Speak Now

I am not the kind of girl,
Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion.

I shouldn't do it. I shouldn't be sneaking into your wedding; but I do.
Making my way through the guests on the green lawn, I see them all around me, mingling and socializing in their fancy wedding garb. I feel so out of place amongst them in my Beatles t-shirt and faded jeans. Everything and all the women are decorated in white, and the men in black. The table near the front door is piled high with wedding gifts, and I feel a pang in my chest when I read the names on the cards: To Emily and Dylan. May you have a happy marriage.
That should be my name next to yours, I think, and rub my finger over her name, as if rubbing could make the printed cursive letters on the card disappear. I look to make sure, but sadly, they're still there. I sigh, and place the card back where I found it.
And then I see you.

You, are not the kind of boy,
Who should be marrying the wrong girl.

You look very elegant, dressed smartly in your black tuxedo, and even though a dozen of other men at the reception are wearing the same suit, I've never seen anyone look as handsome as you did at that moment. Your hair is neatly combed back, and you are talking with your best man, laughing over an unknown inside joke. You turn your head, and for a fraction of a second, our eyes meet. But you return to your conversation, leaving me wondering if I'd imagined it.

I sneak in to see your friends,
And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel.

Names pop into my mind as I see all the familiar faces of my friends dotting the crowd of guests, and I realize that everyone we know has beed invited.
Everyone except me.
People are laughing and talking, and I see her family greeting guests and chatting away amiably. Her mother beams so wide that one may get the impression that it is her big day, not her daughter's.
The latter can be heard through the closed door on her dressing room. I sneak a peek through the keyhole, spying on the bride's noisy activities.

She is yelling at a bridesmaid,
Somewhere back inside her room,
Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry.

Her beautiful features are twisted into an expression of pure fury and her fists are clenched so tightly that her knuckles are a pale white. She stands, in 5-inch heels, towering over a young girl in a simple white gown, cowering from the bride's wrath. Her words are incoherent, jumbled up from all her rage, but her scarlet red face tells me that she is beyond furious. She rips a carefully made white silk rose from the high bun sitting atop her head and throws it on the ground, stomping on it as she stalks past, heading for the door. I slink away form the keyhole, and press myself to the wall around the corner, just as she storms out.
The bride's face is as red as my nail polish, and the young girl follows with her last desperate attempts to please her, all the while stumbling over her own feet. They don't notice me. Scanning the site of the reception, she spots you the same moment you spot her. Quickly setting down your glass of champagne, you hurry over to your fiancée, stroking her arm to calm her down. A twinge of sadness jolts through me as you do, remembering how you used to do the same thing to me. Neither of you even glance in my direction, as you retreat back into her changing with her, assuring the bridesmaid that it isn't her fault. Even as the doors closes, I can hear your exasperated voice speaking to your bride, who is still shouting. I can imagine you now; rubbing your left temple like you always do when you are frustrated.

This, this,
Surely not what you thought it would be.

You finally leave her dressing room, and I can see the fatigue in you eyes as you head back towards the crowds. When you are standing near your in-laws again, a couple of guests start to make small talk with you, and I recognize them as the couple we used to spend so much of our time with, back then. I hear Marlene, the wife, inquire about my whereabouts, and I notice your back stiffen slightly, then relax. I blink, not knowing whether to trust my eyes or not.
You brush off the question nonchalantly, saying that you'd not seen me in a while, when I see something flash through your eyes.
Was it longing?

I lose myself in a daydream.

I wish I was the bride today. I wish all the presents on the table are addressed to you and I. I dream that I'm the one standing at the altar when the time comes—not her.

Don't say yes;
Run away now.

Begging, hoping, pleading that you will realize the mistake you are making. Because the clock is ticking.

I'll meet you when you're out
Of the church
At the back door.

I would be happy anywhere in the world as long as you come with me. I will always be there for you.

Don't wait;
Don't say a single vow.

Vows will only bind you to her and a lifetime of misery. I know you are not happy. I can see it in your eyes; the way you avoid her gaze, and bow your head to her insults. The man I fell in love would never do that. You are far too strong.

Your time is running out,
And they said speak now.

Yet here I am, forced to watch myself put on fake smiles each day while I die a little bit on the inside.

Fond gestures are exchanged,
And the organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march.

A loud bell rings six times—the church bell. Guests flock to the church like birds during the migrating season, all squeezing past one another, as if they can't wait for the wedding to start. Unlike them, I don't look forward to it. Instead, I dread the upcoming event. But I can't stop my feet from moving towards the interior of the church. It is as if I have the need to torture myself, watching you get married to another woman.
Finally, as I near the door, I am stopped by a large man, evidently a guard. He asks me for my name, and refers to the clipboard he is carrying. Shaking his head, he tells me that my name is not on the list. My body feels frozen, but not from the cold. Have you forgotten me already?

And I am hiding in the curtains,
It seems that I was uninvited by your lovely bride-to-be.

I've snuck in, past the guards. What I'm doing is risky, but I cannot miss this, and I realize why.
I can't rest until I know that you are married. Then I'll know that you have finally moved on from me.

She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen,
But I know you wish it was me,
You wish it was me.

