A church, somewhere:
I sat at the back pews, watching the people at the church altar. I look and wonder at the looks on everyone’s faces as they watch the happy bride and groom. The old priest, his face lined with the years gone by, intones in his sonorous voice: “You may kiss the bride.” I turn my back and walk out of the church. I look at the sky, slowly darkening with rain clouds, and I whisper, to myself, “I hate weddings.”
Walking across the parking lot, I search my coat pockets and find what I was looking for: cigarettes. I pull one out of my pack and get my lighter out and light the bastard. The acrid smoke fills my nostrils as I inhale the cancerous toxins. So yeah, doctors say it’s not good for you, bit you sometimes need a way to release the stress, am I right?
I exhale and turn around to see the happy couple exit the church. I school my mug into a neutral expression as the last formalities of the wedding take place. The bride sees me from across the lot and waves her usual exuberant wave and smiles….. I smile back and turn around as tears flood my eyes….
I hate weddings….. But I loved her.
