PPC at Your Service Alyse Morell Walking up the church steps, I can hear the groom reading his vows through
the glass foyer doors. Like a tornado in Kansas, I burst through. Hope this crowd is prepared for a show. “I objeeeeeeeect!” Gasps and stares turn towards me. The groom looks befuddled, the bride in shock. Only the pastor seems to be able to speak up. “Young man, we haven’t gotten to that part yet!” “I couldn’t hold it back. I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t say this. David.” I reach for the groom’s hands, “I never should have let you go, you were the best thing to ever happen to me. Let’s run away to Fiji, like how we always dreamed.” Another gasp ripples through the crowd. Oh, they love it. “I can’t. It’s too late,” the groom dramatically throws his head back and covers his eyes with his forearm. He’s getting into it too. The bride chimes in, “David, who is this?” “David, you haven’t told her about your… first husband?” Phones are already recording the scene. “Daisy, I’m sorry, it was such a long time ago. I was young and dumb,” “Oh, is that all I am to you? A dumb mistake?” My hand meets his check in a perfectly timed stage slap, “And what about Richard? Was he a dumb mistake too?” “Who’s Richard?” asked a guest in the audience. “Yeah, who is Richard?” continued the bride. “You didn’t even tell her about our little Richard?” I shot back. A murmur spills over the onlookers in the pews. “I don’t blame you for not mentioning it before, it still brings a tear just to mention his name,” I pull my lapel handkerchief to dab my dry eyes. “What happened with Richard?” asked the priest. David looks stumped. “He died, in a horrible fire!” I interject, “David tried to save him; he ran back into the home, against my pleas, fighting flame and death itself. He came barrelling through the smoke with our little Richard cradled in his arms,” An aunty whispers “poor thing” over my shoulder. “The pain of it all was too much of a strain on our relationship, so I left, and I am so sorry I did. I couldn’t bear looking at your face, it only reminded me of sweet little Richard. The bride asks, “So, Richard was your…” David stammers back, “Um, Richard wasss …”
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