An ice-cold hush fell over the crowd as the bride was asked, for a third time, if she would take this man as her lawful husband. The priest stared at her, helpless, silently mouthing the words“I do” to her, as if the reason she hadn’t answered his question was simply because she had forgotten what the correct answer was. His third attempt at the question was received with the same answer as his previous two attempts- silence.
The groom began to sweat. He grabbed his bride’s hands and shook them, jokingly at first, smiling through his confusion and growing angst. She is a practical joker, he thought. So this could very well be one big (albeit unmerciful) practical joke. Even as he thought this, he knew he was fooling himself. This wasn’t a joke. This was his biggest fear realized. Her swampy hazel eyes were pointed toward his, but their was no focus, they were staring right through him. It was as if she was lost in some far away land, entranced in deep thought, oblivious to the magnitude of their present situation, to the 150 shocked guests, to the priest’s pleading for an answer, and to the increasingly agitated shakes he was giving her hands.
Random thoughts from the last three years began invading her mind. From the scorching summer night when they met, to the chilly anxiety she began to feel seconds before walking down the aisle. She quickly realized that in so many of these memories that had chosen to invade her mind on the grandest day of her life, she was crying. It can’t be normal for someone who’s in love to spend so much time crying, she thought. Tears of sadness, tears of anger and tears of frustration seemed to be the highlight of the last 1000 days. She had always had to settle for whatever left-over affection he was willing to give. She walked on permanent egg shells never knowing which “him” he was going to be that day. Constantly under appreciated, belittled, neglected, she wondered why she had been so naive to believe that the tears would end with a simple I do.
By now it was obvious that something was very wrong. The priest stepped down and pulled the groom’s hands away from the bride’s. The gray-haired clergy man stepped in front of the bride, cupped her face gently with his firm, wrinkled hands and finally caught her glaze. She looked up at him with sadness and growing embarrassment for the predicament she suddenly found herself in. He looked at her with heavenly patience and understanding, his wise, compassionate eyes told her that it was ok to let go, to say “no “. Pools of sorrow began to fill those swampy hazel eyes, it was the end of the dream she’d fought so hard for. She turned to her would-be groom, looked him in the eyes, and boldly whispered I’m sorry, I can’t spend my life crying. As she rushed down the aisle to leave the church, she realized she was still clutching her yellow tulip bouquet; she slowly unwrapped her fingers from the stems, and let it drop, unceremoniously, to the floor. It was over. She was done.
