All the guests were busy looking up at the fireworks. There were “oohs” and “aahs” and guesstimates about how much this spectacle cost. While everyone else was doing that, I was looking at her. The bride.
When I found out that the wedding was on the Fourth of July, I should’ve made up some excuse not to come. Part of me thought it would be better that way. So, when I didn’t get out of going, I thought that maybe being there would give me closure.
It’s not every wedding that the best man is hopelessly in love with the bride.
Watching her bind her life to his was excruciating. You know that part where the minister asks if anyone has any objections? I wanted to scream and take her by the hand and run, but I couldn’t, and having to stand there with a smile on my face made me want to vomit. But what other choice did I have?
If I’d said anything, either before the wedding or during, my life would’ve gone up in flames, much like the fireworks. And not just mine, but two other lives as well.
I came to the wedding, shook hands, held the ring, posed for photos. The whole thing. But I don’t feel like I got any closure. I will forever curse my rotten luck that my brother met her first.
This is the story for July, and of course, its Fourth of July themed. I meant to post it on the actual 4th, but you know, life happened.
Photo by Shireah Ragnar on Unsplash