be HER day, not anybody else’s but Stella caved in as she always did. She went with the flow.
She was the one who would walk down the aisle on her father’s arm; she was the one who would be ‘given away’ as though she was a chattel. She was the one who would not say ‘obey’ in her vows. She was quite willing to love and cherish Rob, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer but she would not ‘obey’ him. They would share decisions and he knew that and was quite willing to do that or at least accepted the theory of that idea.
The special day dawned, cold, wet, and miserable; this did not help her wedding day nerves. Her mum told her the old country adage, ‘rain before seven, dry by eleven.’ True to form, a few minutes after eleven the sun started to shyly peak through the clouds as a weak September sun spread its warmth and seeped through the ozone layer and to dry up the pavements and gardens.
Stella’s brother drove her mother to the church in his car, shining and gleaming after being through the car wash that morning. The aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and spurious relatives, who had popped up out of the woodwork, were all waiting for her at the lych gate, its gabled roof covered in moss and lichen.
Albert waited in the living room, fidgeting with his collar and tie. He would never admit to his daughter that he was feeling slightly nervous, he had to be strong and let his little girl go and be loved and adored by a man other than him. He harrumphed and cleared his throat as he heard Stella descending down the stairs.
A vision of white loveliness floated past his face. His daughter was beautiful. She was a gorgeous blushing bride. Stella took his arm as they made their way to the waiting beribboned bridal car.
Three bridesmaids helped Stella out of the car, arranging her dress around her and tweaking her veil. Tessa, her best friend, whispered, ‘are you sure?’ Stella breathed a deep sigh, her blue eyes glittering with emotion and nodded.
The vicar greeted the small retinue at the large studded oak doors to the church; they stood just inside the vestibule as he uttered some encouraging words, then he made his way to the altar.
The organ started playing the Wedding March, so traditional for the white bride. Her arm was shaking; Albert patted her hand that was threaded through the crook of his elbow with just the white lace gloves showing. They started the walk down the aisle.
Stella smelt the oldness of the stones of the church, she inhaled the woodiness of the pews, as she travelled further down the gangway she could smell new clothes, perfume and aftershave.
They stopped at the steps to the altar, her father took a step back as did Rob’s best man. Rob turned and looked at her, his green eyes full of admiration and love, a slight wink to her as they both turned their faces towards the vicar.
The bells rang out; the photographer arranged the bridal group and snapped shot after shot. He managed to get the large group photograph aligned to his satisfaction, the birds sang and the sun was still shining.
Word Count: 994