Writing for Fun
July 2016
A Walk Down The Aisle - Reg Pound
He fumbled with his cuff. He wasn’t usually all fingers and thumbs, as his Gran would have put it.
On a good day he could dress in a few seconds – he grinned to himself – from the time he heard the parents of his first girlfriend put the key in the front door lock to the time it took them to reach the front room.
That was a few years ago. That romance ended when he did not dress fast enough and her dad caught him with his trousers down so to speak, both figuratively and physically. He was thrown out of the house – again both figuratively and physically – with threats as to what would happen to him if he ever tried to see their daughter again. He hadn’t seen her since.
What she and her parents didn’t know was that he got caught deliberately, guessing, as he knew they were a bit old fashioned, that he would be banned from seeing her. Well it was a much better way of breaking it off than saying he wanted out.
Today though he had other things on his mind. That’s why his thoughts were wandering. He never could concentrate when he was on edge. Perhaps that was why he never did very well in exams.
Why was he dressing in suit, shirt, collar and tie at all? Why not just turn up in tee shirt and jeans? He knew why. It was out of respect for his late dad. Dad had always insisted that when they went to any formal occasion – weddings; funerals; theatres; restaurants; interviews and the like – you should always dress proper, as he put it. ‘Folks will always take you more seriously if you look smart,’ he’d say.
When he left home he did rebel a bit and as he grew out of his old suits had not bothered to replace them, preferring the comfort and laziness of jeans and jumper. But when dad passed away he’d bought a special suit for the funeral and since then had reverted to suits for any special occasion. It seemed to give him a link to his late dad.
Today the occasion was a wedding. Whatever else resulted dad would have been proud of his son’s appearance.
As all this was going through his mind he finished dressing. He gave himself a last minute look in the mirror – satisfied – picked up his car keys and went out.
There was plenty of time.
He wanted to get to the Church early.
He felt isolated.
He entered the Church. It was empty.
He walked slowly down the aisle. One of his mates who thought himself a bit of a romantic had said the walk down the aisle was a short walk to the long journey of matrimonial life. That mate had married three times so his journey through matrimonial life was in short sprints rather than a sustained journey.
He made his way to one of the front pews as far away from the entrance as possible. That made it more difficult to leave in case he cowardly changed his mind.
He was now sitting in the Church alone with his thoughts.
Guests, friends and relatives of the Bride and Groom were milling around outside waiting for the Groom to arrive before they entered. The Bride and Groom – he found it easier to think of them as just that. It seemed less personal. Of course he knew their names. The Groom, not a bad bloke really he supposed and in any other circumstances would probably quite like him.
It was the Bride, Marie, that caused him to be here today. Marie wasn’t her real name, that was just a name between them. Maureen was her real name. He had known her most of his life but until her marriage today they had drifted apart.
Strangely he felt a sense of betrayal.
Was his coming today ‘putting on a brave face’ or was he too ashamed to stay away? ‘Old enough and ugly enough to make up his own mind’ as his mum would say, but not so much that he would not have liked Dad’s support and advice. Although he knew that already – ‘Do whatever you can live with’ he would have said.
When he was a boy he remembered Mum and Dad taking him to the pictures to see a film called Pinnochio. There was a song in that film ‘Always let your conscience be your guide’.
He had asked dad what that meant. ‘Do whatever you can live with’ was how his dad explained it and said it was very good advice for a young boy. He had asked him if he had always done that but he didn’t answer and said to be quiet and watch the film. Until today he never believed he had much of a conscience.
But his thoughts were wandering again, escapism, that always happened when he did not want to face reality.
The Groom had arrived and had taken his place in the pew with the Best Man. They had each given a nod of greeting but said nothing as they were on the other side of the aisle.
Would you believe he and Marie had actually asked him to be Best Man? He could not have handed him the ring to put on Marie’s finger.
A consolation, he was better dressed than either of them. Dad was right, good clothes made you feel better.
The Church was now filling up awaiting the Bride.
He started going over what he could remember of the wedding ceremony. Not that he could remember going to any. He usually just turned up for the party afterwards. All he knew was what he had seen in films or television.
‘Brethren we are gathered here today to witness the joining in holy matrimony blah, blah, blah,’ and then something like ‘Is there anyone who knows of any reason why these two may not be wed?’ His mouth went dry at the thought. Yes,yes,yes, he knew – but would he dare say?
His thoughts were interrupted. The Bride had arrived and the organist began to play. The Congregation rose.
She walked down the aisle with a maid of honour on each side. She caught his eye, he had hardly ever seen her look so radiant but sad, and she looked at him a little defiantly. She took her place by the Groom and the Priest began the ceremony.
‘We are gathered . . .’
He could hear the priest but could hardly make out the words. His mind seemed to blank them out. ‘Is there anyone amongst you . . .’
He held his breath, the Priest finished the phrase. He had not said anything and then the moment was gone. He leaned against a pillar for support.
‘Who gives this woman?’
‘Me . . . I mean I do,’ he nervously stammered before the Priest had hardly got the sentence out. His throat was dry with emotion.
It was Maureen who had walked down the aisle but Marie who now grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze as a tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Thanks Billie,’ she said.
A lump came to his throat.
‘No problem Mum, no problem Ma’ . . . she looked at him, she never liked to be called Ma . . . ‘rie,’ he finished.
But with a new husband would he ever feel the same about her again? Time will tell.