Brainstorming

Ideas - present divorced, reflecting on a past wedding

Characters: Lilian / Dawson

Reason why the marriage didn’t work: different priorities, she wanted a partner, he was too committed to his job.

Reason they’re seeing each other in present: funeral of a mutual friend.

The story:

Dawson had expected to see Lilian, of course. He knew how tight she and Kierra had been, but despite expecting her, he found his breath catching a little bit.

She was wearing the sweater he had bought her two Christmases ago. Was it intentional? She would have expected him to be here, after all. Had she forgotten where the sweater came from, he wondered.

Oh, it’s black. She doesn’t own a lot of black, and this is a funeral.

“Dawson,” Ryan said, interrupting the unhealthy spiral. “Thanks for coming, man.”

Dawson stood up to shake Ryan’s hand. “Of course. I’m so sorry. There just aren’t words for this sort of thing. Kierra was a special person.”

“Thanks,” Ryan replied. He didn’t have the words either. How would he? “I’m sorry to hear about you and Lilian.”

Dawson looked over at Lilian. Despite the somber occasion, she had a smile on her face, no doubt a reaction to a memory shared about Kierra. She stood with her arms linked with her friends, a whistful smile on her face as they shared memories of their friend. Her smile reminded Dawson of the smile she had worn on her face as she walked up the aisle just over a year ago. She had stepped on her father’s foot and was giggling about it. Dawson had sworn he would never forget that smile, and he hadn’t. But the memory was complex now.

“I’m sorry too, honestly” said Dylan in a rare moment of vulnerability. “She just doesn’t get what it’s like to be a lawyer though.” Dawson looked down, embarrassed. Ryan had just lost his partner in a much different, and worse, manner. He was the wrong person to be having this conversation with, especially today. “But that’s a conversation for another day. How are you holding up?”

“It’s rough without her. Honestly, I’m not sure it’s even set in yet.”

Dawson nodded, understandingly as Dylan drifted away to another person dutifully. Dawson wondered if it would be easier to lose someone to an accident than to divorce. He had read somewhere that divorce was actually tougher than death in the sense that it causes a person to question everything that came before.

Dawson’s job had been the source of conflict in their relationship. Lilian had always supported his endeavours though law school, and had been there with him when he was called to the bar, but the hours as a trainee solicitor were long, and Lilian had said that she was tired of feeling like she was single all the time.

I wonder if actually being single is any better, he thought bitterly. She was with friends, but there didn’t appear to be a love interest there. Perhaps a funeral wouldn’t make for a good date though, he really didn’t know what was going on with her.

Dawson glanced down at his watch. He wondered how long he would have to stay to be polite. People were making their way out of the chapel into a hall for refreshments (the “dead spread” Lilian had once called it, conspiratorially, at a funeral they had attended for her mom’s friend).

(To be continued…and yes, I’ll get to the wedding part of the prompt).

“Oh look, the brides going to come out now”

“Yes, I know JUDY”

“Alright, chill BORIS”

“Oh shut up-“

“That’s not the right bride”

“What?”

“That’s not my friend”

“Well sure it is, y-you’re just being delusional”

“Nope. I know that my friend is definitely not a ginger”

“Um. Well…”

“You drove us to the wrong church”

“What church DID you say?”

“Jabrilabong”

“I thought you said Godzillabong”

“You actual dingbat”

The weather wasn’t going to hold. Although I knew this was Texas, and the weather changes every minute. You just have to wait. The days inched closer. The preparation was done. All we had left was the ceremony. The weather needed to hold.

Four days prior to, the forecast was for rain. We’d bought umbrellas just in case. We were to marry outside, but under the cover of an open air chapel. It was nestled on the edge of a shallow, but beautiful valley. The trek was long from the room she got ready in. She’d have to wear sandals until it was time to make her final approach. She put her heels on with 50 yards left. But, what of the weather?

Two days prior called for storms the day before and through the night. The end would come early on the morning of our wedding. From there partial clouds and wind. Lots and lots of wind. I began to calm. For myself, but more for her. Please, Weather. Hold.

As sometimes happens, the storms were not nearly as treacherous as predicted. They went around the long way and were over by midnight. This is Texas, however. Please, hold.

