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I leaned my chin on my arms, which were resting on the back of a church pew.
That dress looks good on you, the colour just...you're really so very beautiful.
I blushed and turned my face away.
---
Later that day, I contemplated getting up in front of everyone after the best man's speech.
Getting up to tell them all how I met the bride. And how we've known each other for so many years, the friendship which grew between us out of a mutual hurt.
I wanted to tell them about the afternoons we'd spent on the concrete steps of the school we attended, wiling away the hours, neither of us willing to go home. I wanted to tell them how she made me smile, when I thought my life was crumbling down around my ankles. How she once found me with a knife raised towards myself and she pried that knife out of my shaking fingers. I wanted to tell them about the nights we spent fried on acid and giggling at oranges turned into little old men. And how I made her cry on the phone once because I was being overly cruel, but that she forgive me for it. I wanted them to know about the times she'd brush my hair until I fell asleep and how that sometimes that was the only way I could feel safe. They needed to know about the numerous times I threatened to deliver a beat down to some unworthy fool who had broken her heart and how I meant every single word of what I'd do to them if I ever found them (and still would).
I wanted to tell them about how I don't really much care for other females, as a rule. And that there is maybe only a handful of women on this planet, throughout my entire life, who I fully trust and she's one of them. You, who I love so much.
Knowing that I wouldn't be able to say any of these things without breaking down into a sobbing mess, I said nothing. I only smiled and dug my nails further into my palms, willing myself to not cry in front of all these people.
And I know that on the occasion of the wedding of any of the other dearest (except for the one of you who has already been married), I will fight hard to not make a similar speech. Because I'll cry. And that just will not do.
and on the occasion of any of your weddings, if any of you want me in your wedding party and decide to put me in a horrible orange gown, I will get massively drunk on bourbon and tell everyone within earshot outrageous and madeup stories about waybackwhen.
That dress looks good on you, the colour just...you're really so very beautiful.
I blushed and turned my face away.
---
Later that day, I contemplated getting up in front of everyone after the best man's speech.
Getting up to tell them all how I met the bride. And how we've known each other for so many years, the friendship which grew between us out of a mutual hurt.
I wanted to tell them about the afternoons we'd spent on the concrete steps of the school we attended, wiling away the hours, neither of us willing to go home. I wanted to tell them how she made me smile, when I thought my life was crumbling down around my ankles. How she once found me with a knife raised towards myself and she pried that knife out of my shaking fingers. I wanted to tell them about the nights we spent fried on acid and giggling at oranges turned into little old men. And how I made her cry on the phone once because I was being overly cruel, but that she forgive me for it. I wanted them to know about the times she'd brush my hair until I fell asleep and how that sometimes that was the only way I could feel safe. They needed to know about the numerous times I threatened to deliver a beat down to some unworthy fool who had broken her heart and how I meant every single word of what I'd do to them if I ever found them (and still would).
I wanted to tell them about how I don't really much care for other females, as a rule. And that there is maybe only a handful of women on this planet, throughout my entire life, who I fully trust and she's one of them. You, who I love so much.
Knowing that I wouldn't be able to say any of these things without breaking down into a sobbing mess, I said nothing. I only smiled and dug my nails further into my palms, willing myself to not cry in front of all these people.
And I know that on the occasion of the wedding of any of the other dearest (except for the one of you who has already been married), I will fight hard to not make a similar speech. Because I'll cry. And that just will not do.
and on the occasion of any of your weddings, if any of you want me in your wedding party and decide to put me in a horrible orange gown, I will get massively drunk on bourbon and tell everyone within earshot outrageous and madeup stories about waybackwhen.
