The Wedding Dress
I wore it on one of the best days of my life. I said “I do” to a future with the man I loved wearing that bright white dress. I liked the way the satin and the cloth layers felt as it moved against me. The way the pleated chiffon overlay shifted as I walked made me feel like a princess for a day. But what really set off The Wedding Dress were the flowers that covered my bosom along with a satin sash to seal the deal around my waist. It made me feel beautiful and happy. Just as beautiful as The Wedding Dress was so was the promise of building a future with my new husband. But like all beautiful things and best laid plans, The Wedding Dress was used, put in a bag, tucked away and forgotten about. Almost four years later and he and I aren’t so happy anymore. There is no future for us. The love is gone. The anger kicks in. He left without looking back. Now me and our life together are just mistakes to him. Mistakes he can correct through a lawyer and official documents. We started out civil but no more are we. I am mad. The Wedding Dress pops into my head. I grab the garment bag from the closet, throw it on the floor, sit down next to it and unzip the body bag that holds the last dress I will ever wear. I look it over remembering that happy day. The vows, the love and the laughter. Then reality sets in. It was all a lie. I start ripping and tearing chiffon and satin with my bear hands. The ripping feels and sounds cathartic somehow. The way the material feels as it gives away in my hands feels like I’m letting go of all the years we were together. But at the same time I feel a piece of myself ripping and tearing away along with The Wedding Dress. I realize the mistakes I have made along the way. I finally come to terms that I’m not the only one who screwed up. I remember the first time I saw him smile and then I picture the man he is today. I don’t even know him anymore. Maybe I never did. It just makes the anger kick me full force in my heart and the sobbing gets louder. The names I’m calling him get cruder. The ripping and tearing of The Wedding Dress gets more intense and my hands start to hurt. I think nothing of that. As I rip a flower off The Wedding Dress I think of the coldness in his stare. I tear satin into shred after shred as I think of his holier than thou attitude. As I rip more of the delicate chiffon I think of his fucking mother and of the things I’d like to say to her. Finally, as The Wedding Dress sits in a heap of rags before me, my mom rubbing my back trying to delay the inevitable panic attack it dawned on me. This pile of rags is my life. Pretty things get torn apart all the time and life, goes on and so will mine. Not even the best seamstress alive can sew The Wedding Dress back together. Just like nothing could have saved my marriage. But I can try to put the pieces of myself and my heart back together somehow. I don’t need or want a man to do that. This is something I must rebuild on my own. I’m scared as hell but all I can do is my best. I think I can live with that. So, I put the heap of scraps that was once The Wedding Dress back into the body bag it came out of, I zip it up and throw it away. At least now there is more room in my closet and when my heart finally heals there will be more room in there too. Isn’t it funny The Wedding Dress brought me happiness on a day when my future was just getting started and now it brings me closure and comfort that futures can be rewritten at any time. The Wedding Dress is gone having served its purpose and so is my now ex-husband having never served his.