The daylight arrived on St. Patrick’s Day 2023. My new blue suit and I made final preparations after she asked me to leave. I was not to see one bit of her dress until the moment she walked down the aisle. The wind was howling in Chapel Dulcinea. The floral arrangements she had made may not stay up. Glass could shatter. Communion elements could topple onto the ground. Wine could go everywhere.

Rocks are handy sometimes. They can hold things down and keep them from falling. Thankfully, there were plenty. The wind blew, but not enough to keep us from this day. This moment.

She walked down the aisle. She smiled at me and I at her. She’s mine now. I am her’s. Forever. The weather held. We will too.

It was a bad omen. Plain and simple. Everybody knew it. You could hear a bloody pin drop. Everyone there could feel the pain. I’ve only seen my dad. Cry Three times in my life. This was one But misinterpreted As I was a wife. I thought he was happy for me Had not yet learned the strife. The pain and devastation That would soon become my life The picture was beautiful Caught Mid French kiss Love in our eyes We had it framed Handwritten vows on the back Anyone who saw it Saw two souls entwined But shortly after hanging A crack Loud and powerful as lightning Straight between us Dividing our kiss Untangling our love Our souls cut off Alone A portent of the future How could I have been so blind Hope I suppose Thank god I survived There is almost nothing crueler Than hope with no answer Solutions only silence Yet unable to break The fierce determination That someday someway somehow Things will finally change

I sank down on the most gaudy chair I had ever seen. One that was covered in pale pink fabric with the largest bow I had ever seen hanging off the back. Had I selected this color? This fabric? I could no longer remember.

I was dressed in the most expensive dress I’d ever owned. One for which I paid an obscene amount of money. I mean like obscene, obscene. Small countries could afford universal health care on what I paid for this dress. My hair was pinned up in such an intricate style that there was no way I could replicate it on my own. There were probably a million pins holding it together and it had taken hours of my life to put in place. Not to mention the shoes, the jewelry, and well, everything. I’ve been pinched and poked for the last time. All of which was to be able to say my vows and pledge eternal love to the love of my life in a way that everyone would look at and oooh and ahhh for years. But, looking back, I have no idea what I was thinking. I’m completely exhausted just thinking about all the time and money I (well, we) sunk into the wedding industrial complex. None of it was my choice. All of it was for the sake of saying that we did it and making others happy.

The only thing I was looking forward to was dessert. It was the only thing I had insisted on - all the sweets I could eat. Cake, pie, cookies, the works. After eight months of denying myself those sweet treats that haunted my dreams nightly, for the sake of fitting into that obscenely expensive dress that had to be ordered and altered, I couldn’t so much as touch any of those delicacies. This could have been the greatest hardship of my young life because my sweet tooth is legendary. OK, maybe not my greatest hardship, but this is what weddings can do to a person. Make your thoughts and dreams become so twisted that the lack of a daily sugar fix becomes the center of your world. It’s the only thing you can focus on without going insane. Without breaking down at every moment because who cares about a color scheme, or a seating chart. Who cares if old Uncle Morris and young Uncle Steve can’t sit next to each other. You will have those desserts. I needed those desserts. I wanted those desserts, I deserved those desserts. Forget dinner, the only thing that could satisfy me was the largest, most elaborate dessert buffet that you ever did see. I could not wait.

Except weddings are all about the waiting. There’s so much waiting. Waiting for the hair to be done. Waiting for the dress to be zipped. Waiting for the photographer to place me just right alongside a loved one, an old friend or an old roommate, or heaven forbid a sibling just so, so that the photo can be timeless. And that's before the ceremony. Then there’s the grand entrance where I can see everyone’s impatience at having to wait, as though I'm not the most impatient of them all, to get to the food. The fact that they’ve been able to eat the appetizers I was instructed to serve or sip the drinks that I would kill to get my hands on, while I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting just the right angle makes me all the more irritable. Finally, when I think I’ve finally reached my limit, I have to dance the first dance and air kiss all the relatives that I barely know that had to be invited to my special day. By this point, I can practically hear the sweets calling my name in the soft seductive voice of a lover, the voice of the partner to whom I’ve just committed your life.

