One Reply to “9.23.2013 Journal Prompt”

  1. We were to be married. He promised. He went down on one knee and did the whole ‘will you marry me’ bit. I thought it was a bit cheesy, but sweet at the same time. And it came right out of the blue. We’d been going out for about six months and we’d talked about moving in together and we’d looked at apartments up on Whitmore Drive. They cost about four hundred a month and that was well within our range. Then, right in the middle of the street, cars sounding their horns and men throwing their shouts hard as fists, until they saw what he was about, and he was kneeling in the road and holding my hand and making his speech. Then the horns of cars were all party-yell and everybody was clapping and cheering and whistling.

    He was in a hurry and I got kinda swept up in it all. Leave it to me, he said, which wasn’t what I expected. My Dad slipped him some money and they shook hands and were all smiles. And invitations went out and the weeks until the wedding were cut to days and I had a dress being altered to fit and it was all fairytale sweep and white, and I’d lost a bit of weight which suited me, and my hair was cut different and the stylist said he’d make me look like a princess on the day.

    We weren’t church people, so he’d got a permit for the ceremony to be conducted at a place on the edge of town. He said it was a surprise and only the driver of the car would know. I’m not sure what I imagined. Maybe a grand old hotel in red sandstone with a polished wood floor and carpets in reds and blues and golds and men stiff in suits showing the guests where to sit. Or a church that wasn’t any more a church and the light falling in coloured shafts to the stone floor and unholy wedding vows to bind us together. Or a space in the middle of a wood where the trees had been cleared and chairs moved in and the sky above us as blue as blue can be and ‘I do’ and ‘he does’.

    We were married in a bar up by Cribbage Park and old men who were locals toasted us with their warm pints and the jukebox was playing old Jim Reeves tunes like ‘I love you because’ and ‘I cant stop loving you’. And afterwards we moved to the bowling hall next door. He’d booked ten lanes for the whole morning and there were sandwiches served on paper plates and chips in paper bowls and as much beer as we could drink, as long as it was Coors.

    My dad wasn’t pleased, not with the money he fronted up for the occasion and this was all he got. And he said in a whisper, except I heard, that my mam would be turning in her grave. And where was the dancing, my dad said. A wedding aint a wedding without dancing, or speeches, or champagne in tall glasses. This wasn’t what he’d expected, not at all; it wasn’t what I’d expected either, not when he was kneeling in the street with a fanfare of car horns and everybody hooting and hollering and me saying yes yes yes. But at least we were married and that bit was official and he signed the book and I signed it too and there were witnesses.

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