The room is dim, lit only with candle-chandeliers that hang mid-way. The walls are beige but give more of an orange tint in the candlelight. The room is open, not in the context that doors are open, but there is free space, with only five girls and counters placed in the room, nothing else. All the girls, who are bridesmaids, are dressed up in Victorian-styled dresses, all in different colors, which is quite strange for a traditional wedding, because as most of us know, bridesmaids typically have the same dress to look uniform. But, in this case, you will see how this is not a typical wedding.
As we go across the room we first find one girl in a pale yellow dress. It is tailored to her slender body and is exquisite in a classy fashion. Moving up to her face, we see a soft expression. She’s the kind of girl who lends herself as everyone’s best friend, and always has the right words to say. In this situation, where everyone is busy, preparing themselves for the wedding, she is calm. And it’s not just in her appearance that she is calm, but she truly is, like she’s partaken in ritualistic activities similar to this many times before and has accepted everything that comes with it; the good and the bad. It doesn’t matter how many negatives there are, just as long as the situation is socially accepted as a norm. Her hands hold a bouquet of flowers; the types of flowers don’t matter. They don’t symbolize anything, nor were they picked out for any kind of special meaning or preference; they are generic, fitting the socially accepted norm, which is what she, and most of everyone else, loves.
We come across another girl in a hot pink dress, which has a very fitted corset to show off the sinuous curves of her body.The girl has luscious chocolate brown hair, placed in a curly up-do. It’s up so there is no type of distraction from her face which is definitely beautiful, with almond shaped eyes and full pouty lips, all placed over a smooth, milky canvas. That canvas presents a bit of that snob-appeal, as anyone could see she thinks she is a Goddess. But with all that confidence presented, we can see she is a little nervous, as she fiddles with the leash she is holding to a little Chihuahua. Her only desire, her only goal in life is to simply seem as if she is successful and happy, even if she truly is not pleased with herself. So, in any situation she must be the epitome of perfection and outdo everyone, and in this case, she will have to at least out-do the rest of the bridesmaids and guests, which isn’t much of a challenge. What does pose as a challenge for her is somehow out-doing the bride, which is her primary intention today. This is because she can never have the spotlight taken away from her, and she’s willing to do all she has to do to be on top.
We can skip the girls three and four because there is nothing that makes them stand out. They are lovely, yes, but again, just more typical characters you’d find in life. There’s always people in life to fill in roles, just like in fairy tales and books you’d read when you were young. The genuinely sweet girl that nobody can ever hate, the gorgeous girl who presents herself with confidence, yet is insecure inside. The free-spirit rebellious girl, who is different from the rest, by doing the exact opposite of what society wants, but only ends up conforming, as almost every outcast does that and places themselves into another clique that eventually qualifies as a part of the norm in the end.
You get the gist. There always needs to be people to fill in the roles intended for us by the one leader who sets them out. That is why we skip girls three and four, because they are only fillers, just as one and two were, and I’m simply tired of describing the modern clichés right about now.
So, we’ll move onto girl five, in the blue dress, the most demure dress. Why her? She is the most interesting as she is the only girl that isn’t holding anything. She is missing what all the girls require, which is something to walk down the aisle with. They all need some kind of offering to this tradition.
Anyway, this girl’s face which typically shows innocence now shows sheer panic. She looks around the room, and sees that all the girls are holding something. In her mind, Why don’t I have anything? Is there nothing I can offer to this ceremony, to this tradition, this stupid tradition?
She begins to pace her area of about 20 square feet, unsure of whom to ask what to do. All the other girls have something of their own and are too preoccupied to help. Even the girl in the yellow dress seems unapproachable in this young girl’s eyes. Her feeling of panic, which was only in her mind until now begins to swell, and travels throughout her body. It’s reaching her chest and as her heart races, there is a train moving right over her heart, crushing everything and she gasps gasps gasps. It’s too overwhelming. Why do I have nothing to offer? What is the point if I have nothing of my own? Nothing to add to this ceremony. Should I even continue this tradition, this stupid tradition?
She is in sheer panic, and falling, falling. She holds her body tight as all her true thought and desire are pushing through her flesh, trying to make it through her pores and be released. They only want to be heard.