Those final steps are the worst. The heels are hurting, my stomach’s growling and I can’t hold out any longer. Only to see that there are no desserts left. I’ve been distracted and delayed for too long.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to run over to the nearest table and perform my best impersonation of a raging demon. How dare they eat my cake, my pie, my cookies. I wanted to howl at the moon. I wanted to tear my hair in mourning. But no, the bride can hardly be that undignified. So, I sulked. Internally of course. And I made plans to stop by the cupcake ATM on our way to our honeymoon. Cupcakes for two. Ah, sweet victory.

“Have you heard about what happened to Vi?” Ilse’s said in a stage whisper that carried over the chatter of china and din of the usual afternoon crowd at the Inn at Blue Rock. Renate stiffened. She had her back to Ilse’s table. Without turning Renate could picture Ilse’s table precisely. Snowy cap of sleek hair and a face like a wizened hawk, Ilse’s was at the head of the table regardless of its shape. On the right hand of Ilse, like the good sheep that she was sat the ever patient Dorothea who Renata was sure was worrying her napkins and looking about anxiously. To Ilse’s left, Margit and Harmke, who Renate always called the Mayhem sisters. A crackle lit up Renate’s spine. That could only be Hildegard, Ilse’s oldest friend slash rival, sitting directly across from Ilse. It was the monthly meeting of the George Gardens committee. Renate leaned back to capture every word. “Don’t tell me she’s married that child! Vi is old enough to be his grandmother,” Harmke said joining in Hildegard’s laughter. “My girl heard it from Viola’s housekeeper. You stole my dirt, you bitch,” Hildegard said with another head shattering laugh. “I was there, Hildy meine liebste. The little jump up had arranged the whole thing after one of their dreadful salons. Albrecht made the announcement. They had the license and Pinky performed the ceremony. Good thing I had a tray of Manhattans to brace me or I would have fainted onto the Steinway,” Ilse said with a mouthful of something. “Well pardon my French but that boy is a light in the loafers,” Margit said. “He makes a lovely soufflé but honestly if you ask me that’s a step too far for crème patisserie.” “Light, he’s helium,” Hildegard said drily and downed a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Ilse added, “Well there is no fool like an old fool. When it goes badly—and it will go badly—it will just be what she deserves.” There was knowing laughter and agreeing sounds. Quietly Dorothea mumbled into her salad something about Vi being so lonely after Frank and the high price of feeling wanted but no one paid attention. Renate leaned forward. She thought of Vi, so brilliant, creative, and strong, a formidable academic and hostess. Viola was a proud woman. Then she pictured Albrecht, the handsome, young intern. At the Junior League Gala, Renate had run across him. Witty and erudite, the bow tied young man sparkled under the crystal chandeliers. Albrecht was dazzling her with his tales of his war stories in Iraqi and his knowledge of Persian history. Renate carelessly has corrected his confusion on the Parthian and Sassanid dynasties. His pretty face cracked into rage. Renate remembered backing away in fear. Renate could see through the lies of his facade. She could taste his danger. Renate remembered how the pleasant face shuttered down and Albrecht walked away from her hitting her shoulder hard as he passed. “Earth to Gran, earth to Gran, come in Grandmother.” Steffi’s lovely face smiled up at her. “You were a million miles away.” “Sorry, I was thinking of an old friend.” Renate hugged herself. Laughter clanged around her shoulders as she watched her granddaughter eat lunch.

If only I’d said no When the priest asked. If only I hadn’t lied my life away in chains of my own making. If only.

Instead I painted my best smile, Letting that word fall from my lips followed by his own. As we kissed I felt the shackles lock in place, Cold dread creeping in my bones.

But I didn’t let it shake me, Convinced my price would save my family. Money they truly needed, Even if it came out of pockets such as his. ‘They need the money’ I told myself. My happiness was secondary but oh how I wish I’d said no.

For the tragedy he brought was worse than working five jobs to get us by. The chaos he ensued was not worth it’s price. And by the end there was nothing that hadn’t been touched by the plague of him. Nothing that couldn’t be considered a part of the wreck.

If only I’d said no, I’d still have a family left to protect.

“Well, what would have done differently if you could go back to that moment knowing what you know now?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared out the window of my therapist’s office. It was a fair question, but I did not have a fair answer. I had begun to come to this office eight months before to work on challenges in our marriage, the thought always being that this was simply a rough patch and after putting in the work, we could come out on the other side stronger than ever. And yet, here I found myself in the same chair planning emotional steps to survive my divorce. How did we get here? And, as Dr. Collin’s question begged, what coulda, woulda, shoulda we done differently?

