By Ignatius F. Makarevich
The church interior is awash in a warm, radiantly glowing light that sets a fine tone for the festivities. The air is filled with the rustlings of clothing, the clunk of hymn books being placed in their holders, and a low murmur of quiet talk. Charlie, the groom, is resplendent and proud, a massive chunk of a man standing tall and beaming waves of happiness to all who catch his gaze. His white tuxedo is impeccable and form-fitting, blending almost seamlessly with his frilly white shirt, tie, trousers and shoes. A red silk cummerbund makes a dashing statement regarding the powerful emotions roiling in his thoughts.
The organist begins, playing the theme song of the splendid moment, and all eyes turn to the rear. The enormous doors open to a burst of light as Charlie’s bride starts the trek up the aisle. Our eyes meet … Louie, a somewhat portly man of modest stature, his clean-shaven round face glowing as Charlie’s is, eyes misty with weepy happiness. All eyes are riveted on Louie, because instead of a tuxedo, he is wearing a gown. Louie’s gown is stunningly outrageous in its layered complexity, as if it had been made for royalty. The yards of white silk cast reflections and rustlings as its depth collides with the mechanics of walking, shimmering like the surface of a lake. Louie is decidedly happy today.
Gliding surprisingly smoothly up the steps of the altar, Louie, in his finest hour, takes his place beside Charlie to a brief effluence of applause. Proceeding with the precision of a daytime-TV show, the spectacle before us continues apace. Together they stand like pillars as the bemused priest delivers his lines. Charlie and Louie trade glances and hold hands as the preacher speaks. At last the cry comes, “I now pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride.”
As the triumphant couple take to their kiss, a strange soup of gasps, sighs, and rustling as some avert their eyes briefly washes over the assembled.
With the kiss in full lock, the audience detonates in a torrent of applause as the proceedings move boisterously outside. As if by wizardry, the scene transforms into a brightly lit scene from the nightly news, as dozens of scuttling TV camera crews jockey for position to greet the deliriously happy couple now descending the front steps with thrusting microphones and barking voices. Blocking even the path to the gleaming white vintage Rolls-Royce limousine, they crowd in front of everyone, vultures clamoring for tonight’s film at eleven. Disconnection starts to intrude as we are ungraciously pushed aside in favor of society’s need to know. The crowd seems to take this behavior in stride, as if they expected it, moving back under the news gauntlet.
Falling farther and farther away from the stars of our show, the scene takes on a rather distant quality, as if somehow we are suddenly watching a broadcast on a small, bleak television screen. The volume of the sounds of chaos diminishes as we turn and walk to the car, allowing us a moment to begin to come to grips with the episode of high strangeness that we bore witness to.
The conversation in the car turns quietly to how much our society has changed since our youth to allow the propagation of a set of occurrences such as this, and how much like an ill-conceived television show we have become. Odd, we think, very odd indeed. We wonder what awaits us at the reception.
*** Note: This piece was written as an assignment back in school, and does not reflect the opinions of the author in any way.