A Wedding

This is strory is slight over 900 words and is an attempt o examine attitudes towards same sex mariages.

 

Well, you could’ve knocked me down with a feather when the invitation arrived in the post, cream-coloured velum, guilt edged, with matching bells in one corner. The church was local, the reception venue the golf club who had refused my Henry membership. ‘You won’t catch me farting about with that toffee-nosed lot,’ he said when I handed the card to him. ‘And you’ll stay well away - if you don’t want to make a damned fool of yourself.’

            My glance at the party wall was surreptitious, as though our neighbours might hear him. Although he was a solicitor, next door’s husband was not above using his fists to settle a neighbour dispute. The boy was more like his mother, gentle, caring. I remembered saying to our youngest, Ellie, what a nice husband the boy would make some day. She roared with laughter at that.

            My two had grown up with the children next door, played with them, done homework together. It must have been that university he’d gone to, at the other end of the country and filled with deviants. Whatever it was, he’s come back with another young man and declared himself to be in love. It didn’t seem to bother his parents. I didn’t understand that. My Henry would have thrashed our Darren stupid if he done the same.

            I only go to church for the harvest festival, midnight mass at Christmas, and Easter Sunday. My Henry never comes with me. ‘It’s all wrong,’ he said, ‘using the church like that - can’t understand why they allow it.’ I wondered if they would decorate the church with flowers for the wedding. We’d done that for our Ellie.

            The boy lived in London, worked as a trainee barrister there. ‘If he has to marry, which is an abomination in itself, why can’t he do it at a registry office in London among all the other poofs?’ I couldn’t understand why my Henry was so angry. I still liked the boy. Why wouldn’t I?

            A new outfit for the wedding was out of the question, my Henry would have done his nut at that, but I had the ensemble I’d worn for Ellie’s wedding. She had said its aqua marine complimented my green eyes. I wondered what the boy’s mother would wear. Even more, I wondered what the boy would wear. What was the male equivalent of a wedding gown?

            On the day, activity next door began early. I couldn’t hear any weeping. Ellie had wept buckets on her wedding morning, so much so that I thought we might have to call off the whole thing. The van from the local florist’s shop arrived but I couldn’t see what they delivered because I didn’t want to lean out of the window too far and appear nosy. Cars came and went and the morning crept on. The relief I felt when my Henry decided to go the pub was unusual. Normally, I hated to think about him coming back to shout at me because I didn’t have food on the table for him. I changed into the turquoise suit, donned the matching hat, and set off for the church.

            The usher at the church door was a young lady dressed in a man’s morning suit that fitted her like a glove. ‘Which family are you with?’ she asked. Yellow roses and white gypsophila decorated the pews. At the altar, a large vase held a display of white arum lilies. I only knew the names of the flowers because I’d had to choose some for Ellie’s wedding. The arum lilies had been very expensive, and roses were not yet in season. Whoever played the organ was talented. It didn’t normally sound that good. I couldn’t see if it was a man or woman but what they were wearing was white. You should never wear white to a wedding. That’s for the bride.

The organ playing stopped for a moment then struck up a march I’d never heard before. Heads turned, mine included, to see two young men in beautiful morning dress, each with a yellow rose buttonhole, entering the church. Behind them I could glimpse the boy’s family, the ladies of it all carrying bouquets of gypsophila. As they drew nearer I saw the expressions on the faces of the two young men. If ever a church wedding had joined two people in matrimony who were more in love, I would have been surprised.

            I had thought I might not go to the reception but in the end I did. To hell with Henry’s meal, if he was hungry, the pub sold lunches. The boy’s family had placed me with his partner’s family for the meal which made me feel quite important. ‘They’re very much in love,’ I said to the person sitting next to me.

            ‘It’s hard to believe that only fifty years ago police could have, would have, arrested them for declaring so,’ was the reply. The toast to the couple was long life and continued joy in each other. I raised my glass with that hope ringing in my ears.

 I thought about Henry and me. We didn’t share the same views on much. We often didn’t even share the same bed. Was I still in love with him? Had I ever been in love with him as much as these two were? I came away with a lot to think about. Maybe it doesn’t really matter who you love and marry or where so long as that love is strong enough to last.

Author's Note

I would welcome comments on the validity or otherwise of the protagonist's voice in this piece. Also I have intentially implied some atitudes rather than stated them. It would be helpful to know if readers feel this works.

Reviews

[Claire Twinn]

This definitely paints a lovely picture and examines attitudes and prejudices effectively. The only thing that to me doesn't quite fit is that protagonist appears to be much more open minded than her husband, yet still talks at the beginning of the university being 'full of deviants'. If going to the wedding has made her less prejudiced it would be good perhaps to make this clearer.

[pasch]

Thank you for such a pertinent review. I agree with what you say about the progression of her thoughts so I will look at a way of making that clearer.

[Marie]

Everything works in this story. It's a thought-provoking piece. The wedding sounds beautiful.

[pasch]

I do like a nice wedding and why should us straights have all the fun?

[Samuel Dickens]

I think this is an excellent piece, very well-written. The narrator's voice is clear, honest, and allows the reader a clear window through which to view this delicate subject. I wouldn't change a thing.

[pasch]

Thank you so much, Sam. It's the very fact that this is such a sensitive subject that encopuraged me to incorporate it in a story. I've neve been one to avoid difficult subject matter.

[Samuel Dickens]

Social change comes slowly, and I commend you for shedding light on the subject. I've been friends with several gay people and have a neice who's gay.