I closed my eyes, trying to go back to the beginning. The start of this fairy tale turned tragedy, the happily ever after - the wedding day. The plans leading up to it had taken a year and a half and a small fortune. It had seemed like a dream come true, but should she have known how it would end even then?

We had spent the night before the wedding apart, even though we lived together. We wanted it to be special, traditional, all of those butterfly feelings. I wanted to wake up feeling excited, blasting music and dancing to “Going to the Chapel”.

Instead, I woke up feeling alone. That wasn’t Mark’s fault, but I woke up feeling resentful of him all the same. In the moment, though, looking around the empty hotel room I felt abandoned and empty. My sister and the bridal party arrived soon after, champagne started flowing, hearing flying and feelings were smushed down. It would be good practice for the next eight years.

The distractions had worked though. I smiled and laughed, and the photos from before the ceremony exuded joy and happiness. Soon we found ourselves in the room to the side of the chapel, and one by one each of my closest friends exited to make their way down the aisle. My sister was the last to leave, squeezing my hand as she left. Alone in the room, my stomach filled with what I recognize now as dread, but told myself in the moment was excitement and nerves, emotion over my father not being there to walk me down the aisle.

If Dad had still been alive, would this have turned out differently? Would he have helped me to walk away sooner? Would I never have been so broken in the first place that my marriage crumbled around me? Maybe I would have known how to be happy. We will never know.

The doors opened, I saw Mark at the end of the aisle and my stomach sunk. For years, I would tell this story and say it leapt. The things we come up with the truth is too terrifying. Mark held my gaze, wiped away a tear. He said it was a tear of joy, but had he been lying to himself too?

In the years to come, the wedding would be talked about as a beautiful event, words like stunning and flawless used, women planning events asking me for recommendations. Mark and I had our challenges the moment we got home from the honeymoon, but what was one to expect coming down from such an occasion. Try as we might, we never lived up to the fairy tale ending.

I had never told anyone, not even Dr. Collins. The day Mark moved out, I found myself in the attic, in front of the trunk with our wedding mementos. My preserved dress was on the very top, and without thinking I stepped into it. It would no longer zip up all the way in the back, but the cap sleeves held it up all the same. I walked around the half empty house. I expected to feel empty and alone, the hollowness that had rung through the empty hotel room on that morning 8 years ago.

Dr. Collins repeated her question. A tear ran down my cheek, and I knew she was likely thinking that as I stared out the window, I was thinking back on all the regrets of my marriage, feeling broken and alone. But out the window, I could see the horizon. The sky stretching on seemingly forever. And knew that now, finally so did my future.

You love me, don’t you? I question if you really do I revealed my heart to you But you bruised it, now it’s black and blue

You love me, don’t you? But I know our love is true When you take my hand and lead me through A starry night, the sky dark blue

You love me, don’t you? If you did our wedding wouldn’t be screwed I guess we were fire when we were new And now I’m just back to being blue

Flash had failed, and now Dale was married to Ming the Merciless.

As her hair was styled by the court beautician, she had to admit, things weren’t so terrible as she expected.

Ming called himself merciless, but only because he’d been treated so badly. He really just wanted to conquer the galaxy so he’d be left alone to work on his painting.

The wedding went well, she reflected. Ming was quite nice about it all. The only interruption was Flash, once again trying to fix everything himself. But as he raced up the aisle through the bridesmaids, arms out to rescue me, something clicked.

He stopped in front of me. Looked at me, arms outstretched. He probably couldn’t see me through my glittering veil, so I shook my head and took Ming’s hand. “Let it go, Flash.”

He just kind of stepped back, stunned.

Frankly I was tired. Tired of tagging along like a good girl and always getting captured and having to be rescued but never a choice for myself. I never got to make plans.

And the night before, Ming came to talk. He was really sweet about it. He opened his evil dark heart to me, and promised me adventures and power and more than Flash could ever give.

I decided he was the one.

I still remember Flash’s eyes, hurt and betrayed, as Ming’s guards took him away. He was told to leave and not come back.

Dr. Zarkov understood, I think. He gave me a sad smile as he too was taken by the guards.

I gave Ming my hand that night, and I’ll never look back.