WA-5 Wedding

The warm spring sun beat down on me. My xylem sap was fresh and thin from the light rains. I sucked up the water and it transpired on my light amaranth pink petals. Far off, in a beige colored room, a giddy but excessively anxious young woman sat tapping her pedicured foot as she discussed the floral arrangements with her very qualified but extravagantly lavish planner. The color palettes were strewn across the ornate desk and the woman’s eyes flickered from one set to another and then another. Finally, she puckered her Venetian red lips, inhaled a sharp quick breath and jabbed her filed nail at the custom group that read, Amaranth Pink Bouquet. “I believe this will do,” she said.

Slice. Everything disappeared. When I regained consciousness the cream colored linen lined woven basket was brimming with detached petals. I tried to peer over the side. Sunlight was streaming in through the stain glass windows depicting Mother Mary and falling down across old wooden pews. A man sat hunched over the mighty organs, practicing Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. The bride was getting dressed and so far she was wearing something old and something new. Her shoes were borrowed and she was looking for her broach that was blue. In a room on the opposite side of the church the groom and his best men were lounging around in their white tee’s obviously oblivious to the quickly encroaching time. Off somewhere the ring bearer and flower girl were playing hide and go seek, soiling their new outfits before the start of the ceremony.

The air was becoming thick with anticipation as long lost family became reunited and the chapel began to fill for the start of the service. The organs began to sing a song and the chatter fell to a hushed tone as seats began to be occupied. I was whisked off of a table and into the shivering hands of the young girl. A salty tear of fear trickled down her cheek as her mother reinstructed her and kissed her forehead. A sweet bridesmaid took the girl’s hand, led her to the door, and sent her on her way. Eyes wide, she looked down at her scuffed shoes and placed one foot in front of the other on the carpeted aisle. With each step, the basket became lighter and emptier. Sticky fingers plucked me out and dropped me mercilessly to the floor. High heel spike after high heel spike proceeded to skewer me as I lay bleeding Amaranth Pink. As the pain subsided, the music faded, and the star crossed lovers faced each other in front of the priest. From my view on the floor the group looked like a black and white cookie, V formation of geese. A bright, gaudy pair of shoes adorned with large tulips stole my attention from the vows being spoken. “I do” was said by the pair, the couple was wed, the service was over, everyone stood up, stampeded, and that was the last of my memory.