The moment right before she goes into a total breakdown, she attempts to calm herself by shutting her eyes and breathing long deep breathes. She tells herself, Ha. You’re being melodramatic ____. I, ____, will have something to offer. It will be brilliant. I don’t need this useless emotion, as the leaders have told me countless times before; I will not fall to the depths of insanity. At least not for nothing important. And clearly my thoughts are not important, because if they were, they wouldn’t be causing me such havoc and pain, like the leaders have said.
The girl is reassured for now and walks calmly to her place, asking out loud, not directed to anyone in particular, “What am I to have?”
None of the girls care to turn. A few seconds pass, but the girl does not feel a few seconds. Her ears and eyes are failing her; all of her senses are not matching up with reality as she has a different, slowed down perception of reality, of everything fading away.
In those few second, the girl did not see, but a middle-aged woman with pale skin and jet-black hair emerges from a dark area of the room. Did she enter through a door? Has she been hiding from the world? Has the world been hiding her? We are unsure. You can interpret that how however you wish, I suppose.
Anyway, she walks to the girl, seemingly out of nowhere in the young girl’s eyes, and hands her a baby. The baby is tiny, fragile and pale. He has bloodshot eyes. He is weak. Why would this woman hand over a child, a child in desperate need of nurturing? She has no way of knowing that this girl will take care of the baby and give the baby love, an essential emotion for man. For all this woman knows, the girl can abandon this baby, torture him, whatever she pleases. This woman has no idea what the personality or mindset of this young girl is, except for the little episode she has just observed; a girl on the brink of insanity. A girl about to give up.
The girl surprisingly has no reaction to the offering. It’s just as if this were normal exchange; like if she were handed a cup of water. In fact, it may even appear that the girl was bored with this offering and would prefer something else given to her, like a glass of water. It’s more practical, more common, more accepted, isn’t it?
The woman then gives her a stroller and blanket and says to the girl, “Push the baby down the aisle. And cover him with this blanket as he is too sensitive for the sun.” The woman leaves, going back into the darkness before the girl even accepts the woman’s wishes.
The girl settles the baby into the stroller and covers him with the blanket, doing so almost reluctantly. In her mind, I really wish I could have something better to offer.
But, she is not quite that emotionally dethatched to disregard another living human, so she ties each corner of the stroller carefully with the blanket, giving a comfortable amount of space for the baby to breathe in.
Right after that, a stream of light opens up in the room and the girl notices the other girls walking out. She places her hands on the stroller and scurries over to the door, a little uncomfortable in the tall high heels she was given. When she steps out of the room she has been confined in for a few hours, which felt like an eternity, she is taken aback by how glorious the view is. She is stepping out into a boundless green field, where the air is fresh and still, where the sky blanketing the field is so blue it hurts the eyes when you look for too long. She then begins to walk, pushing the stroller, still gazing around the field. She approaches a long, straight line. It’s pavement for her to walk on; it’s strange, and again, not typical. It’s not concrete, or brick, which would expected on an exterior setting like this. Instead, the walkway is soft. But it is not carpet. It is an indefinable material, and although she has no idea what the effects could be of taking steps on this path, she does so anyway, because that’s part of the tradition. She begins to walk down the aisle that goes in a long, straight line, about 75 feet, leading up to three green square platforms, the middle being the biggest and tallest, the other two are smaller and beside it.
The girl pushes the baby down the aisle but she sees no guests around her watching the wedding. She doesn’t even see the groom, priest or bridesmaids in front of her. And it’s strange because she feels so self-conscious, like people are watching her even though there is no one around in her eyes. She battles her desire to hunch over, and tries to stand tall, and move gracefully, although it wouldn’t matter, because in her mind there is no one there, no one watching. This walk, only 75 feet is much longer to her in her mind and goes on for miles. What is really only a fraction of her day felt like it deserved a bigger comparison, more like a fraction of her entire life. But that is common, as many people give up at 16, 22, 25 years of their life, because they have been through “so much” suffering. Although it’s only a tiny fraction of their lives, it’s perceived as so much longer in the mind, much like how the girl perceives this journey right now.
After a while it becomes natural for her to stand tall and walk strongly, because she is walking with a purpose. She is focusing solely on making her way through with the baby, and doing so safely.
