Missing

A wedding story, in which the bride or groom goes missing, and the narrator, who finds her/him, convinces him/her to either return and wed or flees, according to the narrator's own personal motives.

Amy was not surprised that the bride was the better part of an hour late, with the church bedecked in lavender and white and full of foot tapping, watch glancing extended and largely unrelated family. She was not shocked at the sudden realization, brought on by a red faced and visibly sweating best man striding quickly to a suddenly very downcast groom, that perhaps the bride had fled, and was missing.

Though she’d only met the woman, Virginia was her name, only once, she’d formed an immediate and very strong impression. A nice enough woman, strong willed and Audry Hepburn beautiful, she was absolutely unreliable. No, she was not the least bit surprised that the groom, her cousin, was standing forlorn at the large rosewood altar just then.

It had been at the wedding rehearsal a few days before, which Amy went to because she liked the candid nature of ceremony without pomp or audience, when she first met Virginia. She’d been late to that too, but eventually came walking down the aisle smelling like cigarettes and walking like liquor. Amy had forgiven her then, for the moment at least, believing she understood how trying getting married could be. She rescinded that small grace, though, as she realized that Virginia was not stressed, was not in the middle of an emotional crisis, was not fretting over the sudden loss of her singleness and wild independence. She was loving every moment of a process that had darkened circles under the poor groom’s eyes, had the bride’s maids slouching and examining the vaulted church ceilings and half finished decorations, had her father snoring in the front pew, arms crossed, head tilted forward and to one side.

“Sorry I’m late,” she called as she weaved slightly down the aisle.

Amy was not fooled, did not believe for a second that this bride was not absolutely savoring the fact that everyone was waiting for her, that inside those double doors, the world had stopped and waited for her to finish her cigarette and sneak another draw from whatever bottle or flask she had hidden in her purse.

Maybe, Amy was thinking to herself, I’m biased. Maybe I don’t like her because she’s marrying my favorite cousin. She pondered this for some time, absently watching the empty ceremony come to a close. By that time, even she, one of the two people in the church who enjoyed the process, was ready to leave.

“Let’s do it again!” Virginia said with an almost childish enthusiasm. Groans seemed to rise from the floor of the church. The best man shot the groom a “what the hell” look and tapped his watch.

“Except this time, I want to watch.”

She strode over to the line of miserable bridesmaids and grabbed one, whom Amy noticed was the most attractive of the women, and slid her into place next to the very uncomfortable groom. Excitedly, Virginia bobbled over to Virginia’s pew and sat next to her, saying nothing except, “okay, start.”

They didn’t start, and Amy had only stayed long enough to hear the beginnings of a high pitched tantrum echoing down the aisle after her.

Amy was not surprised, despite the incredible amount of effort both sides of the family had poured into that event. She was not surprised, but she did not doubt that Virginia would turn up in her good time, if only people would continue waiting.

A morbidly obese man whom Amy had only seen once before at her great-aunt’s fiftieth wedding anniversary, looking red and short of breath in his impossibly large whale-gray suite, stood up and sidled his best sidle past Amy, who turned her legs sideways and pressed herself as far back into the pew as she could. His belly still grazed her, and she cringed visibly.

The woman sitting on other side of the large possible-uncle slide over next to Amy, and began to say something when the father of the bride, visibly irritated and sincerely apologetic, stepped to the front of the church with a microphone in hand.

“Hello everyone,” he began, pausing to cough and clear his throat.

“Its beautiful, isn’t it?” the woman next to Amy whispered.

“I’m very sorry for the delay. If you will please bear with us for just a little longer…”

“Look at the way they decorated this place. The lavender fabric goes lovely with the white roses. I absolutely love the roses.”

“we’re sure we’ll be able to resolve our little… problem.”

“My wedding is going to be so beautiful,” she almost squealed.

Amy turned suddenly, recognizing the smell of tobacco and rum before registering the face.

"Are you serious?" she shouted, her voice rising to a quivering pitch of disbelief, turning heads and raising grumbles and shouts from throughout the terribly lavender church.

Amy was very surprised.

The Other Side is in far better form, and probably got some sleep last night.