The wedding music is forever burned into my memory as I watch her walk gracefully down the aisle, preening at everyone's attention. Friends and family clasp their hands together wistfully, and I can see their happiness for her as she walks past. Gone is the red from her face, and instead, it has been replaced by a serene smile, one that says she knows that she is the object of everyone's affection. You stand at the altar, your hair messily tousled, and your suit impeccable. I expect a groom to look down the aisle at his bride-to-be with love, eager marry his true love, anticipating his life ahead with her.
But you show none of these traits. You look at the stained glass windows, the priest, the church ceiling—anywhere but her. When she reaches you, beaming a white smile, you try to smile back, but only I can tell you don't mean it. She squeezes your hand in excitement, but you don't squeeze her hand back. Your smiles are forced, but hers are not.
You wish it is me smiling back at you.
Don't you?

I hear the preacher say,
'Speak now, or forever
Hold your peace.'

The ceremony is a nightmare, and I know I can't bear to hear those two words—I do—that will deliver a fatal blow to my heart. I realize sometime during the ceremony, I've moved and I'm now on the pew in the back of the church, sitting quietly unnoticed. I feel hypnotized, in an almost trance-like state. All the noise seems so quiet, and everyone looks like they are a million miles away. Dimly, I'm aware that the preacher's words ask for anyone's objections to the marriage, and I think, I object.
The church hall is deathly silent, and you can hear a pin drop. No one makes a single sound, afraid to create a disturbance in the holy building.

There's a silence,
There's my last chance,
I stand up with shaky hands,
All eyes on me.

My breath is shallow coming in short, quick bursts as I rise unsteadily to my feet. The pew creaks from the release of my weight, and everyone's heads turn around to look at me. Two hundred pair of eyes shoot daggers at me, daring me to destroy that calamity that the church has created. But I can only see one pair looking at me with a sentiment other than anger and horror. They're yours, your shock clear in those beautiful eyes.

Horrified looks from everyone in the room,
But I'm only looking at you.

"Evelyn?"
When you say my name, my heart skips a beat; but I never break my gaze.

I am not the kind of girl,
Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion.

Yet here I am, crashing your wedding. She stands at the altar next to you, and the reddish hue covering her face is back again. She glares at me so hard I feel her the heat of her gaze burning holes in my t-shirt. Your look is still one of disbelief, and you take a few steps forward.
"Evelyn, what are you doing here?"

But you, are not the kind of boy,
Who should be marrying the wrong girl.

And so I raise my hand, no higher than my own head, my voice cracking as I say, "I-I oppose to this marriage."
Outraged looks and whispers quickly rise amongst the guests, but I don't care. You have done nothing to deserve a lifetime of misery with her; you are not that type of man.
The words come flooding out before I can stop them. "Dylan, I'm sorry. For everything that's happened between us. But don't do this; don't marry her. Seeing you with her makes me realize—" I falter for a moment "—how much I love you." I know these words are true as soon as they leave my mouth, and I can see everyone's wide eyes as they register my confession. Your jaw is dropped, and you take a few more steps forward.
I wipe away the tears springing to the corner of my eyes, and continue. "I know how ridiculous this is. I storm in on your wedding day, telling you that I love you and I disrupt everything. But I'll always be here for you. I…" Trailing off, I retrieve a folded square of paper from my jeans pocket. I remember writing it this morning, remember preparing myself for this very moment. I close the gap of a few steps between us, and press the paper into the palm of your hand.
As I turn to leave, chaos finally breaks out, and I glance back only once, watching you unfold the paper and reading the note that says:

I'll meet you when you're out
Of the church
At the back door.

Shouts and screams can be heard loud and clear and as I push open the double doors, sundown greets me. My hands still shake from the adrenaline of my confession, but the sundown is peaceful, and I slow, tears quietly slipping off my chin.

Don't wait,
Don't make a single vow.

I've done all I can, and I've told you how I feel. The rest is up to you.

You need to hear me out,
And they said speak now.

The yells from the church are still audible, but her voice is the loudest. I hear her blame me for ruining her big day, for destroying the perfect wedding, for creating havoc. I can hear her says that it's my fault. If I were in her shoes, I'd blame me, too. Her shrill screeching hurts my head, and I press my hands over my ears. I understand that she is upset. But they asked me to speak; so I did.

You'll say 'let's run away now'.

All of a sudden, I hear you. I whirl around, and you burst out the church doors, yelling something incoherent. You are a mess; your tuxedo is disheveled, and your tie is coming loose. And you chase after me as if your life depends on it. Finally reaching me, you grasp my hands in yours and look straight into my eyes. Still panting, I can smell the mint on your breath. This can't be real.

I'll meet you when I'm out
Of my tux
At the back door.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm so sorry, Evelyn. You're right; I'm not happy with her. I never was. You helped me realize that." Your hand brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and it sends electricity zinging through my skin.
"I'm not in love with her," you say. The sincerity in your voice tears at my soul and my breath hitches at your next words. "I'm in love with you."
My heart is pounding so loudly I think it'll burst out of my chest, and I am acutely aware of your hand, now settling itself at my waist as your handsome face nears my own.
Is this real?

Baby, I didn't say my vows.

I'm spellbound by your eyes, your skin, your mouth, and you. When our lips touch, the world stops, I can think of nothing but your mouth on mine. It's short and sweet, but it conveys all the hurt and longing we both felt when we were apart, and this kiss soothes the pain and heartache.
You are forever mine, and I am forever yours.

So glad you were around,
When they said,
'Speak now'.