The Bride

The room falls silent in anticipation. I don’t know what to expect. I’ve been told to prepare myself by someone who didn’t like me years ago. The double doors to the room open and she makes her entrance. Her hair is curled at the front, her wedding dress gently brushes the floor as she is wheeled in. Everyone cheers – after some prompting. It’s beautiful and happy and heartbreaking. She adjusts her oxygen tube as she looks around the room. 

There are tears and smiles. She locks eyes with me and grabs my arm. I’m surprised how strong her grip is.

“You’re one of the ones I chose,” she says.

It’s weeks before I figure out what she means, and I’m still not sure. I go to hug her, only to be told no, get her chair up the stairs. We lift her up the three stairs, they turn her chair around.

“You’re breaking my ankle,” she says to her new husband, a hint of anger in her voice. He told me that he had tried to cancel tonight, only to be told ‘no fucking way’. She stands, takes his arm and walks down the makeshift aisle. Projected on the back wall is a video from their wedding day. It was only a few weeks ago but the difference is striking. 

“Our moral compasses align,” is the only part of her vows I hear; his vows express the same sentiment moments later.

Her moral compass has steered me more than once, I’ll never forget that. When it comes to this, it’s those moments that stick with you. All those parts of me she nurtured; her unwavering, loyal love even after all these years. She has an uncanny ability to see a person’s soul, whether you want her to or not. She’s filled up so many people with all the good things about themselves; now we are trying to fill her up, give her some joy amongst all the shit. “Big up your bad self,” she used to say.

The newly weds make it to the front of the room. The groom addresses the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says, “unfortunately there is one unwanted guest at this party.”

“Oh, I’ll leave then!” comes a joke from the crowd.

Not now. Don’t try to make it about you, as hard as it is. We all love her, we all want her, and everyone else, to know how much we love her, how much she means to us. It’s not a competition. 

Then she makes her speech. I recognise her voice, but there’s a fragility I don’t remember. 

“I never expected to be here with this big, massive bastard,” she says. Classic. “Now I think he should dance with me.” A cheer goes up from the crowd.

The DJ plays ‘Express Yourself’, it’s a perfect fit for a woman who has been so unashamedly herself and has given so much to so many others. Big up your bad self. The bride and groom dance arm in arm. A woman next to me sobs onto her friend’s shoulder. Someone puts their hand on my back.

Then the scramble to speak to her begins. People are queuing to see her. It feels strange. At most weddings the bride would do the rounds. I’m torn. I half join the line. After some minutes, we are ushered away by some of her self-appointed gatekeepers. They want the best for her but why do they decide who gets to see her and when. I step back, trying to find the balance between what I want and what’s best. I want to hug her; tell her the special place she has in my heart; how much I value all of the things we have experienced together; that I will always love her. 

Everyone knows this is their last chance. The crowd parts again as she is taken away to somewhere quieter. She smiles at me as she goes past.

“I’m coming back for you.”