This flash actually won a competition on Instagram! It’s a little groundhog day with a dash of sad, so be prepared!
“Do you, Lila, take Graham to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
In the fraction of a second before the priest tells Graham to kiss me, I examine him. I take in his eyes that always reminded me of the ocean. Not the deep blue that everyone thinks of when you say ‘the ocean,’ but instead like the clean blue-green water that laps the coasts of Greece. The color is like sea-glass; pure and glossy.
His eyes are especially glossy right now, in this moment before our first kiss as husband and wife. I let my eyes wander down, taking in his sharp jawline cut from marble and the tiny brown stain on his white handkerchief, which pokes jovially out of his breast pocket. Almost instinctively, my hand comes up to his chest, my fingers slipping around the sage tie, the color that brings out his eye.
Graham leans down and kisses me. Happiness floods me, and this time I try to pull him just a little closer, trying to keep the kiss going for as long as I can. Someone titters in the sanctuary and, as always, Graham gently eases me away, grinning down at me.
We turn, walking down the aisle to cheers. I wonder what our guests see. Do they see my beautiful wedding gown, the perfect shade of ivory that accentuates my curves with lace and pearls? Do they know I cried getting into this dress, thinking that after today I wouldn’t wear it ever again? Do they notice the yellow flowers that are pinned into my hair or notice that those flowers perfectly match the yellow of my shoes? My mother told me no bride wears yellow shoes, but I argues that no one would notice. Maybe they do.
I bet all they see is a happy couple, ready to start their life together.
I must be cursed.
Because I’ve done this wedding a hundred times. I’ve noticed Graham’s sea-glass eyes and the annoying stain on his once spotless handkerchief a hundred times. I’ve gotten dressed in my beautiful wedding dress and listened to my mother tell me that yellow shoes aren’t appropriate a hundred times.
And every time we leave for the reception, the cans tied to the back of Graham’s uncle’s vintage Beauford convertible dancing against the asphalt as we drive, we get in a deadly wreck. When I wake up, i’ts my wedding day once again. I don’t know how to stop reliving this day. I don;t know how to tell Graham to take a different route. The words won’t come out, no matter how hard I try to scream. I can’t change anything about today.
So, I must be cursed; by whom and for what reason i don’t know. I’m cursed to only get a taste of the happiness to come and to watch it die in front of me again and again. I just keep hoping that one of these times, I won’t wake up.