In her mind she ponders, How strange. I thought this only happened in fairy tales. I thought it would never happen, in these 19 years of my life. In these 19 years I’ve felt that leaving would be the best option. That would have been easier…
Or I would think I’d have been handed something simpler. Something more common and socially accepted. Something the leaders would approve of. I would have glided by, and never worked as hard as I am now. This, I’m working so hard for and …although it’s strenuous, it’s… magnificent. I just may have something to offer…something that wasn’t just handed to me. Not a bouquet of flowers, or a dog, or a purse. I have something that-
Her thought process is interrupted once she reaches the platform, because all the people suddenly appear around her as she snaps back into reality. The guests are all watching her, and she can’t tell if it’s because she has done good or bad. But there is no time to figure this out. She realizes now that she has so much more time after this moment, and after this tradition to figure it out. She has all the time on the world. So she looks down at the stroller to figure out how she’ll lift it over the platform but the stroller is empty and folded.
Normally, in the past, she would have had no real reaction. She would only give what was expected of her, so she could be socially accepted. It’s what everyone does. But she is feeling a tinge of worry deep inside, and the instant she identifies that emotion it steadily grows. But there is no time to analyze. She can’t just stop midway because of this. She must continue, rather than give up. She lifts the stroller over the platform, and for some reason it is heavy, heavier than without the baby, and she struggles getting it over the platform, even though it is empty, folded, and seemingly light.
Once she gets it over she gets in line with the other bridesmaids. Then she looks down again and sees that the baby is in the stroller again, but without the blanket. At the same time the bride emerges and the girl’s eyes should be on the bride, and she should be smiling; it’s what’s expected. If she didn’t do what was expected, she would disproving the tradition that society has created, and be a failure in everyone’s eyes. But, the platform is dusty and immediately she worries for the baby. She bends over to care for the baby, making sure the dust won’t go into his eyes. With this she misses the whole ceremony, but she does not care. She does not care for what people have expected her to do. It does not matter if they all think she is selfish, selfish for not giving the bride the most perfect day of her life. If she is indeed, selfish, then she welcomes that title with wide arms, because what’s more important is the baby, the baby who has taken her down the aisle, the path, the passage, the journey. The whole time she was not carrying the baby; the baby was carrying her.
When the ceremony is over she walks over to silver bleachers behind the platforms with the baby in her arms, out of the confinement of the stroller where he was previously hidden from the world.
She thinks, Why hide him? He is not too delicate, unless you make for him to be. He is not unwanted, unless you make for him to be. He is beautiful, and that’s what I make him to be.
People are walking everywhere, and the once tranquil field that gave everyone ground is disrupted. Disrupted and corrupted by being crowded, loud. Congratulations are openly given, complaints are whispered, and some just try to escape, escape this “stupid’ tradition.
The girl remains on the bleachers, observing everyone’s actions.
This used to be a stupid tradition. Stupid because it’s painful, difficult, confusing. It requires so much work, so much suffering. But it isn’t stupid. Not unless you make it to be.
Around the girl are some other people, only about ten at the most, who are talking and who probably didn’t care much for the ceremony either; they had much bigger things on their minds, ideas that society did not expect from ones who looked so ordinary, and who weren’t as stunning as the girls in the yellow or hot pink dress.
We look back to the girl and a small three-year old boy, not a fragile, unwanted baby is in her arms and she is holding on to him tenderly. The woman who gave the baby to the girl then emerges from the crowd and walks up to where the girl is. She asks the child with a smile, “Do you wanna go back with your Mommy?”
The boy shakes his head and says, “No, I want to stay with her.”, pointing to the girl. The woman shrugs and walks away, and the girl holds onto the boy, making sure he is safe, not caring if she is selfish, selfish for keeping the boy. The boy who is different, the boy who was unwanted because of that difference.
The girl continues her thought from when she was walking the aisle: Yes, I just may have something special to offer. Something that truly does come from…
Not from society, not from what is expected. Something from me.
And it will continue, from me. I will give everything I can to humanity, as long as I can gratify myself first. It’s the only way to live, truly live.
And what I give will be beautiful.
The girl looks down at the little boy, and for the first time in her life, she smiles. Really smiles.
