WA#5: Final Draft

Part One

Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.

The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight nurtured and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner. She rewards my remarkable patience with undying protection.

Exhilaration mounts in me as I see the reception ending. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! My guard doesn’t turn her shoulder, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. It is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what’s next. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.

We climb the stage and the ladies obligingly congregate below. The dying energy in the room now feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert shows signs of life as he snorts and a long dribble of drool escapes his mouth. The ladies draw into a tighter pack, shoving for the most central spot. All eyes are on me. What a chick magnet I am!

The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). I’m soon tumbling through air approaching the mob. What a sight. Their greedy faces make me feel like a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched, unthinkable joy mounts in me. I’ve never felt so wanted.

I feel a hand close firmly around my stems. My winner is rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. She prances around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. The surrounding mob of ladies is now horrified; I am no longer that stack of a billion dollars.


Part Two

I sense the guests becoming impatient. Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, and many guests are drunk. Even Grandma Bernice is looping around. John, my husband, slows his steps as we dance: he too senses it is time to wrap up. Catching me eyes, he nods towards Lilly, my wonderful wedding planner.

Hoping to let Lilly enjoy herself during the reception, I gave her the small task of simply keep the bouquet in sight so as not to lose it. However, it is her nature to exceed expectations, so she is gripping the bouquet firmly, hiding, rejecting any company. She is guarding that bouquet with her life.

She looks slightly relieved to see me coming over, and I could have sworn the bouquet seemed to straighten up a bit too. I smile and thank Lilly, and she gratefully, yet still a bit apprehensively, hands over the bouquet.

I navigate through the congregation; the ladies excitedly follow me and group around the stage. On stage, I search for Bella, my niece, who I promised would be a lucky girl tonight, and there’s no satisfaction like that of seeing a naïve 7 year old triumph over desperate 40 year olds. I spot Bella, wink at her, and then turn around.

Holding the bouquet close to my chest, I peer down and consider its significance. It’s my right of passage, signifying me from the women standing below. I take in the moment, steal one last glance at the bouquet, and toss it. I spin around in time to see it land in the hands of… Cousin Maggie!

What a pig! She ruined the night of a precious 7 year old! The bouquet gleams in the reflection of Bella’s watering eyes. I can’t bear the sight. I jump off stage into John’s arms and escape the scene before it mounts to chaos. Just as we turn out the door, I catch one last fleeting glance of Grandpa Albert stirring in the corner. What commotion a single bouquet can cause!